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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/7045-0.txt b/7045-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a597e07 --- /dev/null +++ b/7045-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7283 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + +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: Marching Men + +Author: Sherwood Anderson + + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7045] +This file was first posted on February 27, 2003 +Last Updated: March 14, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland + + + + + + + + +MARCHING MEN + +By Sherwood Anderson + +Author of “Windy Mcpherson's Son” + +MCMXVII + + + +TO + +AMERICAN WORKINGMEN + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Uncle Charlie Wheeler stamped on the steps before Nance McGregor's +bake-shop on the Main Street of the town of Coal Creek Pennsylvania and +then went quickly inside. Something pleased him and as he stood before +the counter in the shop he laughed and whistled softly. With a wink at +the Reverend Minot Weeks who stood by the door leading to the street, he +tapped with his knuckles on the showcase. + +“It has,” he said, waving attention to the boy, who was making a mess +of the effort to arrange Uncle Charlie's loaf into a neat package, +“a pretty name. They call it Norman--Norman McGregor.” Uncle Charlie +laughed heartily and again stamped upon the floor. Putting his finger to +his forehead to suggest deep thought, he turned to the minister. “I am +going to change all that,” he said. + +“Norman indeed! I shall give him a name that will stick! Norman! +Too soft, too soft and delicate for Coal Creek, eh? It shall be +rechristened. You and I will be Adam and Eve in the garden naming +things. We will call it Beaut--Our Beautiful One--Beaut McGregor.” + +The Reverend Minot Weeks also laughed. He thrust four fingers of each +hand into the pockets of his trousers, letting the extended thumbs lie +along the swelling waist line. From the front the thumbs looked like +two tiny boats on the horizon of a troubled sea. They bobbed and jumped +about on the rolling shaking paunch, appearing and disappearing as +laughter shook him. The Reverend Minot Weeks went out at the door ahead +of Uncle Charlie, still laughing. One fancied that he would go along +the street from store to store telling the tale of the christening and +laughing again. The tall boy could imagine the details of the story. + +It was an ill day for births in Coal Creek, even for the birth of one of +Uncle Charlie's inspirations. Snow lay piled along the sidewalks and in +the gutters of Main Street--black snow, sordid with the gathered grime +of human endeavour that went on day and night in the bowels of the +hills. Through the soiled snow walked miners, stumbling along silently +and with blackened faces. In their bare hands they carried dinner pails. + +The McGregor boy, tall and awkward, and with a towering nose, great +hippopotamus-like mouth and fiery red hair, followed Uncle Charlie, +Republican politician, postmaster and village wit to the door and looked +after him as with the loaf of bread under his arm he hurried along the +street. Behind the politician went the minister still enjoying the scene +in the bakery. He was preening himself on his nearness to life in the +mining town. “Did not Christ himself laugh, eat and drink with publicans +and sinners?” he thought, as he waddled through the snow. The eyes of +the McGregor boy, as they followed the two departing figures, and later, +as he stood in the door of the bake-shop watching the struggling miners, +glistened, with hatred. It was the quality of intense hatred for his +fellows in the black hole between the Pennsylvania hills that marked the +boy and made him stand forth among his fellows. + +In a country of so many varied climates and occupations as America it +is absurd to talk of an American type. The country is like a vast +disorganised undisciplined army, leaderless, uninspired, going in +route-step along the road to they know not what end. In the prairie +towns of the West and the river towns of the South from which have come +so many of our writing men, the citizens swagger through life. Drunken +old reprobates lie in the shade by the river's edge or wander through +the streets of a corn shipping village of a Saturday evening with grins +on their faces. Some touch of nature, a sweet undercurrent of life, +stays alive in them and is handed down to those who write of them, and +the most worthless man that walks the streets of an Ohio or Iowa town +may be the father of an epigram that colours all the life of the men +about him. In a mining town or deep in the entrails of one of our cities +life is different. There the disorder and aimlessness of our American +lives becomes a crime for which men pay heavily. Losing step with one +another, men lose also a sense of their own individuality so that a +thousand of them may be driven in a disorderly mass in at the door of a +Chicago factory morning after morning and year after year with never an +epigram from the lips of one of them. + +In Coal Creek when men got drunk they staggered in silence through the +street. Did one of them, in a moment of stupid animal sportiveness, +execute a clumsy dance upon the barroom floor, his fellow--labourers +looked at him dumbly, or turning away left him to finish without +witnesses his clumsy hilarity. + +Standing in the doorway and looking up and down the bleak village +street, some dim realisation of the disorganised ineffectiveness of life +as he knew it came into the mind of the McGregor boy. It seemed to him +right and natural that he should hate men. With a sneer on his lips, +he thought of Barney Butterlips, the town socialist, who was forever +talking of a day coming when men would march shoulder to shoulder and +life in Coal Creek, life everywhere, should cease being aimless and +become definite and full of meaning. + +“They will never do that and who wants them to,” mused the McGregor boy. +A blast of wind bearing snow beat upon him and he turned into the shop +and slammed the door behind him. Another thought stirred in his head and +brought a flush to his cheeks. He turned and stood in the silence of the +empty shop shaking with emotion. “If I could form the men of this place +into an army I would lead them to the mouth of the old Shumway cut and +push them in,” he threatened, shaking his fist toward the door. “I would +stand aside and see the whole town struggle and drown in the black +water as untouched as though I watched the drowning of a litter of dirty +little kittens.” + + * * * * * + +The next morning when Beaut McGregor pushed his baker's cart along the +street and began climbing the hill toward the miners' cottages, he went, +not as Norman McGregor, the town baker boy, only product of the loins of +Cracked McGregor of Coal Creek, but as a personage, a being, the object +of an art. The name given him by Uncle Charlie Wheeler had made him a +marked man. He was as the hero of a popular romance, galvanised into +life and striding in the flesh before the people. Men looked at him with +new interest, inventorying anew the huge mouth and nose and the flaming +hair. The bartender, sweeping the snow from before the door of the +saloon, shouted at him. “Hey, Norman!” he called. “Sweet Norman! Norman +is too pretty a name. Beaut is the name for you! Oh you Beaut!” + +The tall boy pushed the cart silently along the street. Again he hated +Coal Creek. He hated the bakery and the bakery cart. With a burning +satisfying hate he hated Uncle Charlie Wheeler and the Reverend Minot +Weeks. “Fat old fools,” he muttered as he shook the snow off his hat and +paused to breathe in the struggle up the hill. He had something new to +hate. He hated his own name. It did sound ridiculous. He had thought +before that there was something fancy and pretentious about it. It did +not fit a bakery cart boy. He wished it might have been plain John or +Jim or Fred. A quiver of irritation at his mother passed through him. +“She might have used more sense,” he muttered. + +And then the thought came to him that his father might have chosen +the name. That checked his flight toward universal hatred and he began +pushing the cart forward again, a more genial current of thought running +through his mind. The tall boy loved the memory of his father, “Cracked +McGregor.” “They called him 'Cracked' until that became his name,” + he thought. “Now they are at me.” The thought renewed a feeling of +fellowship between himself and his dead father--it softened him. When he +reached the first of the bleak miners' houses a smile played about the +corners of his huge mouth. + +In his day Cracked McGregor had not borne a good reputation in Coal +Creek. He was a tall silent man with something morose and dangerous +about him. He inspired fear born of hatred. In the mines he worked +silently and with fiery energy, hating his fellow miners among whom +he was thought to be “a bit off his head.” They it was who named him +“Cracked” McGregor and they avoided him while subscribing to the common +opinion that he was the best miner in the district. Like his fellow +workers he occasionally got drunk. When he went into the saloon where +other men stood in groups buying drinks for each other he bought only +for himself. Once a stranger, a fat man who sold liquor for a wholesale +house, approached and slapped him on the back. “Come, cheer up and +have a drink with me,” he said. Cracked McGregor turned and knocked +the stranger to the floor. When the fat man was down he kicked him and +glared at the crowd in the room. Then he walked slowly out at the door +staring around and hoping some one would interfere. + +In his house also Cracked McGregor was silent. When he spoke at all +he spoke kindly and looked into the eyes of his wife with an eager +expectant air. To his red-haired son he seemed to be forever pouring +forth a kind of dumb affection. Taking the boy in his arms he sat for +hours rocking back and forth and saying nothing. When the boy was ill or +troubled by strange dreams at night the feel of his father's arms about +him quieted him. In his arms the boy went to sleep happily. In the mind +of the father there was a single recurring thought, “We have but the one +bairn, we'll not put him into the hole in the ground,” he said, looking +eagerly to the mother for approval. + +Twice had Cracked McGregor walked with his son on a Sunday afternoon. +Taking the lad by the hand the miner went up the face of the hill, past +the last of the miners' houses, through the grove of pine trees at the +summit and on over the hill into sight of a wide valley on the farther +side. When he walked he twisted his head far to one side like one +listening. A falling timber in the mines had given him a deformed +shoulder and left a great scar on his face, partly covered by a red +beard filled with coal dust. The blow that had deformed his shoulder had +clouded his mind. He muttered as he walked along the road and talked to +himself like an old man. + +The red-haired boy ran beside his father happily. He did not see the +smiles on the faces of the miners, who came down the hill and stopped to +look at the odd pair. The miners went on down the road to sit in front +of the stores on Main Street, their day brightened by the memory of the +hurrying McGregors. They had a remark they tossed about. “Nance McGregor +should not have looked at her man when she conceived,” they said. + +Up the face of the hill climbed the McGregors. In the mind of the boy a +thousand questions wanted answering. Looking at the silent gloomy face +of his father, he choked back the questions rising in his throat, saving +them for the quiet hour with his mother when Cracked McGregor was gone +to the mine. He wanted to know of the boyhood of his father, of the life +in the mine, of the birds that flew overhead and why they wheeled and +flew in great ovals in the sky. He looked at the fallen trees in the +woods and wondered what made them fall and whether the others would +presently fall in their turn. + +Over the hill went the silent pair and through the pinewood to an +eminence half way down the farther side. When the boy saw the valley +lying so green and broad and fruitful at their feet he thought it the +most wonderful sight in the world. He was not surprised that his father +had brought him there. Sitting on the ground he opened and closed his +eyes, his soul stirred by the beauty of the scene that lay before them. + +On the hillside Cracked McGregor went through a kind of ceremony. +Sitting upon a log he made a telescope of his hands and looked over the +valley inch by inch like one seeking something lost. For ten minutes he +would look intently at a clump of trees or a spot in the river running +through the valley where it broadened and where the water roughened +by the wind glistened in the sun. A smile lurked in the corners of his +mouth, he rubbed his hands together, he muttered incoherent words and +bits of sentences, once he broke forth into a low droning song. + +On the first morning, when the boy sat on the hillside with his father, +it was spring and the land was vividly green. Lambs played in the +fields; birds sang their mating songs; in the air, on the earth and in +the water of the flowing river it was a time of new life. Below, +the flat valley of green fields was patched and spotted with brown +new-turned earth. The cattle walking with bowed heads, eating the sweet +grass, the farmhouses with red barns, the pungent smell of the new +ground, fired his mind and awoke the sleeping sense of beauty in the +boy. He sat upon the log drunk with happiness that the world in which +he lived could be so beautiful. In his bed at night he dreamed of the +valley, confounding it with the old Bible tale of the Garden of Eden, +told him by his mother. He dreamed that he and his mother went over +the hill and down toward the valley but that his father, wearing a long +white robe and with his red hair blowing in the wind, stood upon the +hillside swinging a long sword blazing with fire and drove them back. + +When the boy went again over the hill it was October and a cold wind +blew down the hill into his face. In the woods golden brown leaves ran +about like frightened little animals and golden-brown were the leaves +on the trees about the farmhouses and golden-brown the corn standing +shocked in the fields. The scene saddened the boy. A lump came into his +throat and he wanted back the green shining beauty of the spring. He +wished to hear the birds singing in the air and in the grass on the +hillside. + +Cracked McGregor was in another mood. He seemed more satisfied than on +the first visit and ran up and down on the little eminence rubbing +his hands together and on the legs of his trousers. Through the long +afternoon he sat on the log muttering and smiling. + +On the road home through the darkened woods the restless hurrying leaves +frightened the boy so that, with his weariness from walking against +the wind, his hunger from being all day without food, and with the cold +nipping at his body, he began to cry. The father took the boy in his +arms and holding him across his breast like a babe went down the hill to +their home. + +It was on a Tuesday morning that Cracked McGregor died. His death fixed +itself as something fine in the mind of the boy and the scene and the +circumstance stayed with him through life, filling him with secret pride +like a knowledge of good blood. “It means something that I am the son of +such a man,” he thought. + +It was past ten in the morning when the cry of “Fire in the mine” ran up +the hill to the houses of the miners. A panic seized the women. In +their minds they saw the men hurrying down old cuts, crouching in hidden +corridors, pursued by death. Cracked McGregor, one of the night shift, +slept in his house. The boy's mother, threw a shawl about her head, +took his hand and ran down the hill to the mouth of the mine. Cold winds +spitting snow blew in their faces. They ran along the tracks of the +railroad, stumbling over the ties, and stood on the railroad embankment +that overlooked the runway to the mine. + +About the runway and along the embankment stood the silent miners, their +hands in their trousers pockets, staring stolidly at the closed door +of the mine. Among them was no impulse toward concerted action. Like +animals at the door of a slaughter-house they stood as though waiting +their turn to be driven in at the door. An old crone with bent back +and a huge stick in her hand went from one to another of the miners +gesticulating and talking. “Get my boy--my Steve! Get him out of there!” + she shouted, waving the stick about. + +The door of the mine opened and three men came out, staggering as they +pushed before them a small car that ran upon rails. On the car lay three +other men, silent and motionless. A woman thinly clad and with great +cave-like hollows in her face climbed the embankment and sat upon the +ground below the boy and his mother. “The fire is in the old McCrary +cut,” she said, her voice quivering, a dumb hopeless look in her eyes. +“They can't get through to close the doors. My man Ike is in there.” + She put down her head and sat weeping. The boy knew the woman. She was +a neighbour who lived in an unpainted house on the hillside. In the yard +in front of her house a swarm of children played among the stones. Her +husband, a great hulking fellow, got drunk and when he came home kicked +his wife. The boy had heard her screaming at night. + +Suddenly in the growing crowd of miners below the embankment Beaut +McGregor saw his father moving restlessly about. On his head he had his +cap with the miner's lamp lighted. He went from group to group among the +people, his head hanging to one side. The boy looked at him intently. He +was reminded of the October day on the eminence overlooking the fruitful +valley and again he thought of his father as a man inspired, going +through a kind of ceremony. The tall miner rubbed his hands up and down +his legs, he peered into the faces of the silent men standing about, his +lips moved and his red beard danced up and down. + +As the boy looked a change came over the face of Cracked McGregor. He +ran to the foot of the embankment and looked up. In his eyes was the +look of a perplexed animal. The wife bent down and began to talk to the +weeping woman on the ground, trying to comfort her. She did not see her +husband and the boy and man stood in silence looking into each other's +eyes. + +Then the puzzled look went out of the father's face. He turned and +running along with his head rolling about reached the closed door of the +mine. A man, who wore a white collar and had a cigar stuck in the corner +of his mouth, put out his hand. + +“Stop! Wait!” he shouted. Pushing the man aside with his powerful arm +the runner pulled open the door of the mine and disappeared down the +runway. + +A hubbub arose. The man in the white collar took the cigar from his +mouth and began to swear violently. The boy stood on the embankment and +saw his mother running toward the runway of the mine. A miner gripped +her by the arm and led her back up the face of the embankment. In the +crowd a woman's voice shouted, “It's Cracked McGregor gone to close the +door to the McCrary cut.” + +The man with the white collar glared about as he chewed the end of his +cigar. “He's gone crazy,” he shouted, again closing the door to the +mine. + +Cracked McGregor died in the mine, almost within reach of the door to +the old cut where the fire burned. With him died all but five of the +imprisoned miners. All day parties of men tried to get down into the +mine. Below in the hidden passages under their own homes the scurrying +miners died like rats in a burning barn while their wives, with shawls +over their heads, sat silently weeping on the railroad embankment. In +the evening the boy and his mother went up the hill alone. From the +houses scattered over the hill came the sound of women weeping. + + * * * * * + +For several years after the mine disaster the McGregors, mother and son, +lived in the house on the hillside. The woman went each morning to the +offices of the mine where she washed windows and scrubbed floors. The +position was a sort of recognition on the part of the mine officials of +the heroism of Cracked McGregor. + +Nance McGregor was a small blue-eyed woman with a sharp nose. She wore +glasses and had the name in Coal Creek of being quick and sharp. She did +not stand by the fence to talk with the wives of other miners but sat +in her house and sewed or read aloud to her son. She subscribed for a +magazine and had bound copies of it standing upon shelves in the room +where she and the boy ate breakfast in the early morning. Before the +death of her husband she had maintained a habit of silence in her +house but after his death she expanded, and, with her red-haired son, +discussed freely every phase of their narrow lives. As he grew older the +boy began to believe that she like the miners had kept hidden under her +silence a secret fear of his father. Certain things she said of her life +encouraged the thought. + +Norman McGregor grew into a tall broad-shouldered boy with strong arms, +flaming red hair and a habit of sudden and violent fits of temper. There +was something about him that held the attention. As he grew older and +was renamed by Uncle Charlie Wheeler he began going about looking for +trouble. When the boys called him “Beaut” he knocked them down. When +men shouted the name after him on the street he followed them with +black looks. It became a point of honour with him to resent the name. He +connected it with the town's unfairness to Cracked McGregor. + +In the house on the hillside the boy and his mother lived together +happily. In the early morning they went down the hill and across the +tracks to the offices of the mine. From the offices the boy went up +the hill on the farther side of the valley and sat upon the schoolhouse +steps or wandered in the streets waiting for the day in school to begin. +In the evening mother and son sat upon the steps at the front of their +home and watched the glare of the coke ovens on the sky and the +lights of the swiftly-running passenger trains, roaring whistling and +disappearing into the night. + +Nance McGregor talked to her son of the big world outside the valley +and told him of the cities, the seas and the strange lands and peoples +beyond the seas. “We have dug in the ground like rats,” she said, “I and +my people and your father and his people. With you it will be different. +You will get out of here to other places and other work.” She grew +indignant thinking of the life in the town. “We are stuck down here amid +dirt, living in it, breathing it,” she complained. “Sixty men died in +that hole in the ground and then the mine started again with new men. +We stay here year after year digging coal to burn in engines that take +other people across the seas and into the West.” + +When the son was a tall strong boy of fourteen Nance McGregor bought the +bakery and to buy it took the money saved by Cracked McGregor. With it +he had planned to buy a farm in the valley beyond the hill. Dollar by +dollar it had been put away by the miner who dreamed of life in his own +fields. + +In the bakery the boy worked and learned to make bread. Kneading the +dough his arms and hands grew as strong as a bear's. He hated the work, +he hated Coal Creek and dreamed of life in the city and of the part he +should play there. Among the young men he began to make here and there +a friend. Like his father he attracted attention. Women looked at him, +laughed at his big frame and strong homely features and looked again. +When they spoke to him in the bakery or on the street he spoke back +fearlessly and looked them in the eyes. Young girls in the school +walked home down the hill with other boys and at night dreamed of Beaut +McGregor. When some one spoke ill of him they answered defending and +praising him. Like his father he was a marked man in the town of Coal +Creek. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +One Sunday afternoon three boys sat on a log on the side of the hill +that looked down into Coal Creek. From where they sat they could see the +workers of the night shift idling in the sun on Main Street. From the +coke ovens a thin line of smoke rose into the sky. A freight train +heavily loaded crept round the hill at the end of the valley. It was +spring and over even that hive of black industry hung a faint promise of +beauty. The boys talked of the life of people in their town and as they +talked thought each of himself. + +Although he had not been out of the valley and had grown strong and big +there, Beaut McGregor knew something of the outside world. It isn't a +time when men are shut off from their fellows. Newspapers and magazines +have done their work too well. They reached even into the miner's cabin +and the merchants along Main Street of Coal Creek stood before their +stores in the afternoon and talked of the doings of the world. Beaut +McGregor knew that life in his town was exceptional, that not everywhere +did men toil all day black and grimy underground, that not all women +were pale bloodless and bent. As he went about delivering bread he +whistled a song. “Take me back to Broadway,” he sang after the soubrette +in a show that had once come to Coal Creek. + +Now as he sat on the hillside he talked earnestly while he gesticulated +with his hands. “I hate this town,” he said. “The men here think they +are confoundedly funny. They don't care for anything but making foolish +jokes and getting drunk. I want to go away.” His voice rose and hatred +flamed up in him. “You wait,” he boasted. “I'll make men stop being +fools. I'll make children of them. I'll----” Pausing he looked at his +two companions. + +Beaut poked the ground with a stick. The boy sitting beside him laughed. +He was a short well--dressed black--haired boy with rings on his fingers +who worked in the town poolroom, racking the pool balls. “I'd like to go +where there are women with blood in them,” he said. + +Three women came up the hill toward them, a tall pale brown-haired +woman of twenty-seven and two fairer young girls. The black-haired boy +straightened his tie and began thinking of a conversation he would start +when the women reached him. Beaut and the other boy, a fat fellow, the +son of a grocer, looked down the hill to the town over the heads of the +newcomers and continued in their minds the thoughts that had made the +conversation. + +“Hello girls, come and sit here,” shouted the black-haired boy, laughing +and looking boldly into the eyes of the tall pale woman. They stopped +and the tall woman began stepping over the fallen logs, coming to them. +The two young girls followed, laughing. They sat down on the log beside +the boys, the tall pale woman at the end beside red-haired McGregor. An +embarrassed silence fell over the party. Both Beaut and the fat boy were +disconcerted by this turn to their afternoon's outing and wondered how +it would turn out. + +The pale woman began to talk in a low tone. “I want to get away from +here,” she said, “I wish I could hear birds sing and see green things +grow.” + +Beaut McGregor had an idea. “You come with me,” he said. He got up and +climbed over the logs and the pale woman followed. The fat boy shouted +at them, relieving his own embarrassment by trying to embarrass them. +“Where're you going--you two?” he shouted. + +Beaut said nothing. He stepped over the logs to the road and began +climbing the hill. The tall woman walked beside him and held her skirts +out of the deep dust of the road. Even on this her Sunday gown there was +a faint black mark along the seams--the mark of Coal Creek. + +As McGregor walked his embarrassment left him. He thought it fine that +he should be thus alone with a woman. When she had tired from the climb +he sat with her on a log beside the road and talked of the black-haired +boy. “He has your ring on his finger,” he said, looking at her and +laughing. + +She held her hand pressed tightly against her side and closed her eyes. +“The climbing hurts me,” she said. + +Tenderness took hold of Beaut. When they went on again he walked behind +her, his hand upon her back pushing her up the hill. The desire to tease +her about the black-haired boy had passed and he wished he had said +nothing about the ring. He remembered the story the black-haired boy +had told him of his conquest of the woman. “More than likely a mess of +lies,” he thought. + +Over the crest of the hill they stopped and rested, leaning against a +worn rail fence by the woods. Below them in a wagon a party of men went +down the hill. The men sat upon boards laid across the box of a wagon +and sang a song. One of them stood in the seat beside the driver and +waved a bottle. He seemed to be making a speech. The others shouted and +clapped their hands. The sounds came faint and sharp up the hill. + +In the woods beside the fence rank grass grew. Hawks floated in the sky +over the valley below. A squirrel running along the fence stopped and +chattered at them. McGregor thought he had never had so delightful +a companion. He got a feeling of complete, good fellowship and +friendliness with this woman. Without knowing how the thing had been +done he felt a certain pride in it. “Don't mind what I said about the +ring,” he urged, “I was only trying to tease you.” + +The woman beside McGregor was the daughter of an undertaker who lived +upstairs over his shop near the bakery. He had seen her in the evening +standing in the stairway by the shop door. After the story told him by +the black-haired boy he had been embarrassed about her. When he passed +her standing in the stairway he went hurriedly along and looked into the +gutter. + +They went down the hill and sat on the log upon the hillside. A clump +of elders had grown about the log since his visits there with Cracked +McGregor so that the place was closed and shaded like a room. The woman +took off her hat and laid it beside her on the log. A faint colour +mounted to her pale cheeks and a flash of anger gleamed in her eyes. “He +probably lied to you about me,” she said, “I didn't give him that ring +to wear. I don't know why I gave it to him. He wanted it. He asked me +for it time and again. He said he wanted to show it to his mother. And +now he has shown it to you and I suppose told lies about me.” + +Beaut was annoyed and wished he had not mentioned the ring. He felt that +an unnecessary fuss was being made about it. He did not believe that the +black-haired boy had lied but he did not think it mattered. + +He began talking of his father, boasting of him. His hatred of the +town blazed up. “They thought they knew him down there,” he said, “they +laughed at him and called him 'Cracked.' They thought his running into +the mine just a crazy notion like a horse that runs into a burning +stable. He was the best man in town. He was braver than any of them. He +went in there and died when he had almost enough money saved to buy a +farm over here.” He pointed down the valley. + +Beaut began to tell her of the visits to the hillside with his father +and described the effect of the scene on himself when he was a child. “I +thought it was paradise,” he said. + +She put her hand on his arm and seemed to be soothing him like a careful +groom quieting an excitable horse. “Don't mind them,” she said, “you +will go away after a time and make a place for yourself out in the +world.” + +He wondered how she knew. A profound respect for her came over him. “She +is keen to guess that,” he thought. + +He began to talk of himself, boasting and throwing out his chest. “I'd +like to have the chance to show what I can do,” he declared. A thought +that had been in his mind on the winter day when Uncle Charlie Wheeler +put the name of Beaut upon him came back and he walked up and down +before the woman making grotesque motions with his hands as Cracked +McGregor had walked up and down before him. + +“I'll tell you what,” he began and his voice was harsh. He had forgotten +the presence of the woman and half forgotten what had been in his +mind. He sputtered and glared over his shoulder up the hillside as he +struggled for words. “Oh to Hell with men!” he burst forth. “They are +cattle, stupid cattle.” A fire blazed up in his eyes and a confident +ring came into his voice. “I'd like to get them together, all of them,” + he said, “I'd like to make them----” Words failed him and again he sat +down on the log beside the woman. “Well I'd like to lead them to an old +mine shaft and push them in,” he concluded resentfully. + + * * * * * + +On the eminence Beaut and the tall woman sat and looked down into the +valley. “I wonder why we don't go there, mother and I,” he said. “When +I see it I'm filled with the notion. I think I want to be a farmer and +work in the fields. Instead of that mother and I sit and plan of the +city. I'm going to be a lawyer. That's all we talk about. Then I come up +here and it seems as though this is the place for me.” + +The tall woman laughed. “I can see you coming home at night from the +fields,” she said. “It might be to that white house there with the +windmill, You would be a big man and would have dust in your red hair +and perhaps a red beard growing on your chin. And a woman with a baby +in her arms would come out of the kitchen door to stand leaning on the +fence waiting for you. When you came up she would put her arm around +your neck and kiss you on the lips. The beard would tickle her cheek. +You should have a beard when you grow older. Your mouth is so big.” + +A strange new feeling shot through Beaut. He wondered why she had said +that and wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss her then and there. He +got up and looked at the sun going down behind the hill far away at the +other end of the valley. “We'd better be getting along back,” he said. + +The woman remained seated on the log. “Sit down,” she said, “I'll tell +you something--something it's good for you to hear. You're so big and +red you tempt a girl to bother you. First though you tell me why you go +along the street looking into the gutter when I stand in the stairway in +the evening.” + +Beaut sat down again upon the log, and thought of what the black-haired +boy had told him of her. “Then it was true--what he said about you?” he +asked. + +“No! No!” she cried, jumping up in her turn and beginning to pin on her +hat. “Let's be going.” + +Beaut sat stolidly on the log. “What's the use bothering each other,” + he said. “Let's sit here until the sun goes down. We can get home before +dark.” + +They sat down and she began talking, boasting of herself as he had +boasted of his father. + +“I'm too old for that boy,” she said; “I'm older than you by a good many +years. I know what boys talk about and what they say about women. I do +pretty well. I don't have any one to talk to except father and he sits +all evening reading a paper and going to sleep in his chair. If I let +boys come and sit with me in the evening or stand talking with me in +the stairway it is because I'm lonesome. There isn't a man in town I'd +marry--not one.” + +The speech sounded discordant and harsh to Beaut. He wished his father +were there rubbing his hands together and muttering rather than this +pale woman who stirred him up and then talked harshly like the women at +the back doors in Coal Creek. He thought again as he had thought before +that he preferred the black-faced miners drunk and silent to their pale +talking wives. On an impulse he told her that, saying it crudely so that +it hurt. + +Their companionship was spoiled. They got up and began to climb the +hill, going toward home. Again she put her hand to her side and again he +wished to put his hand at her back and push her up the hill. Instead he +walked beside her in silence, again hating the town. + +Halfway down the hill the tall woman stopped by the road-side. Darkness +was coming on and the glow of the coke ovens lighted the sky. “One +living up here and never going down there might think it rather grand +and big,” he said. Again the hatred came. “They might think the men who +live down there knew something instead of being just a lot of cattle.” + +A smile came into the face of the tall woman and a gentler look stole +into her eyes. “We get at one another,” she said, “we can't let one +another alone. I wish we hadn't quarrelled. We might be friends if we +tried. You have got something in you. You attract women. I've heard +others say that. Your father was that way. Most of the women here would +rather have been the wife of Cracked McGregor ugly as he was than to +have stayed with their own husbands. I heard my mother say that to +father when they lay quarrelling in bed at night and I lay listening.” + +The boy was overcome with the thought of a woman talking to him so +frankly. He looked at her and said what was in his mind. “I don't +like the women,” he said, “but I liked you, seeing you standing in the +stairway and thinking you had been doing as you pleased. I thought maybe +you amounted to something. I don't know why you should be bothered by +what I think. I don't know why any woman should be bothered by what any +man thinks. I should think you would go right on doing what you want to +do like mother and me about my being a lawyer.” + +He sat on a log beside the road near where he had met her and watched +her go down the hill. “I'm quite a fellow to have talked to her all +afternoon like that,” he thought and pride in his growing manhood crept +over him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The town of Coal Creek was hideous. People from prosperous towns and +cities of the middle west, from Ohio, Illinois, and Iowa, going east to +New York or Philadelphia, looked out of the car windows and seeing the +poor little houses scattered along the hillside thought of books they +had read of life in hovels in the old world. In chair-cars men and women +leaned back and closed their eyes. They yawned and wished the journey +would come to an end. If they thought of the town at all they regretted +it mildly and passed it off as a necessity of modern life. + +The houses on the hillside and the stores along Main Street belonged +to the mining company. In its turn the mining company belonged to the +officials of the railroad. The manager of the mine had a brother who was +division superintendent. It was the mine manager who had stood by the +door of the mine when Cracked McGregor went to his death. He lived in a +city some thirty miles away, and went there in the evening on the train. +With him went the clerks and even the stenographers from the offices of +the mine. After five o'clock in the afternoon no white collars were to +be seen upon the streets of Coal Creek. + +In the town men lived like brutes. Dumb with toil they drank greedily in +the saloon on Main Street and went home to beat their wives. Among them +a constant low muttering went on. They felt the injustice of their lot +but could not voice it logically and when they thought of the men +who owned the mine they swore dumbly, using vile oaths even in their +thoughts. Occasionally a strike broke out and Barney Butterlips, a thin +little man with a cork leg, stood on a box and made speeches regarding +the coming brotherhood of man. Once a troop of cavalry was unloaded from +the cars and with a battery paraded the main street. The battery was +made up of several men in brown uniforms. They set up a Gatling gun at +the end of the street and the strike subsided. + +An Italian who lived in a house on the hillside cultivated a garden. +His place was the one beauty spot in the valley. With a wheelbarrow he +brought earth from the woods at the top of the hill and on Sunday he +could be seen going back and forth and whistling merrily. In the winter +he sat in his house making a drawing on a bit of paper. In the spring he +took the drawing, and by it planted his garden, utilising every inch of +his ground. When a strike came on he was told by the mine manager to go +on back to work or move out of his house. He thought of the garden and +the work he had done and went back to his routine of work in the mine. +While he worked the miners marched up the hill and destroyed the garden. +The next day the Italian also joined the striking miners. + +In a little one-room shack on the hill lived an old woman. She lived +alone and was vilely dirty. In her house she had old broken chairs and +tables picked up about town and piled in such profusion that she could +scarcely move about. On warm days she sat in the sun before the shack +chewing on a stick that had been dipped in tobacco. Miners coming up the +hill dumped bits of bread and meat-ends out of their dinner-pails into a +box nailed to a tree by the road. These the old woman collected and ate. +When the soldiers came to town she walked along the street jeering at +them. “Pretty boys! Scabs! Dudes! Dry-goods clerks!” she called after +them as she walked by the tails of their horses. A young man with +glasses on his nose, who was mounted on a grey horse turned and called +to his comrades, “Let her alone--it's old Mother Misery herself.” + +When the tall red-haired boy looked at the workers and at the old woman +who followed the soldiers he did not sympathise with them. He hated +them. In a way he sympathised with the soldiers. His blood was stirred +by the sight of them marching shoulder to shoulder. He thought there +was order and decency in the rank of uniformed men moving silently and +quickly along and he half wished they would destroy the town. When the +strikers made a wreck of the garden of the Italian he was deeply touched +and walked up and down in the room before his mother, proclaiming +himself. “I would have killed them had it been my garden,” he said. “I +would not have left one of them alive.” In his heart he like Cracked +McGregor nursed his hatred of the miners and of the town. “The place is +one to get out of,” he said. “If a man doesn't like it here let him get +up and leave.” He remembered his father working and saving for the farm +in the valley. “They thought him cracked but he knew more than they. +They would not have dared touch a garden he had planted.” + +In the heart of the miner's son strange half-formed thoughts began to +find lodgings. Remembering in his dreams at night the moving columns +of men in their uniforms he read new meaning into the scraps of history +picked up in the school and the movements of men in old history began to +have significance for him. On a summer afternoon as he loitered before +the town's hotel, beneath which was the saloon and billiard room +where the black-haired boy worked, he overheard two men talking of the +significance of men. + +One of the men was an itinerant oculist who came to the mining town once +a month to fit and sell spectacles. When the oculist had sold several +pairs of spectacles he got drunk, sometimes staying drunk for a week. +When he was drunk he spoke French and Italian and sometimes stood in the +barroom before the miners, quoting the poems of Dante. His clothes +were greasy from long wear and he had a huge nose streaked with red and +purple veins. Because of his learning in the languages and his quoting +of poems the miners thought the oculist infinitely wise. To them it +seemed that one with such a mind must have almost unearthly knowledge +concerning the eyes and the fitting of glasses and they wore with pride +the cheap ill-fitting things he thrust upon them. + +Occasionally, as though making a concession to his patrons, the oculist +spent an evening among them. Once after reciting one of the sonnets of +Shakespeare he put a hand on the bar and rocking gently back and forth +sang in a drink-broken voice a ballad beginning “The harp that once +through Tara's halls the soul of music shed.” After the song he put his +head down upon the bar and wept while the miners looked on touched with +sympathy. + +On the summer afternoon when Beaut McGregor listened, the oculist was +engaged in a violent quarrel with another man, drunk like himself. The +second man was a slender dandified fellow of middle age who sold shoes +for a Philadelphia jobbing-house. He sat in a chair tilted against the +hotel and tried to read aloud from a book. When he was fairly launched +in a long paragraph the oculist interrupted. Staggering up and down the +narrow board walk before the hotel the old drunkard raved and swore. He +seemed beside himself with wrath. + +“I am sick of such slobbering philosophy,” he declared. “Even the +reading of it makes you drool at the mouth. You do not say the words +sharply, and they can't be said sharply. I'm a strong man myself.” + +Spreading his legs wide apart and blowing up his cheeks, the oculist +beat upon his breast. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the man in +the chair. + +“You but slobber and make a foul noise,” he declared. “I know your kind. +I spit upon you. The Congress at Washington is full of such fellows as +is also the House of Commons in England. In France they were once in +charge. They ran things in France until the coming of a man such as +myself. They were lost in the shadow of the great Napoleon.” + +The oculist as though dismissing the dandified man from his mind turned +to address Beaut. He talked in French and the man in the chair fell into +a troubled sleep. “I am like Napoleon,” the drunkard declared, breaking +again into English. Tears began to show in his eyes. “I take the money +of these miners and I give them nothing. The spectacles I sell to their +wives for five dollars cost me but fifteen cents. I ride over these +brutes as Napoleon rode over Europe. There would be order and purpose in +me were I not a fool. I am like Napoleon in that I have utter contempt +for men.” + + * * * * * + +Again and again the words of the drunkard came back into the mind of +the McGregor boy influencing his thoughts. Grasping nothing of the +philosophy back of the man's words his imagination was yet touched by +the drunkard's tale of the great Frenchman, babbled into his ears, and +it in some way seemed to give point to his hatred of the disorganised +ineffectiveness of the life about him. + + * * * * * + +After Nance McGregor opened the bakery another strike came to disturb +the prosperity of the business. Again the miners walked idly through the +streets. Into the bakery they came to get bread and told Nance to write +the debt down against them. Beaut McGregor was disturbed. He saw his +father's money being spent for flour which when baked into loaves +went out of the shop under the arms of the miners who shuffled as they +walked. One night a man whose name appeared on their books followed by +a long record of charged loaves came reeling past the bakery. McGregor +went to his mother and protested. “They have money to get drunk,” he +said, “let them pay for their loaves.” + +Nance McGregor went on trusting the miners. She thought of the women and +children in the houses on the hill and when she heard of the plans of +the mining company to evict the miners from their houses she shuddered. +“I was the wife of a miner and I will stick to them,” she thought. + +One day the mine manager came into the bakery. He leaned over the +showcase and talked to Nance. The son went and stood by his mother's +side to listen. “It has got to be stopped,” the manager was saying. “I +will not see you ruin yourself for these cattle. I want you to close +this place till the strike is over. If you won't close it I will. The +building belongs to us. They did not appreciate what your husband did +and why should you ruin yourself for them?” + +The woman looked at him and answered in a low tone full of resolution. +“They thought he was crazy and he was,” she said; “but what made him +so--the rotten timbers in the mine that broke and crushed him. You and +not they are responsible for my man and what he was.” + +Beaut McGregor interrupted. “Well I think he is right,” he declared, +leaning over the counter beside his mother and looking into her face. +“The miners don't want better things for their families, they want more +money to get drunk. We will close the doors here. We will put no more +money into bread to go into their gullets. They hated father and he +hated them and now I hate them also.” + +Beaut walked around the end of the counter and went with the mine +manager to the door. He locked it and put the key into his pocket. Then +he walked to the rear of the bake shop where his mother sat on a box +weeping. “It is time a man took charge here,” he said. + +Nance McGregor and her son sat in the bakery and looked at each other. +Miners came along the street, tried the door and went away grumbling. +Word ran from lip to lip up the hillside. “The mine manager has closed +Nance McGregor's shop,” said the women leaning over back fences. +Children sprawling on the floors of the houses put up their heads and +howled. Their lives were a succession of new terrors. When a day passed +that a new terror did not shake them they went to bed happy. When the +miner and his woman stood by the door talking in low tones they cried, +expecting to be put to bed hungry. When guarded talk did not go on by +the door the miner came home drunk and beat the mother and the children +lay in beds along the wall trembling with fright. + +Late that night a party of miners came to the door of the bakery and +beat upon it with their fists. “Open up here!” they shouted. Beaut +came out of the rooms above the bakery and stood in the empty shop. His +mother sat in a chair in her room and trembled. He went to the door +and unlocking it stepped out. The miners stood in groups on the wooden +sidewalk and in the mud of the road. Among them stood the old crone who +had walked beside the horses and shouted at the soldiers. A miner with a +black beard came and stood before the boy. Waving his hand at the crowd +he said, “We have come to open the bakery. Some of us have no ovens +in our stoves. You give us the key and we will open the place. We will +break in the door if you don't want to do that. The company can't blame +you if we do it by force. You can keep account of what we take. Then +when the strike is settled we will pay you.” + +A flame shot into the eyes of the boy. He walked down the steps and +stood among the miners. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he peered +into their faces. When he spoke his voice resounded through the street, +“You jeered at my father, Cracked McGregor, when he went into the mine +for you. You laughed at him because he saved his money and did not spend +it buying you drinks. Now you come here to get bread his money bought +and you do not pay. Then you get drunk and go reeling past this very +door. Now let me tell you something.” He thrust his hands into the air +and shouted. “The mine manager did not close this place. I closed it. +You jeered at Cracked McGregor, a better man than any of you. You have +had fun with me--laughing at me. Now I jeer at you.” He ran up the steps +and unlocking the door stood in the doorway. “Pay the money you owe this +bakery and there will be bread for sale here,” he called, and went in +and locked the door. + +The miners walked off up the street. The boy stood within the bakery, +his hands trembling. “I've told them something,” he thought, “I've shown +them they can't make a fool of me.” He went up the stairway to the rooms +above. By the window his mother sat, her head in her hands, looking down +into the street. He sat in a chair and thought of the situation. “They +will be back here and smash the place like they tore up that garden,” he +said. + +The next evening Beaut sat in the darkness on the steps before the +bakery. In his hands he held a hammer. A dull hatred of the town and of +the miners burned in his brain. “I will make it hot for some of them if +they come here,” he thought. He hoped they would come. As he looked at +the hammer in his hand a phrase from the lips of the drunken old oculist +babbling of Napoleon came into his mind. He began to think that he also +must be like the figure of which the drunkard had talked. He remembered +a story the oculist had told of a fight in the streets of a European +city and muttered and waved the hammer about. Upstairs his mother sat by +the window with her head in her hands. From the saloon down the street a +light gleamed out on the wet sidewalk. The tall pale woman who had gone +with him to the eminence overlooking the valley came down the stairway +from above the undertaker's shop. She ran along the sidewalk. On her +head she wore a shawl and as she ran she clutched it with her hand. The +other hand she held against her side. + +When the women reached the boy who sat in silence before the bakery +she put her hands on his shoulders and plead with him. “Come away,” she +said. “Get your mother and come to our place. They're going to smash you +up here. You'll get hurt.” + +Beaut arose and pushed her away. Her coming had given him new courage. +His heart jumped at the thought of her interest in him and he wished +that the miners might come so that he could fight them before her. “I +wish I could live among people as decent as she,” he thought. + +A train stopped at the station down the street. There came the sound of +tramping of men and quick sharp commands. A stream of men poured out of +the saloon onto the sidewalk. Down the street came a file of soldiers +with guns swung across their shoulders. Again Beaut was thrilled by the +sight of trained orderly men moving along shoulder to shoulder. In the +presence of these men the disorganized miners seemed pitifully weak and +insignificant. The girl pulled the shawl about her head and ran up the +street to disappear into the stairway. The boy unlocked the door and +went upstairs and to bed. + +After the strike Nance McGregor who owned nothing but unpaid accounts +was unable to open the bakery. A small man with a white moustache, who +chewed tobacco, came from the mill and took the unused flour and shipped +it away. The boy and his mother continued living above the bakery store +room. Again she went in the morning to wash the windows and scrub the +floors in the offices of the mine and her red-haired son stood upon the +street or sat in the pool room and talked to the black-haired boy. +“Next week I'll be going to the city and will begin making something of +myself,” he said. When the time came to go he waited and idled in the +streets. Once when a miner jeered at him for his idleness he knocked him +into the gutter. The miners who hated him for his speech on the steps, +admired him for his strength and brute courage. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In a cellar-like house driven like a stake into the hillside above Coal +Creek lived Kate Hartnet with her son Mike. Her man had died with the +others during the fire in the mine. Her son like Beaut McGregor did not +work in the mine. He hurried through Main Street or went half running +among the trees on the hills. Miners seeing him hurrying along with +white intense face shook their heads. “He's cracked,” they said. “He'll +hurt some one yet.” + +Beaut saw Mike hurrying about the streets. Once encountering him in the +pine woods above the town he walked with him and tried to get him to +talk. In his pockets Mike carried books and pamphlets. He set traps +in the woods and brought home rabbits and squirrels. He got together +collections of birds' eggs which he sold to women in the trains that +stopped at Coal Creek and when he caught birds he stuffed them, put +beads in their eyesockets and sold them also. He proclaimed himself an +anarchist and like Cracked McGregor muttered to himself as he hurried +along. + +One day Beaut came upon Mike Hartnet reading a book as he sat on a log +overlooking the town. A shock ran through McGregor when he looked over +the shoulder of the man and saw what book he read. “It is strange,” he +thought, “that this fellow should stick to the same book that fat old +Weeks makes his living by.” + +Beaut sat on the log beside Hartnet and watched him. The reading man +looked up and nodded nervously then slid along the log to the farther +end. Beaut laughed. He looked down at the town and then at the +frightened nervous book-reading man on the log. An inspiration came to +him. + +“If you had the power, Mike, what would you do to Coal Creek?” he asked. + +The nervous man jumped and tears came into his eyes. He stood before +the log and spread out his hands. “I would go among men like Christ,” he +cried, pitching his voice forward like one addressing an audience. “Poor +and humble, I would go teaching them of love.” Spreading out his hands +like one pronouncing a benediction he shouted, “Oh men of Coal Creek, I +would teach you love and the destruction of evil.” + +Beaut jumped up from the log and strode before the trembling figure. He +was strangely moved. Grasping the man he thrust him back upon the log. +His own voice rolled down the hillside in a great roaring laugh. “Men of +Coal Creek,” he shouted, mimicking the earnestness of Hartnet, “listen +to the voice of McGregor. I hate you. I hate you because you jeered at +my father and at me and because you cheated my mother, Nance McGregor. I +hate you because you are weak and disorganised like cattle. I would like +to come among you teaching the power of force. I would like to slay you +one by one, not with weapons but with my naked fists. If they have made +you work like rats buried in a hole they are right. It is man's right to +do what he can. Get up and fight. Fight and I'll get on the other side +and you can fight me. I'll help drive you back into your holes.” + +Beaut ceased speaking and jumping over the logs ran down the road. Among +the first of the miner's houses he stopped and laughed awkwardly. “I +am cracked also,” he thought, “shouting at emptiness on a hillside.” + He went on in a reflective mood, wondering what power had taken hold of +him. “I would like a fight--a fight against odds,” he thought. “I will +stir things up when I am a lawyer in the city.” + +Mike Hartnet came running down the road at the heels of McGregor. “Don't +tell,” he plead trembling. “Don't tell about me in the town. They will +laugh and call names after me. I want to be let alone.” + +Beaut shook himself loose from the detaining hand and went on down the +hill. When he had passed out of sight of Hartnet he sat down on the +ground. For an hour he looked at the town in the valley and thought of +himself. He was half proud, half ashamed of the thing that had happened. + + * * * * * + +In the blue eyes of McGregor anger flashed quick and sudden. Upon +the streets of Coal Creek he walked, swinging along, his great body +inspiring fear. His mother grown grave and silent worked in the offices +of the mines. Again she had a habit of silence in her own home and +looked at her son, half fearing him. All day she worked in the mine +offices and in the evening sat silently in a chair on the porch before +her house and looked down into Main Street. + +Beaut McGregor did nothing. He sat in the dingy little pool room and +talked with the black-haired boy or walked over the hills swinging a +stick in his hand and thinking of the city to which he would presently +go to start his career. As he walked in the streets women stopped to +look at him, thinking of the beauty and strength of his maturing body. +The miners passed him in silence hating him and dreading his wrath. +Walking among the hills he thought much of himself. “I am capable of +anything,” he thought, lifting his head and looking at the towering +hills, “I wonder why I stay on here.” + +When he was eighteen Beaut's mother fell ill. All day she lay on her +back in bed in the room above the empty bakery. Beaut shook himself out +of his waking stupor and went about seeking work. He had not felt that +he was indolent. He had been waiting. Now he bestirred himself. “I'll +not go into the mines,” he said, “nothing shall get me down there.” + +He got work in a livery stable cleaning and feeding the horses. His +mother got out of bed and began going again to the mine offices. Having +started to work Beaut stayed on, thinking it but a way station to the +position he would one day achieve in the city. + +In the stable worked two young boys, sons of coal miners. They drove +travelling men from the trains to farming towns in valleys back among +the hills and in the evening with Beaut McGregor they sat on a bench +before the barn and shouted at people going past the stable up the hill. + +The livery stable in Coal Creek was owned by a hunchback named Weller +who lived in the city and went home at night. During the day he sat +about the stable talking to red-haired McGregor. “You're a big beast,” + he said laughing. “You talk about going away to the city and making +something of yourself and still you stay on here doing nothing. You want +to quit this talking about being a lawyer and become a prize fighter. +Law is a place for brains not muscles.” He walked through the stables +leaning his head to one side and looking up at the big fellow who +brushed the horses. McGregor watched him and grinned. “I'll show you,” + he said. + +The hunchback was pleased when he strutted before McGregor. He had heard +men talk of the strength and the evil temper of his stableman and it +pleased him to have so fierce a fellow cleaning the horses. At night in +the city he sat under the lamp with his wife and boasted. “I make him +step about,” he said. + +In the stable the hunchback kept at the heels of McGregor. “And there's +something else,” he said, putting his hand in his pockets and raising +himself on his toes. “You look out for that undertaker's daughter. She +wants you. If she gets you there will be no law study but a place in the +mines for you. You let her alone and begin taking care of your mother.” + +Beaut went on cleaning the horses and thinking of what the hunchback had +said. He thought there was sense to it. He also was afraid of the tall +pale girl. Sometimes when he looked at her a pain shot through him and +a combination of fear and desire gripped him. He walked away from it +and went free as he went free from the life in the darkness down in the +mine. “He has a kind of genius for keeping away from the things he don't +like,” said the liveryman, talking to Uncle Charlie Wheeler in the sun +before the door of the post office. + +One afternoon the two boys who worked in the livery stable with McGregor +got him drunk. The affair was a rude joke, elaborately planned. The +hunchback had stayed in the city for the day and no travelling men got +off the trains to be driven over the hills. In the afternoon hay brought +over the hill from the fruitful valley was being put into the loft of +the barn and between loads McGregor and the two boys sat on the bench by +the stable door. The two boys went to the saloon and brought back beer, +paying for it from a fund kept for that purpose. The fund was the result +of a system worked out by the two drivers. When a passenger gave one +of them a coin at the end of a day of driving he put it into the common +fund. When the fund had grown to some size the two went to the saloon +and stood before the bar drinking until it was spent and then came back +to sleep off their stupor on the hay in the barn. After a prosperous +week the hunchback occasionally gave them a dollar for the fund. + +Of the beer McGregor drank but one foaming glass. For all his idling +about Coal Creek he had never before tasted beer and it was strong and +bitter in his mouth. He threw up his head and gulped it then turned and +walked toward the rear of the stable to conceal the tears that the taste +of the stuff had forced into his eyes. + +The two drivers sat on the bench and laughed. The drink they had given +Beaut was a horrible mess concocted by the laughing bartender at their +suggestion. “We will get the big fellow drunk and hear him roar,” the +bartender had said. + +As he walked toward the back of the stable a convulsive nausea seized +Beaut. He stumbled and pitched forward, cutting his face on the floor. +Then he rolled over on his back and groaned and a little stream of blood +ran down his cheek. + +The two boys jumped up from the bench and ran toward him. They stood +looking at his pale lips. Fear seized them. They tried to lift him but +he fell from their arms and lay again on the stable floor, white and +motionless. Filled with fright they ran from the stable and through Main +Street. “We must get a doctor,” they said as they hurried along, “He is +mighty sick--that fellow.” + +In the doorway leading to the rooms over the undertaker's shop stood the +tall pale girl. One of the running boys stopped and addressed her, “Your +red-head,” he shouted, “is blind drunk lying on the stable floor. He has +cut his head and is bleeding.” + +The tall girl ran down the street to the offices of the mine. With Nance +McGregor she hurried to the stable. The store keepers along Main Street +looked out of their doors and saw the two women pale and with set faces +half-carrying the huge form of Beaut McGregor along the street and in at +the door of the bakery. + + * * * * * + +At eight o'clock that evening Beaut McGregor, his legs still unsteady, +his face white, climbed aboard a passenger train and passed out of +the life of Coal Creek. On the seat beside him a bag contained all his +clothes. In his pocket lay a ticket to Chicago and eighty-five dollars, +the last of Cracked McGregor's savings. He looked out of the car window +at the little woman thin and worn standing alone on the station platform +and a great wave of anger passed through him. “I'll show them,” he +muttered. The woman looked at him and forced a smile to her lips. The +train began to move into the west. Beaut looked at his mother and at the +deserted streets of Coal Creek and put his head down upon his hands and +in the crowded car before the gaping people wept with joy that he had +seen the last of youth. He looked back at Coal Creek, full of hate. Like +Nero he might have wished that all of the people of the town had but one +head so that he might have cut it off with a sweep of a sword or knocked +it into the gutter with one swinging blow. + + + + + +BOOK II + + + +CHAPTER I + + +It was late in the summer of 1893 when McGregor came to Chicago, an ill +time for boy or man in that city. The big exposition of the year before +had brought multiplied thousands of restless labourers into the city +and its leading citizens, who had clamoured for the exposition and had +loudly talked of the great growth that was to come, did not know what to +do with the growth now that it had come. The depression that followed +on the heels of the great show and the financial panic that ran over the +country in that year had set thousands of hungry men to wait dumbly on +park benches poring over want advertisements in the daily papers and +looking vacantly at the lake or had driven them to tramp aimlessly +through the streets, filled with forebodings. + +In time of plenty a great American city like Chicago goes on showing a +more or less cheerful face to the world while in nooks and crannies +down side-streets and alleys poverty and misery sit hunched up in little +ill-smelling rooms breeding vice. In times of depression these creatures +crawl forth and joined by thousands of the unemployed tramp the streets +through the long nights or sleep upon benches in the parks. In the +alleyways off Madison Street on the West Side and off State Street, +on the South Side, eager women driven by want sold their bodies to +passersby for twenty-five cents. An advertisement in the newspapers of +one unfilled job brought a thousand men to block the streets at daylight +before a factory door. In the crowds men swore and knocked each other +about. Working-men driven to desperation went forth into quiet streets +and knocking over citizens took their money and watches and ran +trembling into the darkness. A girl of Twenty-fourth Street was kicked +and knocked into the gutter because when attacked by thieves she had but +thirty-five cents in her purse. A professor of the University of Chicago +addressing his class said that, having looked into the hungry distorted +faces of five hundred men clamouring for a position as dishwasher in +a cheap restaurant, he was ready to pronounce all claims to social +advancement in America a figment in the brains of optimistic fools. +A tall awkward man walking up State Street threw a stone through the +window of a store. A policeman hustled him through the crowd. “You'll +get a workhouse sentence for this,” he said. + +“You fool that's what I want. I want to make property that won't employ +me feed me,” said the tall gaunt man who, trained in the cleaner and +more wholesome poverty of the frontier, might have been a Lincoln +suffering for mankind. + +Into this maelstrom of misery and grim desperate want walked Beaut +McGregor of Coal Creek--huge, graceless of body, indolent of mind, +untrained, uneducated, hating the world. Within two days he had snatched +before the very eyes of that hungry marching army three prizes, three +places where a man might by working all day get clothes to wear upon his +back and food to put into his stomach. + +In a way McGregor had already sensed something the realisation of which +will go far toward making any man a strong figure in the world. He was +not to be bullied with words. Orators might have preached to him all day +about the progress of mankind in America, flags might have been flapped +and newspapers might have dinned the wonders of his country into his +brain. He would only have shaken his big head. He did not yet know +the whole story of how men, coming out of Europe and given millions of +square miles of black fertile land mines and forests, have failed in the +challenge given them by fate and have produced out of the stately order +of nature only the sordid disorder of man. McGregor did not know the +fullness of the tragic story of his race. He only knew that the men he +had seen were for the most part pigmies. On the train coming to Chicago +a change had come over him. The hatred of Coal Creek that burned in him +had set fire to something else. He sat looking out of the car window at +the stations running past during the night and the following day at +the cornfields of Indiana, making his plans. In Chicago he meant to do +something. Coming from a community where no man arose above a condition +of silent brute labour he meant to step up into the light of power. +Filled with hatred and contempt of mankind he meant that mankind should +serve him. Raised among men who were but men he meant to be a master. + +And his equipment was better than he knew. In a disorderly haphazard +world hatred is as effective an impulse to drive men forward to success +as love and high hope. It is a world-old impulse sleeping in the heart +of man since the day of Cain. In a way it rings true and strong above +the hideous jangle of modern life. Inspiring fear it usurps power. + +McGregor was without fear. He had not yet met his master and looked with +contempt upon the men and women he had known. Without knowing it he had, +besides a huge body hard as adamant, a clear and lucid brain. The fact +that he hated Coal Creek and thought it horrible proved his keenness. It +was horrible. Well might Chicago have trembled and rich men strolling in +the evening along Michigan Boulevard have looked fearfully about as this +huge red fellow, carrying the cheap handbag and staring with his blue +eyes at the restless moving mobs of people, walked for the first time +through its streets. In his very frame there was the possibility of +something, a blow, a shock, a thrust out of the lean soul of strength +into the jelly-like fleshiness of weakness. + +In the world of men nothing is so rare as a knowledge of men. Christ +himself found the merchants hawking their wares even on the floor of +the temple and in his naive youth was stirred to wrath and drove them +through the door like flies. And history has represented him in turn +as a man of peace so that after these centuries the temples are +again supported by the hawking of wares and his fine boyish wrath is +forgotten. In France after the great revolution and the babbling of many +voices talking of the brotherhood of man it wanted but a short and very +determined man with an instinctive knowledge of drums, of cannons and of +stirring words to send the same babblers screaming across open spaces, +stumbling through ditches and pitching headlong into the arms of death. +In the interest of one who believed not at all in the brotherhood of man +they who had wept at the mention of the word brotherhood died fighting +brothers. + +In the heart of all men lies sleeping the love of order. How to achieve +order out of our strange jumble of forms, out of democracies and +monarchies, dreams and endeavours is the riddle of the Universe and the +thing that in the artist is called the passion for form and for which +he also will laugh in the face of death is in all men. By grasping that +fact Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon and our own Grant have made heroes +of the dullest clods that walk and not a man of all the thousands who +marched with Sherman to the sea but lived the rest of his life with a +something sweeter, braver and finer sleeping in his soul than will ever +be produced by the reformer scolding of brotherhood from a soap-box. The +long march, the burning of the throat and the stinging of the dust in +the nostrils, the touch of shoulder against shoulder, the quick bond of +a common, unquestioned, instinctive passion that bursts in the orgasm +of battle, the forgetting of words and the doing of the thing, be it +winning battles or destroying ugliness, the passionate massing of men +for accomplishment--these are the signs, if they ever awake in our land, +by which you may know you have come to the days of the making of men. + +In Chicago in 1893 and in the men who went aimlessly seeking work in the +streets of Chicago in that year there were none of these signs. Like +the coal mining town from which Beaut McGregor had come, the city lay +sprawling and ineffective before him, a tawdry disorderly dwelling for +millions of men, built not for the making of men but for the making of +millions by a few odd meat-packers and drygoods merchants. + +With a slight lifting of his great shoulders McGregor sensed these +things although he could not have expressed his sense of them and the +hatred and contempt of men, born of his youth in the mining town, was +rekindled by the sight of city men wandering afraid and bewildered +through the streets of their own city. + +Knowing nothing of the customs of the unemployed McGregor did not walk +the streets looking for signs marked “Men Wanted.” He did not sit on +park benches studying want advertisements, the want advertisements that +so often proved but bait put out by suave men up dirty stairways to +glean the last few pennies from pockets of the needy. Going along the +street he swung his great body through the doorways leading to the +offices of factories. When some pert young man tried to stop him he +did not say words but drew back his fist threateningly and, glowering, +walked in. The young men at the doors of factories looked at his blue +eyes and let him pass unchallenged. + +In the afternoon of his first day of seeking Beaut got a place in an +apple warehouse on the North Side, the third place offered him during +the day and the one that he accepted. The chance came to him through an +exhibition of strength. Two men, old and bent, struggled to get a barrel +of apples from the sidewalk up to a platform that ran waist high along +the front of the warehouse. The barrel had rolled to the sidewalk from +a truck standing in the gutter. The driver of the truck stood with his +hands on his hips, laughing. A German with blond hair stood upon the +platform swearing in broken English. McGregor stood upon the sidewalk +and looked at the two men who were struggling with the barrel. A feeling +of immense contempt for their feebleness shone in his eyes. Pushing them +aside he grasped the barrel and with a great heave sent it up onto the +platform and spinning through an open doorway into the receiving room of +the warehouse. The two workmen stood on the sidewalk smiling sheepishly. +Across the street a group of city firemen who lounged in the sun +before an engine house clapped their hands. The truck driver turned and +prepared to send another barrel along the plank extending from the truck +across the sidewalk to the warehouse platform. At a window in the upper +part of the warehouse a grey head protruded and a sharp voice called +down to the tall German. “Hey Frank, hire that 'husky' and let about six +of the dead ones you've got around here go home.” + +McGregor jumped upon the platform and walked in at the warehouse door. +The German followed, inventorying the size of the red-haired giant +with something like disapproval. His look seemed to say, “I like strong +fellows but you're too strong.” He took the discomfiture of the two +feeble workmen on the sidewalk as in some way reflecting upon himself. +The two men stood in the receiving room and looked at each other. A +bystander might have thought them preparing to fight. + +And then a freight elevator came slowly down from the upper part of the +warehouse and from it jumped a small grey-haired man with a yard stick +in his hand. He had a sharp restless eye and a short stubby grey beard. +Striking the floor with a bound he began to talk. “We pay two dollars +for nine hours' work here--begin at seven, quit at five. Will you come?” + Without waiting for an answer he turned to the German. “Tell those two +old 'rummies' to get their time and get out of here,” he said, turning +again and looking expectantly at McGregor. + +McGregor liked the quick little man and grinned with approval of his +decisiveness. He nodded his assent to the proposal and, looking at the +German, laughed. The little man disappeared through a door leading to +an office and McGregor walked out into the street. At a corner he turned +and saw the German standing on the platform before the warehouse looking +after him. “He is wondering whether or not he can whip me,” thought +McGregor. + + * * * * * + +In the apple warehouse McGregor worked for three years, rising during +his second year to be foreman and replacing the tall German. The German +expected trouble with McGregor and was determined to make short work +of him. He had been offended by the action of the gray-haired +superintendent in hiring the man and felt that a prerogative belonging +to himself had been ignored. All day he followed McGregor with his eyes, +trying to calculate the strength and courage in the huge body. He knew +that hundreds of hungry men walked the streets and in the end decided +that the need of work if not the spirit of the man would make him +submissive. During the second week he put the question that burned in +his brain to the test. He followed McGregor into a dimly-lighted upper +room where barrels of apples, piled to the ceiling, left only narrow +ways for passage. Standing in the semi-darkness he shouted, calling the +man who worked among the apple barrels a foul name, “I won't have you +loafing in there, you red-haired bastard,” he shouted. + +McGregor said nothing. He was not offended by the vileness of the name +the German had called him and took it merely as a challenge that he had +been expecting and that he meant to accept. With a grim smile on his +lips he walked toward the German and when but one apple barrel lay +between them reached across and dragged the foreman sputtering and +swearing down the passageway to a window at the end of the room. By the +window he stopped and putting his hand to the throat of the struggling +man began to choke him into submission. Blows fell on his face and body. +Struggling terribly the German kicked McGregor's legs with desperate +energy. Although his ears rang with the hammer-like blows that fell +about his neck and cheeks McGregor stool silent under the storm. His +blue eyes gleamed with hatred and the muscles of his great arms danced +in the light from the window. As he looked into the protruding eyes of +the writhing German he thought of fat Reverend Minot Weeks of Coal +Creek and added an extra twitch to the flesh between his fingers. When a +gesture of submission came from the man against the wall he stepped back +and let go his grip. The German dropped to the floor. Standing over +him McGregor delivered his ultimatum. “You report this or try to get me +fired and I'll kill you outright,” he said. “I'm going to stay here on +this job until I get ready to leave it. You can tell me what to do +and how to do it but when you speak to me again say 'McGregor'--Mr. +McGregor, that's my name.” + +The German got to his feet and began walking down the passageway between +the rows of piled barrels. As he went he helped himself along with his +hands. McGregor went back to work. After the retreating form of the +German he shouted, “Get a new place when you can Dutch, I'll be taking +this job away from you when I'm ready for it.” + +That evening as McGregor walked to the car he saw the little grey-haired +superintendent standing waiting for him before a saloon. The man made a +sign and McGregor walked across and stood beside him. They went together +into the saloon and stood leaning against the bar and looked at each +other. A smile played about the lips of the little man. “What have you +been doing to Frank?” he asked. + +McGregor turned to the bartender who stood waiting before him. He +thought that the superintendent intended to try to patronise him by +buying him a drink and he did not like the thought. “What will you +have? I'll take a cigar for mine,” he said quickly, defeating the +superintendent's plan by being the first to speak. When the bartender +brought the cigars McGregor paid for them and walked out at the door. +He felt like one playing a game. “If Frank meant to bully me into +submission this man also means something.” + +On the sidewalk before the saloon McGregor stopped. “Look here,” he +said, turning and facing the superintendent, “I'm after Frank's place. +I'm going to learn the business as fast as I can. I won't put it up to +you to fire him. When I get ready for the place he won't be there.” + +A light flashed into the eyes of the little man. He held the cigar +McGregor had paid for as though about to throw it into the street. “How +far do you think you can go with your big fists?” he asked, his voice +rising. + +McGregor smiled. He thought he had earned another victory and lighting +his cigar held the burning match before the little man. “Brains are +intended to help fists,” he said, “I've got both.” + +The superintendent looked at the burning match and at the cigar between +his fingers. “If I don't which will you use on me?” he asked. + +McGregor threw the match into the street. “Aw! don't bother asking,” he +said, holding out another match. + +McGregor and the superintendent walked along the street. “I would like +to fire you but I won't. Some day you'll run that warehouse like a +clock,” said the superintendent. + +McGregor sat in the street-car and thought of his day. It had been he +felt a day of two battles. First the direct brutal battle of fists in +the passageway and then this other battle with the superintendent. He +thought he had won both fights. Of the fight with the tall German he +thought little. He had expected to win that. The other was different. +The superintendent he felt had wanted to patronise him, patting him +on the back and buying him drinks. Instead he had patronised the +superintendent. A battle had gone on in the brains of the two men and he +had won. He had met a new kind of man, one who did not live by the raw +strength of his muscles and he had given a good account of himself. The +conviction that he had, besides a good pair of fists, a good brain +swept in on him glorifying him. He thought of the sentence, “Brains are +intended to help fists,” and wondered how he had happened to think of +it. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The street in which McGregor lived in Chicago was called Wycliff Place, +after a family of that name that had once owned the land thereabout. The +street was complete in its hideousness. Nothing more unlovely could +be imagined. Given a free hand an indiscriminate lot of badly trained +carpenters and bricklayers had builded houses beside the cobblestone +road that touched the fantastic in their unsightliness and +inconvenience. + +The great west side of Chicago has hundreds of such streets and the coal +mining town out of which McGregor had come was more inspiring as a place +in which to live. As an unemployed young man, not much given to chance +companionships, Beaut had spent many long evenings wandering alone +on the hillsides above his home town. There was a kind of dreadful +loveliness about the place at night. The long black valley with +its dense shroud of smoke that rose and fell and formed itself into +fantastic shapes in the moonlight, the poor little houses clinging to +the hillside, the occasional cry of a woman being beaten by a drunken +husband, the glare of the coke fires and the rumble of coal cars being +pushed along the railroad tracks, all of these made a grim and rather +inspiring impression on the young man's mind so that although he hated +the mines and the miners he sometimes paused in his night wanderings +and stood with his great shoulders lifted, breathing deeply and feeling +things he had no words in him to express. + +In Wycliff Place McGregor got no such reactions. Foul dust filled the +air. All day the street rumbled and roared under the wheels of trucks +and light hurrying delivery wagons. Soot from the factory chimneys was +caught up by the wind and having been mixed with powdered horse manure +from the roadway flew into the eyes and the nostrils of pedestrians. +Always a babble of voices went on. At a corner saloon teamsters stopped +to have their drinking cans filled with beer and stood about swearing +and shouting. In the evening women and children went back and forth from +their houses carrying beer in pitchers from the same saloon. Dogs howled +and fought, drunken men reeled along the sidewalk and the women of the +town appeared in their cheap finery and paraded before the idlers about +the saloon door. + +The woman who rented the room to McGregor boasted to him of Wycliff +blood. It was that she told him that had brought her to Chicago from her +home at Cairo, Illinois. “The place was left to me and not knowing what +else to do with it I came here to live,” she said. She explained to +him that the Wycliffs had been people of note in the early history of +Chicago. The huge old house with the cracked stone steps and the ROOMS +TO RENT sign in the window had once been their family seat. + +The history of this woman was characteristic of the miss-fire quality of +much of American life. She was at bottom a wholesome creature who should +have lived in a neat frame house in a village and tended a garden. On +Sunday she should have dressed herself with care and gone off to sit in +a country church with her hands crossed and her soul at rest. + +The thought of owning a house in the city had however paralysed her +brain. The house itself was worth a certain number of thousands of +dollars and her mind could not rise above that fact, so her good broad +face had become grimy with city dirt and her body weary from the endless +toil of caring for roomers. On summer evenings she sat on the steps +before her house clad in some bit of Wycliff finery taken from a trunk +in the attic and when a lodger came out at the door she looked at him +wistfully and said, “On such a night as this you could hear the whistles +on the river steamers in Cairo.” + +McGregor lived in a small room at the end of a tall on the second floor +of the Wycliff house. The windows of the room looked down into a +dirty little court almost surrounded by brick warehouses. The room was +furnished with a bed, a chair that was always threatening to come to +pieces and a desk with weak carved legs. + +In this room sat McGregor night after night striving to realise his Coal +Creek dream of training his mind and making himself of some account in +the world. From seven-thirty until nine-thirty he sat at a desk in a +night school. From ten until midnight he read in his room. He did not +think of his surroundings, of the vast disorder of life about him, but +tried with all his strength to bring something like order and purpose +into his own mind and his own life. + +In the little court under the window lay heaps of discarded newspaper +tossed about by the wind. There in the heart of the city, walled in by +the brick warehouse and half concealed under piles of chair legs cans +and broken bottles, lay two logs in their time no doubt, a part of the +grove that once lay about the house. The neighbourhood had passed so +rapidly from country estate to homes and from homes to rented lodgings +and huge brick warehouses that the marks of the lumberman's axe still +showed in the butts of the logs. + +McGregor seldom saw the little court except when its ugliness was +refined and glossed over by darkness or by the moonlight. On hot +evenings he laid down his book and leaning far out of the window rubbed +his eyes and watched the discarded newspapers, worried by the whirlpools +of wind in the court, run here and there, dashing against the warehouse +walls and vainly trying to escape over the roof. The sight fascinated +him and brought a thought into his mind. He began to think that the +lives of most of the people about him were much like the dirty newspaper +harried by adverse winds and surrounded by ugly walls of facts. The +thought drove him from the window to renewed effort among his books. +“I'll do something here anyway. I'll show them,” he growled. + +One living in the house with McGregor during those first years in the +city might have thought his life stupid and commonplace but to him +it did not seem so. It was for the miner's son a time of sudden and +tremendous growth. Filled with confidence in the strength and quickness +of his body he was beginning to have also confidence in the vigour and +clearness of his brain. In the warehouse he went about with eyes and +ears open, devising in his mind new methods of moving goods, watching +the men at work, marking the shirkers, preparing to pounce upon the tall +German's place as foreman. + +The superintendent of the warehouse, not understanding the turn of the +talk with McGregor on the sidewalk before the saloon, decided to +like him and laughed when they met in the warehouse. The tall German +maintained a policy of sullen silence and went to laborious lengths to +avoid addressing him. + +In his room at night McGregor began to read law, reading each page over +and over and thinking of what he had read through the next day as he +rolled and piled apple barrels in the passages in the warehouse. + +McGregor had an aptitude and an appetite for facts. He read law as +another and gentler nature might have read poetry or old legends. What +he read at night he remembered and thought about during the day. He had +no dream of the glories of the law. The fact that these rules laid down +by men to govern their social organisation were the result of ages of +striving toward perfection did not greatly interest him and he only +thought of them as weapons with which to attack and defend in the battle +of brains he meant presently to fight. His mind gloated in anticipation +of the battle. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +And then a new element asserted itself in the life of McGregor. One +of the hundreds of disintegrating forces that attack strong natures, +striving to scatter their force in the back currents of life, attacked +him. His big body began to feel with enervating persistency the call of +sex. + +In the house in Wycliff Place McGregor passed as a mystery. By keeping +silence he won a reputation for wisdom. The clerks in the hall bedrooms +thought him a scientist. The woman from Cairo thought him a theological +student. Down the hall a pretty girl with large black eyes who worked +in a department store down town dreamed of him at night. When in the +evening he banged the door to his room and strode down the hallway going +to the night school she sat in a chair by the open door of her room. As +he passed she raised her eyes and looked at him boldly. When he returned +she was again by the door and again she looked boldly at him. + +In his room, after the meetings with the black-eyed girl McGregor found +difficulty in keeping his mind on the reading. He felt as he had felt +with the pale girl on the hillside beyond Coal Creek. With her as with +the pale girl he felt the need of defending himself. He began to make it +a practice to hurry along past her door. + +The girl in the hall bedroom thought constantly of McGregor. When he had +gone to night school another young man of the house who wore a Panama +hat came from the floor above and, putting his hands on the door frames +of her room, stood looking at her and talking. In his lips he held +a cigarette, which when he talked hung limply from the corner of his +mouth. + +This young man and the black-eyed girl kept up a continuous stream of +comments on the doings of red-haired McGregor. Begun by the young man, +who hated him because of his silence, the subject was kept alive by the +girl who wanted to talk of McGregor. + +On Saturday nights the young man and the girl sometimes went together to +the theatre. One night in the summer when they had returned to the +front of the house the girl stopped. “Let's see what the big red-head is +doing,” she said. + +Going around the block they stole in the darkness down an alleyway and +stood in the little dirty court looking up at McGregor who, with his +feet in the window and a lamp burning at his shoulder, sat in his room +reading. + +When they returned to the front of the house the black-eyed girl kissed +the young man, closing her eyes and thinking of McGregor. In her room +later she lay abed dreaming. She imagined herself assaulted by the young +man who had crept into her room and that McGregor had come roaring down +the hall to snatch him away and fling him outside the door. + +At the end of the hallway near the stairway leading to the street lived +a barber. He had deserted a wife and four children in a town in Ohio +and to prevent recognition had grown a black beard. Between this man and +McGregor a companionship had sprung up and they went together on Sunday +mornings to walk in the park. The black bearded man called himself Frank +Turner. + +Frank Turner had a passion. Through the evenings and on Sunday +afternoons he sat in his room making violins. He worked with a knife, +glue, pieces of glass and sand paper and spent his earnings for +ingredients for the making of varnishes. When he got hold of a piece of +wood that seemed an answer to his prayers he took it to McGregor's +room and holding it up to the light talked of what he would do with it. +Sometimes he brought a violin and sitting in the open window tested the +quality of its tone. One evening he took an hour of McGregor's time to +talk of the varnish of Cremona and to read to him from a worn little +book concerning the old Italian masters of violin making. + + * * * * * + +On a bench in the park sat Turner, the maker of violins, the man +who dreamed of the rediscovery of the varnish of Cremona, talking to +McGregor, son of the Pennsylvania miner. + +It was a Sunday afternoon and the park was vibrant with life. All day +the street cars had been unloading Chicagoans at the park entrance. +They came in pairs and in parties, young men with their sweethearts and +fathers with families at their heels. Now at the end of the day they +continued to come, a steady stream of humanity flowing along the gravel +walk past the bench where the two men sat in talk. Through the stream +and crossing it went another stream homeward bound. Babies cried. +Fathers called to the children at play on the grass. Cars coming to the +park filled went away filled. + +McGregor looked about him and thought of himself and of the restless +moving people. In him there was none of that vague fear of the multitude +common to many solitary souls. His contempt of men and of the lives +lived by men reinforced his native boldness. The odd little rounding of +the shoulders of even the athletic young men made him straighten with +pride his own shoulders and fat and lean, tall and short, he thought of +all men as counters in some vast games at which he was presently to be a +master player. + +The passion for form, that strange intuitive power that many men have +felt and none but the masters of human life have understood, had begun +to awaken in him. Already he had begun to sense out the fact that for +him law was but an incident in some vast design and he was altogether +untouched by the desire for getting on in the world, by the greedy +little snatching at trifles that was the whole purpose of the lives of +so many of the people about him. When somewhere in the park a band began +to play he nodded his head up and down and ran his hand nervously up and +down the legs of his trousers. Into his mind came the desire to boast +to the barber, telling of the things he meant to do in the world, but +he put the desire away. Instead he sat silently blinking his eyes and +wondering at the persistent air of ineffectiveness in the people who +passed. When a band went by playing march music and followed by +some fifty men wearing white plumes in their hats and walking with +self-conscious awkwardness, he was startled. Among the people he thought +there was a change. Something like a running shadow passed over them. +The babbling of voices ceased and like himself the people began to nod +their heads. A thought, gigantic in its simplicity, began to come +into his mind but was wiped out immediately by his impatience with the +marchers. A madness to spring up and run among them knocking them about +and making them march with the power that comes of abandonment almost +lifted him from the bench. His mouth twitched and his fingers ached for +action. + + * * * * * + +In and out among the trees and on the green spaces moved the people. +Along the shores of a pond sat men and women eating the evening meal +from baskets or from white cloths spread on the grass. They laughed and +shouted at each other and at the children, calling them back from the +gravel driveways filled with moving carriages. Beaut saw a girl throw an +egg shell and hit a young fellow between the eyes, and then run laughing +away along the shore of the pond. Under a tree a woman nursed a babe, +covering her breasts with a shawl so that just the black head of the +babe showed. Its tiny hand clutched at the mouth of the woman. In an +open space in the shadow of a building young men played baseball, the +shouts of the spectators rising above the murmur of the voices of people +on the gravel walk. + +A thought came into McGregor's mind that he wanted to discuss with the +older man. He was moved by the sight of women about and shook himself +like one awakening from a dream. Then he began looking at the ground and +kicking up the gravel with his foot. “Look here,” he said, turning to +the barber, “what is a man to do about women, about getting what he +wants from the women?” + +The barber seemed to understand. “It has come to that then?” he asked +and looked quickly up. He lighted a pipe and sat looking at the people. +It was then he told McGregor of the wife and four children in the Ohio +town, describing the little brick house and the garden and the coop +for chickens at the back like one who lingers over a place dear to his +fancy. Something old and weary was in his voice as he finished. + +“It wasn't a matter for me to decide,” he said. “I came away because +I couldn't do anything else. I'm not excusing myself, I'm just telling +you. There was something messy and disorderly about it all, about my +life with her and with them. I couldn't stand it. I felt myself being +submerged by something. I wanted to be orderly and to work, you see. +I couldn't let violin making alone. Lord, how I tried--tried bluffing +myself about it--calling it a fad.” + +The barber looked nervously at McGregor to reassure himself of his +interest. “I owned a shop on the main street of our town. Back of it +was a blacksmith shop. During the day I stood by the chair in my shop +talking to men being shaved about the love of women and a man's duty to +his family. Summer afternoons I went and sat on a keg in the blacksmith +shop and talked of the same thing with the smith but all that did me no +good. + +“When I let myself go I dreamed not of my duty to my family but of +working undisturbed as I do now here in the city in my room in the +evenings and on Sundays.” + +A sharpness came into the voice of the speaker. He turned to McGregor +and talked vigorously like one making a defence. “My woman was a good +enough sort,” he said. “I suppose loving is an art like writing a book +or drawing pictures or making violins. People try to do it and don't +succeed. In the end we threw the job up and just lived together like +most people do. Our lives got mussy and meaningless. That's how it was. + +“Before she married me my wife had been a stenographer in a factory that +made tin cans. She liked that work. She could make her fingers dance +along the keys. When she read a book at home she didn't think the writer +amounted to much if he made mistakes about punctuation. Her boss was so +proud of her that he would brag of her work to visitors and sometimes +would go off fishing leaving the running of the business in her hands. + +“I don't know why she married me. She was happier there and she is +happier back there now. We got to walking together on Sunday evenings +and standing under the trees on side streets, kissing and looking at +each other. We talked about a lot of things. We seemed to need each +other. Then we got married and started living together. + +“It didn't work out. After we had been married a few years things +changed. I don't know why. I thought I was the same as I had been and I +think she was. We used to sit around quarrelling about it, each blaming +the other. Anyway we didn't get along. + +“We would sit on the little front porch of our house in the evening, she +bragging of the work she had done in the can factory and I dreaming of +quietude and a chance to work on the violins. I thought I knew a way +to increase the quality and beauty of tone and I had that idea about +varnish I have talked to you about. I even dreamed of doing things those +old fellows of Cremona didn't do. + +“When she had been talking of her work in the office for maybe a half +hour she would look up and find that I hadn't been listening. We would +quarrel. We even quarrelled before the children after they came. Once +she said that she didn't see how it would matter if no violins had ever +been made and that night I dreamed of choking her in bed. I woke up +and lay there beside her thinking of it with something like real +satisfaction in just the thought that one long hard grip of my fingers +would get her out of my way for good. + +“We didn't always feel that way. Every little while a change would come +over both of us and we would begin to take an interest in each other. I +would be proud of the work she had done in the factory and would brag of +it to men coming into the shop. In the evening she would be sympathetic +about the violins and put the baby to bed to let me alone at my work in +the kitchen. + +“Then we would begin to sit in the darkness in the house and hold each +other's hands. We would forgive things that had been said and play a +sort of game, chasing each other about the room in the darkness and +knocking against the chairs and laughing. Then we would begin to look at +each other and kiss. Presently there would be another baby.” + +The barber threw up his hands with a gesture of impatience. His voice +lost its softer, reminiscent quality. “Such times didn't last,” he said. +“On the whole it was no life to live. I came away. The children are in +a state institution and she has gone back to her work in the office. The +town hates me. They have made a heroine of her. I'm here talking to you +with these whiskers on my face so that people from my town wouldn't +know me if they came along. I'm a barber and I would shave them off fast +enough if it wasn't for that.” + +A woman walking past looked back at McGregor. In her eyes lurked +an invitation. It reminded him of something in the eyes of the pale +daughter of the undertaker of Coal Creek. An uneasy tremor ran through +him. “What do you do about women now?” he asked. + +The voice of the smaller man arose harsh and excited in the evening air. +“I get the feeling taken out of me as a man would have a tooth fixed,” + he said. “I pay money for the service and keep my mind on what I want +to do. There are plenty of women for that, women who are good for that +only. When I first came here I used to wander about at night, wanting +to go to my room and work but with my mind and my will paralysed by +that feeling. I don't do that now and I won't again. What I do many men +do--good men--men who do good work. What's the use thinking about it +when you only run against a stone wall and get hurt?” + +The black bearded man arose, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets +and looked about him. Then he sat down again. He seemed to be filled +with suppressed excitement. “There is a big hidden something going on in +modern life,” he said, talking rapidly and excitedly. “It used to touch +only the men higher up, now it reaches down to men like me--barbers and +workingmen. Men know about it but don't talk and don't dare think. Their +women have changed. Women used to be willing to do anything for men, +just be slaves to them. The best men don't ask that now and don't want +that.” + +He jumped to his feet and stood over McGregor. “Men don't understand +what's going on and don't care,” he said. “They are too busy getting +things done or going to ball games or quarrelling about politics. + +“And what do they know about it if they are fools enough to think? +They get thrown into false notions. They see about them a lot of +fine purposeful women maybe caring for their children and they blame +themselves for their vices and are ashamed. Then they turn to the other +women anyway, shutting their eyes and going ahead. They pay for what +they want as they would pay for a dinner, thinking no more of the women +who serve them than they do of the waitresses who serve them in the +restaurants. They refuse to think of the new kind of woman that is +growing up. They know that if they get sentimental about her they'll +get into trouble or get new tests put to them, be disturbed you see, +and spoil their work or their peace of mind. They don't want to get into +trouble or be disturbed. They want to get a better job or enjoy a ball +game or build a bridge or write a book. They think that a man who gets +sentimental about any woman is a fool and of course he is.” + +“Do you mean that all of them do that?” asked McGregor. He wasn't upset +by what had been said. It struck him as being true. For himself he was +afraid of women. It seemed to him that a road was being built by his +companion along which he might travel with safety. He wanted the man +to go on talking. Into his brain flashed the thought that if he had +the thing to do over there would have been a different ending to the +afternoon spent with the pale girl on the hillside. + +The barber sat down upon the bench. The flush out of his cheeks. “Well +I have done pretty well myself,” he said, “but then you know I make +violins and don't think of women. I've been in Chicago two years and +I've spent just eleven dollars. I would like to know what the average +man spends. I wish some fellow would get the facts and publish them. It +would make people sit up. There must be millions spent here every year.” + +“You see I'm not very strong and I stand all day on my feet in the +barber shop.” He looked at McGregor and laughed. “The black-eyed girl +in the hall is after you,” he said. “You'd better look out. You let her +alone. Stick to your law books. You are not like me. You are big and red +and strong. Eleven dollars won't pay your way here in Chicago for no two +years.” + +McGregor looked again at the people moving toward the park entrance in +the gathering darkness. He thought it wonderful that a brain could +think a thing out so clearly and words express thoughts so lucidly. His +eagerness to follow the passing girls with his eyes was gone. He was +interested in the older man's viewpoint. “And what about children?” he +asked. + +The older man sat sideways on the bench. There was a troubled look in +his eyes and a suppressed eager quality in his voice. “I'm going to tell +you about that,” he said. “I don't want to keep anything back. + +“Look here!” he demanded, sliding along the bench toward McGregor and +emphasising his points by slapping one hand down upon the other. “Ain't +all children my children?” He paused, trying to gather his scattered +thoughts into words. When McGregor started to speak he put his hand up +as though to ward off a new thought or another question. “I'm not trying +to dodge,” he said. “I'm trying to get thoughts that have been in my +head day after day in shape to tell. I haven't tried to express them +before. I know men and women cling to their children. It's the only +thing they have left of the dream they had before they married. I felt +that way. It held me for a long time. It would be holding me now only +that the violins pulled so hard at me.” + +He threw up his hand impatiently. “You see I had to find an answer. I +couldn't think of being a skunk--running away--and I couldn't stay. I +wasn't intended to stay. Some men are intended to work and take care of +children and serve women perhaps but others have to keep trying for a +vague something all their lives--like me trying for a tone on a violin. +If they don't get it it doesn't matter, they have to keep trying. + +“My wife used to say I'd get tired of it. No woman ever really +understands a man caring for anything except herself. I knocked that out +of her.” + +The little man looked up at McGregor. “Do you think I'm a skunk?” he +asked. + +McGregor looked at him gravely. “I don't know,” he said. “Go on and tell +me about the children.” + +“I said they were the last things to cling to. They are. We used to have +religion. But that's pretty well gone now--the old kind. Now men think +about children, I mean a certain kind of men--the ones that have work +they want to get on with. Children and work are the only things that +kind care about. If they have a sentiment about women it's only about +their own--the one they have in the house with them. They want to keep +that one finer than they are themselves. So they work the other feeling +out on the paid women. + +“Women fuss about men loving children. Much they care. It's only a plan +for demanding adulation for themselves that they don't earn. Once, when +I first came to the city, I took a place as servant in a wealthy family. +I wanted to stay under cover until my beard grew. Women used to come +there to receptions and to meetings in the afternoon to talk about +reforms they were interested in----Bah! They work and scheme trying to +get at men. They are at it all their lives, flattering, diverting us, +giving us false ideas, pretending to be weak and uncertain when they are +strong and determined. They have no mercy. They wage war on us trying +to make us slaves. They want to take us captive home to their houses as +Caesar took captives home to Rome. + +“You look here!” He jumped to his feet again and shook his fingers at +McGregor. “You just try something. You try being open and frank and +square with a woman--any woman--as you would with a man. Let her live +her own life and ask her to let you live yours. You try it. She won't. +She will die first.” + +He sat down again upon the bench and shook his head back and forth. +“Lord how I wish I could talk!” he said. “I'm making a muddle of this +and I wanted to tell you. Oh, how I wanted to tell you! It's part of my +idea that a man should tell a boy all he knows. We've got to quit lying +to them.” + +McGregor looked at the ground. He was profoundly and deeply moved and +interested as he had never before been moved by anything but hate. + +Two women coming along the gravel walk stopped under a tree and looked +back. The barber smiled and raised his hat. When they smiled back at him +he rose and started toward them. “Come on boy,” he whispered behind his +hand to McGregor. “Let's get them.” + +When McGregor looked up the scene before his eyes infuriated him. The +smiling barber with his hat in his hand, the two women waiting under +the tree, the look of half-guilty innocence on the faces of all of them, +stirred a blind fury in his brain. He sprang forward, clutching the +shoulder of Turner with his hand. Whirling him about he threw him to his +hands and knees. “Get out of here you females!” he roared at the women +who ran off in terror down the walk. + +The barber sat again upon the bench beside McGregor. He rubbed his hands +together to brush the bits of gravel out of the flesh. “What's got wrong +with you?” he asked. + +McGregor hesitated. He wondered how he should tell what was in his mind. +“Everything in its place,” he said finally. “I wanted to go on with our +talk.” + +Lights flashed out of the darkness of the park. The two men sat on the +bench thinking each his own thoughts. + +“I want to take some work out of the clamps to-night,” the barber said, +looking at his watch. Together the two men walked along the street. +“Look here,” said McGregor. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Those two +women that came up and interfered with what we were working out made me +furious.” + +“Women always interfere,” said the barber. “They raise hell with men.” + His mind ran out and began to play with the world-old problem of the +sexes. “If a lot of women fall in the fight with us men and become our +slaves--serving us as the paid women do--need they fuss about it? Let +them be game and try to help work it out as men have been game and have +worked and thought through ages of perplexity and defeat.” + +The barber stopped on the street corner to fill and light his pipe. +“Women can change everything when they want to,” he said, looking at +McGregor and letting the match burn out in his fingers. “They can have +motherhood pensions and room to work out their own problem in the world +or anything else that they really want. They can stand up face to face +with men. They don't want to. They want to enslave us with their faces +and their bodies. They want to carry on the old, old weary fight.” He +tapped McGregor on the arm. “If a few of us--wanting with all our might +to get something done--beat them at their own game, don't we deserve the +victory?” he asked. + +“But sometimes I think I would like a woman to live with, you know, just +to sit and talk with me,” said McGregor. + +The barber laughed. Puffing at his pipe he walked down the street. “To +be sure! To be sure!” he said. “I would. Any man would. I like to sit in +the room for a spell in the evening talking to you but I would hate to +give up violin making and be bound all my life to serve you and your +purposes just the same.” + +In the hallway of their own house the barber spoke to McGregor as he +looked down the hallway to where the door of the black eyed girl's room +had just crept open. “You let women alone,” he said; “when you feel you +can't stay away from them any longer you come and talk it over with me.” + +McGregor nodded and went along the hallway to his own room. In the +darkness he stood by the window and looked down into the court. The +feeling of hidden power, the ability to rise above the mess into which +modern life had sunk that had come to him in the park, returned and +he walked nervously about. When finally he sat down upon a chair and +leaning forward put his head in his hands he felt like one who has +started on a long journey through a strange and dangerous country and +who has unexpectedly come upon a friend going the same way. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The people of Chicago go home from their work at evening--drifting they +go in droves, hurrying along. It is a startling thing to look closely at +them. The people have bad mouths. Their mouths are slack and the jaws do +not hang right. The mouths are like the shoes they wear. The shoes +have become run down at the corners from too much pounding on the hard +pavements and the mouths have become crooked from too much weariness of +soul. + +Something is wrong with modern American life and we Americans do not +want to look at it. We much prefer to call ourselves a great people and +let it go at that. + +It is evening and the people of Chicago go home from work. Clatter, +clatter, clatter, go the heels on the hard pavements, jaws wag, the wind +blows and dirt drifts and sifts through the masses of the people. Every +one has dirty ears. The stench in the street cars is horrible. The +antiquated bridges over the rivers are packed with people. The suburban +trains going away south and west are cheaply constructed and dangerous. +A people calling itself great and living in a city also called great +go to their houses a mere disorderly mass of humans cheaply equipped. +Everything is cheap. When the people get home to their houses they sit +on cheap chairs before cheap tables and eat cheap food. They have given +their lives for cheap things. The poorest peasant of one of the old +countries is surrounded by more beauty. His very equipment for living +has more solidity. + +The modern man is satisfied with what is cheap and unlovely because he +expects to rise in the world. He has given his life to that dreary dream +and he is teaching his children to follow the same dream. McGregor was +touched by it. Being confused by the matter of sex he had listened to +the advice of the barber and meant to settle things in the cheap way. +One evening a month after the talk in the park he hurried along Lake +Street on the West Side with that end in view. It was near eight o'clock +and growing dark and McGregor should have been at the night school. +Instead he walked along the street looking at the ill-kept frame houses. +A fever burned in his blood. An impulse, for the moment stronger than +the impulse that kept him at work over books night after night there in +the big disorderly city and as yet stronger than any new impulse toward +a vigorous compelling march through life, had hold of him. His eyes +stared into the windows. He hurried along filled with a lust that +stultified his brain and will. A woman sitting at the window of a little +frame house smiled and beckoned to him. + +McGregor walked along the path leading to the little frame house. The +path ran through a squalid yard. It was a foul place like the +court under his window behind the house in Wycliff Place. Here also +discoloured papers worried by the wind ran about in crazy circles. +McGregor's heart pounded and his mouth felt dry and unpleasant. He +wondered what he should say and how he should say it when he came into +the presence of the woman. He wished there were some one to be hit with +his fist. He didn't want to make love, he wanted relief. He would have +much preferred a fight. + +The veins in McGregor's neck began to swell and as he stood in the +darkness before the door of the house he swore. He stared up and down +the street but the sky, the sight of which might have helped him, was +hidden from view by the structure of an elevated railroad. Pushing +open the door of the house he stepped in. In the dim light he could see +nothing but a form sprang out of the darkness and a pair of powerful +arms pinned his hands to his sides. McGregor looked quickly about A man +huge as himself held him tightly against the door. He had one glass +eye and a stubby black beard and in the half light looked sinister and +dangerous. The hand of the woman who had beckoned to him from the window +fumbled in McGregor's pockets and came out clutching a little roll of +money. Her face, set now and ugly like the man's, looked up at him from +under the arms of her ally. + +In a moment McGregor's heart stopped pounding and the dry unpleasant +taste went out of his mouth. He felt relieved and glad at this sudden +turn to the affair. + +With a quick upward snap of his knees into the stomach of the man who +had held him McGregor freed himself. A swinging blow to the neck sent +his assailant groaning to the floor. McGregor sprang across the room. In +the corner by the bed he caught the woman. Clutching her by the hair he +whirled her about. “Hand over that money,” he said fiercely. + +The woman put up her hands and plead with him. The grip of his hands +in her hair brought the tears to her eyes. She thrust the roll of bills +into his hands and waited, trembling, thinking he intended to kill her. + +A new feeling swept over McGregor. The thought of having come into the +house at the invitation of this woman was revolting to him. He wondered +how he could have been such a beast. As he stood in the dim light +thinking of this and looking at the woman he became lost in thought and +wondered why the idea given him by the barber, that had seemed so clear +and sensible, now seemed so foolish. His eyes stared at the woman as his +mind returned to the black-bearded barber talking on the park bench and +he was seized with a blind fury, a fury not directed at the people in +the foul little room but at himself and his own blindness. Again a great +hatred of the disorder of life took hold of him and as though all of +the disorderly people of the world were personified in her he swore and +shook the woman as a dog might have shaken a foul rag. + +“Sneak. Dodger. Mussy fool,” he muttered, thinking of himself as a giant +attacked by some nauseous beast. The woman screamed with terror. Seeing +the look on her assailant's face and mistaking the meaning of his words +she trembled and thought again of death. Reaching under the pillow +on the bed she got another roll of bills and thrust that also into +McGregor's hands. “Please go,” she plead. “We were mistaken. We thought +you were some one else.” + +McGregor strode to the door past the man on the floor who groaned and +rolled about. He walked around the corner to Madison Street and boarded +a car for the night school. Sitting in the car he counted the money in +the roll thrust into his hand by the kneeling woman and laughed so that +the people in the car looked at him in amazement. “Turner has spent +eleven dollars among them in two years and I have got twenty-seven +dollars in one night,” he thought. He jumped off the car and walked +along under the street lights striving to think things out. “I can't +depend on any one,” he muttered. “I have to make my own way. The barber +is as confused as the rest of them and he doesn't know it. There is a +way out of the confusion and I'm going to find it, but I'll have to do +it alone. I can't take any one's word for anything.” + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The matter of McGregor's attitude toward women and the call of sex was +not of course settled by the fight in the house in Lake Street. He was +a man who, even in the days of his great crudeness, appealed strongly +to the mating instinct in women and more than once his purpose was to +be shaken and his mind disturbed by the forms, the faces and the eyes of +women. + +McGregor thought he had settled the matter. He forgot the black-eyed +girl in the hallway and thought only of advancement in the warehouse and +of study in his room at night. Now and then he took an evening off and +went for a walk through the streets or in one of the parks. + +In the streets of Chicago, under the night lights, among the restless +moving people he was a figure to be remembered. Sometimes he did not see +the people at all but went swinging along in the same spirit in which he +had walked in the Pennsylvania hills. He was striving to get a hold of +some elusive quality in life that seemed to be forever out of reach. He +did not want to be a lawyer or a warehouseman. What did he want? Along +the street he went trying to make up his mind and because his was not a +gentle nature his perplexity drove him to anger and he swore. + +Up and down Madison Street he went striding along, his lips muttering +words. In a corner saloon some one played a piano. Groups of girls +passed laughing and talking. He came to the bridge that led over the +river into the loop district and then turned restlessly back. On the +sidewalks along Canal Street he saw strong-bodied men loitering before +cheap lodging houses. Their clothing was filthy with long wear and +there was no light of determination in their faces. In the little fine +interstices of the cloth of which their clothes were made was gathered +the filth of the city in which they lived and in the stuff of their +natures the filth and disorder of modern civilisation had also found +lodging. + +On walked McGregor looking at man-made things and the flame of anger +within burned stronger and stronger. He saw the drifting clouds of +people of all nations that wander at night in Halstead Street and +turning into a side street saw also the Italians, Poles and Russians +that at evening gather on the sidewalks before tenements in that +district. + +The desire in McGregor for some kind of activity became a madness. His +body shook with the strength of his desire to end the vast disorder of +life. With all the ardour of youth he wanted to see if with the strength +of his arm he could shake mankind out of its sloth. A drunken man passed +and following him came a large man with a pipe in his mouth. The large +man did not walk with any suggestion of power in his legs. He shambled +along. He was like a huge child with fat cheeks and great untrained +body, a child without muscles and hardness, clinging to the skirts of +life. + +McGregor could not bear the sight of the big ungainly figure. The man +seemed to personify all of the things against which his soul was in +revolt and he stopped and stood crouched, a ferocious light burning in +his eyes. + +Into the gutter rolled the man stunned by the force of the blow dealt +him by the miner's son. He crawled on his hands and knees and cried for +help. His pipe had rolled away into the darkness. McGregor stood on the +sidewalk and waited. A crowd of men standing before a tenement house +started to run toward him. Again he crouched. He prayed that they would +come on and let him fight them also. In anticipation of a great struggle +joy shone in his eyes and his muscles twitched. + +And then the man in the gutter got to his feet and ran away. The men who +had started to run toward him stopped and turned back. McGregor walked +on, his heart heavy with the sense of defeat. He was a little sorry for +the man he had struck and who had made so ridiculous a figure crawling +about on his hands and knees and he was more perplexed than ever. + + * * * * * + +McGregor tried again to solve the problem of women. He had been much +pleased by the outcome of the affair in the little frame house and the +next day bought law books with the twenty-seven dollars thrust into his +hand by the frightened woman. Later he stood in his room stretching his +great body like a lion returned from the kill and thought of the little +black-bearded barber in the room at the end of the hall stooping over +his violin, his mind busy with the attempt to justify himself because he +would not face one of life's problems. The feeling of resentment against +the man had gone. He thought of the course laid out for himself by that +philosopher and laughed. “There is something about it to avoid, like +giving yourself up to digging in the dirt under the ground,” he told +himself. + +McGregor's second adventure began on a Saturday night and again he let +himself be led into it by the barber. The night was hot and the younger +man sat in his room filled with a desire to go forth and explore the +city. The quiet of the house, the distant rumble of street cars, the +sound of a band playing far down the street disturbed and diverted his +mind. He wished that he might take a stick in his hands and go forth to +prowl among the hills as he had gone on such nights in his youth in the +Pennsylvania town. + +The door to his room opened and the barber came in. In his hand he held +two tickets. He sat on the window sill to explain. + +“There is a dance in a hall on Monroe Street,” said the barber +excitedly. “I have two tickets here. A politician sold them to the boss +in the shop where I work.” The barber threw back his head and laughed. +To his mind there was something delicious in the thought of the boss +barber being forced by the politicians to buy dance tickets. “They cost +two dollars each,” he cried and shook with laughter “You should have +seen my boss squirm. He didn't want the tickets but was afraid not to +take them. The politician could make trouble for him and he knew it. You +see we make a hand-book on the races in the shop and that is against +the law. The politician could make trouble for us. The boss paid out the +four dollars swearing under his breath and when the politician had gone +out he threw them at me. 'There, take them,' he shouted, 'I don't want +the rotten things. Is a man a horse trough at which every beast can stop +to drink?'” + +McGregor and the barber sat in the room laughing at the boss barber who +had smilingly bought the tickets while consumed with inward wrath. The +barber urged McGregor to go with him to the dance. “We will make a night +of it,” he said. “We will see women there--two that I know. They live +upstairs over a grocery store. I have been with them. They will open +your eyes. They are a kind of women you haven't known, bold and clever +and good fellows too.” + +McGregor got up and pulled his shirt over his head. A wave of feverish +excitement ran over his body. “We shall see about this,” he said, “we +shall see if this is another wrong trail you are starting me on. You go +to your room and get ready. I am going to fix myself up.” + +In the dance hall McGregor sat on a seat by the wall with one of the two +women lauded by the barber and a third one who was frail and bloodless. +To him the adventure had been a failure. The swing of the dance music +struck no answering chord in him. He saw the couples on the floor +clasped in each other's arms, writhing and turning, swaying back and +forth, looking into each other's eyes and turned aside wishing himself +back in his room among the law books. + +The barber talked to two of the women, bantering them. McGregor thought +the conversation inane and trivial. It skirted the edge of things and +ran off into vague references to other times and adventures of which he +knew nothing. + +The barber danced away with one of the women. She was tall and the head +of the barber barely Passed her shoulder. His black beard shone against +her white dress. The two women sat beside him and talked. McGregor +gathered that the frail woman was a maker of hats. Something about her +attracted him and he leaned against the wall and looked at her, not +hearing the talk. + +A youth came up and took the other woman away. From across the hall the +barber beckoned to him. + +A thought flashed into his mind. This woman beside him was frail and +thin and bloodless like the women of Coal Creek. A feeling of intimacy +with her came over him. He felt as he had felt concerning the tall pale +girl of Coal Creek when they together had climbed the hill to the +eminence that looked down into the valley of farms. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Edith Carson the milliner, whom fate had thrown into the company of +McGregor, was a frail woman of thirty-four and lived alone in two +rooms at the back of her millinery store. Her life was almost devoid of +colour. On Sunday morning she wrote a long letter to her family on an +Indiana farm and then put on a hat from among the samples in the show +case along the wall and went to church, sitting by herself in the +same seat Sunday after Sunday and afterward remembering nothing of the +sermon. + +On Sunday afternoon Edith went by street-car to a park and walked alone +under the trees. If it threatened rain she sat in the larger of the two +rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself or for a +sister who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and who had four +children. + +Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brown spots +on the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about her body under +her dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had a sweetheart--a +fat round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Once they had gone +together to the fair at the county seat and coming home in the buggy at +night he had put his arm about her and kissed her. “You ain't very big,” + he had said. + +Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the padding +which she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed +on herself. The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with great +respect as a wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places on her +side against which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain with grim +stoicism, remembering what the fat boy had said. + +After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had a +letter from her former admirer. “It pleases me to think that the same +wind that blows over me blows also over you,” it said. After that one +letter she did not hear from him again. He had the phrase out of a book +he had read and had written the letter to Edith that he might use it. +After the letter had gone he thought of her frail figure and repented +of the impulse that had tricked him into writing. Half in alarm he began +courting and soon married another girl. + +Sometimes on her rare visits home Edith had seen her former lover +driving along the road. The sister who had married the blacksmith said +that he was stingy, that his wife had nothing to wear but a cheap calico +dress and that on Saturday he drove off to town alone, leaving her to +milk the cows and feed the pigs and horses. Once he encountered Edith on +the road and tried to get her into the wagon to ride with him. Although +she had walked along the road ignoring him she took the letter about +the wind that blew over them both out of a drawer on spring evenings or +after a walk in the park and read it over. After she had read it she +sat in the darkness at the front of the store looking through the screen +door at people in the street and wondered what life would mean to her +if she had a man on whom she could bestow her love. In her heart she +believed that, unlike the wife of the fat youth, she would have borne +children. + +In Chicago Edith Carson had made money. She had a genius for economy +in the management of her business. In six years she had cleared a large +debt from the shop and had a comfortable balance in the bank. Girls +who worked in factories or in stores came and left most of their meagre +surplus in her shop and other girls who didn't work came in, throwing +dollars about and talking about “gentlemen friends.” Edith hated the +bargaining but attended to it with shrewdness and with a quiet disarming +little smile on her face. What she liked was to sit quietly in the room +and trim hats. When the business grew she had a woman to tend the shop +and a girl to sit beside her and help with the hats. She had a friend, +the wife of a motorman on the street-car line, who sometimes came to see +her in the evening. The friend was a plump little woman, dissatisfied +with her marriage, and she got Edith to make her several new hats a year +for which she paid nothing. + +Edith went to the dance at which she met McGregor with the motorman's +wife and a girl who lived upstairs over a bakery next door to the shop, +The dance was held in a hall over a saloon and was given for the benefit +of a political organisation in which the baker was a leader. The wife +of the baker came in and sold Edith two tickets, one for herself and one +for the wife of the motorman who happened to be sitting with her at the +time. + +That evening after the motorman's wife had gone home Edith decided to go +to the dance and the decision was something like an adventure in itself. +The night was hot and sultry, lightning flashed in the sky and clouds of +dust swept down the street. Edith sat in the darkness behind the bolted +screen door and looked at the people who hurried homeward down the +street. A wave of revolt at the narrowness and emptiness of her life +ran through her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed the shop door and +going into the room at the back lighted the gas and stood looking at +herself in the mirror. “I'll go to the dance,” she thought. “Perhaps I +shall get a man. If he won't marry me he can have what he wants of me +anyway.” + +In the dance hall Edith sat demurely by the wall near a window and +watched the couples whirl about on the floor. Through an open door she +could see couples sitting in another room around tables and drinking +beer. A tall young man in white trousers and white slippers went about +on the dance floor. He smiled and bowed to the women. Once he started +across the floor toward Edith and her heart beat rapidly, but just when +she thought he intended to speak to her and to the motorman's wife he +turned and went to another part of the room. Edith followed him with her +eyes, admiring his white trousers and his shining white teeth. + +The wife of the motorman went away with a small straight man with a grey +moustache whom Edith thought had unpleasant eyes and two girls came and +sat beside her. They were customers of her store and lived together in +a flat over a grocery on Monroe Street. Edith had heard the girl who +sat in the workroom with her speak slightingly of them. The three sat +together along the wall and talked of hats. + +And then across the floor of the dance hall came two men, a huge +red-haired fellow and a little man with a black beard. The two women +hailed them and the five sat together making a party by the wall, the +little man keeping up a running stream of comments about the people on +the floor with Edith's two companions. A dance struck up and taking +one of the women the black-bearded man danced away. Edith and the other +woman again talked of hats. The huge fellow beside her said nothing but +followed the women about the dance hall with his eyes. Edith thought she +had never seen so homely a fellow. + +At the end of the dance the black-bearded man went through the door into +the room filled with little tables and made a sign to the red-haired man +to follow. A boyish looking fellow appeared and went away with the other +woman and Edith sat alone on the bench by the wall beside McGregor. + +“This place doesn't interest me,” said McGregor quickly. “I don't like +to sit watching people hop about on their toes. If you want to come with +me we'll get out of here and go to some place where we can talk and get +acquainted.” + + * * * * * + +The little milliner walked across the floor on the arm of McGregor, her +heart jumping with excitement. “I've got a man,” she thought, exulting. +That the man had deliberately chosen her she knew. She had heard the +introductions and the bantering talk of the black-bearded man and had +noted the indifference of the big man to the other women. + +Edith looked at her companion's huge frame and forgot his homeliness. +Into her mind came a picture of the fat boy, grown into a man, driving +down the road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride with him. A +flood of anger at the memory of the look of greedy assurance in his eyes +came over her. “This one could knock him over a six-rail fence,” she +thought. + +“Where are we going now?” she asked. + +McGregor looked down at her. “To some place where we can talk,” he said. +“I was sick of this place. You ought to know where we're going. I'm +going with you. You aren't going with me.” + +McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt he would like to take +this woman over the hill and sit on the log to talk of his father. + +As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of the resolution she +had made as she stood before the mirror in her room at the back of +the shop on the evening when she had decided to come to the dance. She +wondered if the great adventure was about to come to her and her hand +trembled on McGregor's arm. A hot wave of hope and fear shot through +her. + +At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with uncertain hands as +she unlocked the door. A delicious feeling shook her. She felt like a +bride, glad and yet ashamed and afraid. + +In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted the gas and pulling +off his overcoat threw it on the couch at the side of the room. He was +not in the least excited and with a steady hand lighted the fire in the +little stove and then looking up he asked Edith if he might smoke. He +had the air of a man come home to his own house and the woman sat on +the edge of her chair to unpin her hat and waited hopefully to see what +course the night's adventure would take. + +For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in Edith Carson's room +and talked of Coal Creek and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely, +letting himself go as a man might in talking to one of his own people +after a long absence. His attitude and the quiet ring in his voice +confused and puzzled Edith. She had expected something quite different. + +Going to the little room at the side she brought forth a teakettle and +prepared to make tea. The big man still sat in her chair smoking and +talking. A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over her. She +thought her room beautiful but mingled with her satisfaction was a faint +grey streak of fear. “Of course he won't come back again,” she thought. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the year following the beginning of his acquaintanceship with Edith +Carson McGregor continued to work hard and steadily in the warehouse and +with his books at night. He was promoted to be foreman, replacing the +German, and he thought he had made progress with his studies. When he +did not go to the night school he went to Edith Carson's place and sat +reading a book and smoking his pipe by a little table in the back room. + +About the room and in and out of her shop moved Edith, going softly and +quietly. A light began to come into her eyes and colour into her cheeks. +She did not talk but new and daring thoughts visited her mind and a +thrill of reawakened life ran through her body. With gentle insistence +she did not let her dreams express themselves in words and almost hoped +that she might be able to go on forever thus, having this strong man +come into her presence and sit absorbed in his own affairs within the +walls of her house. Sometimes she wanted him to talk and wished that she +had the power to lead him into the telling of little facts of his life. +She wanted to be told of his mother and father, of his boyhood in the +Pennsylvania town, of his dreams and his desires but for the most part +she was content to wait and only hoped that nothing would happen to +bring an end to her waiting. + +McGregor began to read books of history and became absorbed in the +figures of certain men, all soldiers and leaders of soldiers who stalked +across the pages wherein was written the story of man's life. The +figures of Sherman, Grant, Lee, Jackson, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, +and Wellington seemed to him to stand starkly up among the other figures +in the books and going to the Public Library at the noon hour he got +books concerning these men and for a time lost interest in the study of +law and devoted himself to contemplation of the breakers of laws. + +There was something beautiful about McGregor in those days. He was as +virginal and pure as a chunk of the hard black coal out of the hills of +his own state and like the coal ready to burn himself out into +power. Nature had been kind to him. He had the gift of silence and of +isolation. All about him were other men, perhaps as strong physically +as himself and with better trained minds who were being destroyed and he +was not being destroyed. For the others life let itself run out in the +endless doing of little tasks, the thinking of little thoughts and the +saying of groups of words over and over endlessly like parrots that sit +in cages and earn their bread by screaming two or three sentences to +passers by. + +It is a terrible thing to speculate on how man has been defeated by his +ability to say words. The brown bear in the forest has no such power and +the lack of it has enabled him to retain a kind of nobility of bearing +sadly lacking in us. On and on through life we go, socialists, dreamers, +makers of laws, sellers of goods and believers in suffrage for women and +we continuously say words, worn-out words, crooked words, words without +power or pregnancy in them. + +The matter is one to be thought of seriously by youths and maidens +inclined to garrulousness. Those who have the habit of it will never +change. The gods who lean over the rim of the world to laugh at us have +marked them for their barrenness. + +And yet the word must run on. McGregor, the silent, wanted his word. He +wanted his true note as an individual to ring out above the hubbub of +voices and then he wanted to use the strength and the virility within +himself to carry his word far. What he did not want was that his mouth +become foul and his brain become numb with the saying of the words and +the thinking of the thoughts of other men and that he in his turn become +a mere toiling food-consuming chattering puppet to the gods. + +For a long time the miner's son wondered what power lay in the men whose +figures stood up so boldly in the pages of the books he read. He tried +to think the matter out as he sat in Edith's room or walked by himself +through the streets. In the warehouse he looked with new curiosity at +the men who worked in the great rooms piling and unpiling apple barrels +and the boxes of eggs and fruit When he came into one of the rooms the +men who had been standing in groups idly talking of their own affairs +began to run busily about. They no longer chattered but as long as he +remained worked desperately, furtively watching as he stood staring at +them. + +McGregor wondered. He tried to fathom the mystery of the power that made +them willing to work until their bodies were bent and stooped, that made +them unashamed to be afraid and that left them in the end mere slaves to +words and formulas. + +The perplexed young man who watched the men in the warehouse began to +think that the passion for reproduction might have something to do with +the matter. Perhaps his constant association with Edith awakened the +thought. His own loins were heavy with the seeds of children and only +his absorption in the thought of finding himself kept him from devoting +himself to the feeding of his lusts. One day he had a talk concerning +the matter at the warehouse. The talk came about in this way. + +In the warehouse the men came in at the door in the morning, drifting +in like flies that wander in at the open windows on a summer day. With +downcast eyes they shuffled across the long floor, white with lime. +Morning after morning they came in at the door and went silently to +their places looking at the floor and scowling. A slender bright-eyed +young man who acted as shipping clerk during the day sat in a little +coop and to him the men as they passed called out their numbers. From +time to time the shipping clerk who was an Irishman tried to joke with +one of them, tapping sharply upon his desk with a pencil as though +to compel attention. “They are no good,” he said to himself, when in +response to his sallies they only smiled vaguely. “Although they get +but a dollar and a half a day they are overpaid!” Like McGregor he had +nothing but contempt for the men whose numbers he put in the book. Their +stupidity he took as a compliment to himself. “We are the kind who get +things done,” he thought as he put the pencil back of his ear and closed +the book. In his mind the futile pride of the middle class man flamed +up. In his contempt for the workers he forgot also to have contempt for +himself. + +One morning McGregor and the shipping clerk stood upon a board platform +facing the street and the shipping clerk talked of parentage. “The +wives of the workers here have children as cattle have calves,” said +the Irishman. Moved by some hidden sentiment within himself he added +heartily. “Oh well, what's a man for? It's nice to see kids around the +house. I've got four kids myself. You should see them play about in the +garden at my place in Oak Park when I come home in the evening.” + +McGregor thought of Edith Carson and a faint hunger began to grow within +him. A desire that was later to come near to upsetting the purpose of +his life began to make itself felt. With a growl he fought against the +desire and confused the Irishman by making an attack upon him. “Well how +are you any better?” he asked bluntly. “Do you think your children any +more important than theirs? You may have a better mind but their bodies +are better and your mind hasn't made you a very striking figure as far +as I can see.” + +Turning away from the Irishman who had begun to sputter with wrath +McGregor went up an elevator to a distant part of the building to think +of the Irishman's words. From time to time he spoke sharply to a workman +who loitered in one of the passages between the piles of boxes and +barrels. Under his hand the work in the warehouse had begun to take on +order and the little grey-haired superintendent who had employed him +rubbed his hands with delight. + +In a corner by a window stood McGregor wondering why he also did not +want to devote his life to being the father of children. In the dim +light across the face of the window a fat old spider crawled slowly. In +the hideous body of the insect there was something that suggested to the +mind of the struggling thinker the sloth of the world. Vaguely his mind +groped about trying to get hold of words and ideas to express what +was in his brain. “Ugly crawling things that look at the floor,” he +muttered. “If they have children it is without order or orderly purpose. +It is an accident like the accident of the fly that falls into the net +built by the insect here. The coming of the children is like the coming +of the flies, it feeds a kind of cowardice in men. In the children men +hope vainly to see done what they have not the courage to try to do.” + +With an oath McGregor smashed with his heavy leather glove the fat thing +wandering aimlessly across the light. “I must not be confused by little +things. There is still going on the attempt to force me into the hole +in the ground. There is a hole here in which men live and work just as +there is in the mining town from which I came.” + + * * * * * + +Hurrying out of his room that evening McGregor went to see Edith. He +wanted to look at her and to think. In the little room at the back he +sat for an hour trying to read a book and then for the first time shared +his thoughts with her. “I am trying to discover why men are of so little +importance,” he said suddenly. “Are they mere tools for women? Tell me +that. Tell me what women think and what they want?” + +Without waiting for an answer he turned again to the reading of the +book. “Oh well,” he added “it doesn't need to bother me. I won't let any +women lead me into being a reproductive tool for her.” + +Edith was alarmed. She took McGregor's outburst as a declaration of war +against herself and her influence and her hands began to tremble. Then +a new thought came to her. “He needs money to get on in the world,” she +told herself and a little thrill of joy ran through her as she thought +of her own carefully guarded hoard. She wondered how she could offer it +to him so that there would be no danger of a refusal. + +“You're all right,” said McGregor, preparing to depart. “You do not +interfere with a man's thoughts.” + +Edith blushed and like the workmen in the warehouse looked at the floor. +Something in his words startled her and when he was gone she went to +her desk and taking out her bankbook turned its pages with new pleasure. +Without hesitation she who indulged herself in nothing would have given +all to McGregor. + +And out into the street went the man, thinking of his own affairs. He +dismissed from his mind the thoughts of women and children and began +again to think of the stirring figures of history that had made so +strong an appeal to him. As he passed over one of the bridges he stopped +and stood leaning over the rail to look at the black water below. “Why +has thought never succeeded in replacing action?” he asked himself. “Why +are the men who write books in some way less full of meaning than the +men who do things?” + +McGregor was staggered by the thought that had come to him and wondered +if he had started on a wrong trail by coming to the city and trying to +educate himself. For an hour he stood in the darkness and tried to think +things out. It began to rain but he did not mind. Into his brain began +to creep a dream of a vast order coming out of disorder. He was like one +standing in the presence of some gigantic machine with many intricate +parts that had begun to run crazily, each part without regard to the +purpose of the whole. “There is danger in thinking too,” he muttered +vaguely. “Everywhere there is danger, in labour, in love and in +thinking. What shall I do with myself?” + +McGregor turned about and threw up his hands. A new thought swept like +a broad path of light across the darkness of his mind. He began to see +that the soldiers who had led thousands of men into battle had appealed +to him because in the working out of their purposes they had used human +lives with the recklessness of gods. They had found the courage to do +that and their courage was magnificent. Away down deep in the hearts of +men lay sleeping a love of order and they had taken hold of that love. +If they had used it badly did that matter? Had they not pointed the way? + +Back into McGregor's mind came a night scene in his home town. Vividly +he saw in fancy the poor unkempt little street facing the railroad +tracks and the groups of striking miners huddled in the light before +the door of a saloon while in the road a body of soldiers marched past, +their uniforms looking grey and their faces grim in the uncertain light. +“They marched,” whispered McGregor. “That's what made them seem so +powerful. They were just ordinary men but they went swinging along, all +as one man. Something in that fact ennobled them. That's what Grant knew +and what Caesar knew. That's what made Grant and Caesar seem so big. +They knew and they were not afraid to use their knowledge. Perhaps +they did not bother to think how it would all come out. They hoped for +another kind of man to do the thinking. Perhaps they did not think of +anything at all but just went ahead and tried to do each his own part. + +“I will do my part here,” shouted McGregor. “I will find the way.” His +body shook and his voice roared along the footpath of the bridge. Men +stopped to look back at the big shouting figure. Two women walking past +screamed and ran into the roadway. McGregor walked rapidly away toward +his own room and his books. He did not know how he would be able to use +the new impulse that had come to him but as he swung along through dark +streets and past rows of dark buildings he thought again of the great +machine running crazily and without purpose and was glad he was not +a part of it. “I will keep myself to myself and be ready for what +happens,” he said, burning with new courage. + + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + + +When McGregor had secured the place in the apple-warehouse and went home +to the house in Wycliff Place with his first week's pay, twelve dollars, +in his pocket he thought of his mother, Nance McGregor, working in the +mine offices in the Pennsylvania town and folding a five dollar bill +sent it to her in a letter. “I will begin to take care of her now,” he +thought and with the rough sense of equity in such matters, common to +labouring people, had no intention of giving himself airs. “She has fed +me and now I will begin to feed her,” he told himself. + +The five dollars came back. “Keep it. I don't want your money,” the +mother wrote. “If you have money left after your expenses are paid begin +to fix yourself up. Better get a new pair of shoes or a hat. Don't +try to take care of me. I won't have it. I want you to look out for +yourself. Dress well and hold up your head, that's all I ask. In the +city clothes mean a good deal. In the long run it will mean more to me +to see you be a real man than to be a good son.” + +Sitting in her rooms over the vacant bake-shop in Coal Creek Nance began +to get new satisfaction out of the contemplation of herself as a woman +with a son in the city. In the evening she thought of him moving along +the crowded thoroughfares among men and women and her bent little old +figure straightened with pride. When a letter came telling of his work +in the night school her heart jumped and she wrote a long letter filled +with talk of Garfield and Grant and of Lincoln lying by the burning pine +knot reading his books. It seemed to her unbelievably romantic that her +son should some day be a lawyer and stand up in a crowded court room +speaking thoughts out of his brain to other men. She thought that if +this great red-haired boy, who at home had been so unmanageable and so +quick with his fists, was to end by being a man of books and of brains +then she and her man, Cracked McGregor, had not lived in vain. A sweet +new sense of peace came to her. She forgot her own years of toil and +gradually her mind went back to the silent boy sitting on the steps with +her before her house in the year after her husband's death while she +talked to him of the world, and thus she thought of him, a quiet eager +boy, going about bravely there in the distant city. + +Death caught Nance McGregor off her guard. After one of her long days of +toil in the mine office she awoke to find him sitting grim and expectant +beside her bed. For years she in common with most of the women of the +coal town had been afflicted with what is called “trouble with the +heart.” Now and then she had “bad spells.” On this spring evening she +got into bed and sitting propped among the pillows fought out her fight +alone like a worn-out animal that has crept into a hole in the woods. + +In the middle of the night the conviction came to her that she would +die. Death seemed moving about in the room and waiting for her. In the +street two drunken men stood talking, their voices concerned with their +own human affairs coming in through the window and making life seem very +near and dear to the dying woman. “I've been everywhere,” said one of +the men. “I've been in towns and cities I don't even remember the names +of. You ask Alex Fielder who keeps a saloon in Denver. Ask him if Gus +Lamont has been there.” + +The other man laughed. “You've been in Jake's drinking too much beer,” + he jeered. + +Nance heard the two men stumble off down the street, the traveller +protesting against the unbelief of his friend. It seemed to her that +life with all of its colour sound and meaning was running away from her +presence. The exhaust of the engine over at the mine rang in her ears. +She thought of the mine as a great monster lying asleep below the +ground, its huge nose stuck into the air, its mouth open to eat men. In +the darkness of the room her coat, flung over the back of a chair, took +the shape and outline of a face, huge and grotesque, staring silently +past her into the sky. + +Nance McGregor gasped and struggled for breath. She clutched the +bedclothes with her hands and fought grimly and silently. She did not +think of the place to which she might go after death. She was trying +hard not to go there. It had been her habit of life to fight not to +dream dreams. + +Nance thought of her father, drunk and throwing his money about in the +old days before her marriage, of the walks she as a young girl had taken +with her lover on Sunday afternoons and of the times when they had gone +together to sit on the hillside overlooking the farming country. As in a +vision the dying woman saw the broad fertile land spread out before her +and blamed herself that she had not done more toward helping her man in +the fulfilment of the plans she and he had made to go there and live. +Then she thought of the night when her boy came and of how, when they +went to bring her man from the mine, they found him apparently dead +under the fallen timbers so that she thought life and death had visited +her hand in hand in one night. + +Nance sat stiffly up in bed. She thought she heard the sound of heavy +feet on the stairs. “That will be Beaut coming up from the shop,” she +muttered and fell back upon the pillow dead. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Beaut McGregor went home to Pennsylvania to bury his mother and on a +summer afternoon walked again on the streets of his native town. From +the station he went at once to the empty bake-shop, above which he had +lived with his mother but he did not stay there. For a moment he stood +bag in hand listening to the voices of the miners' wives in the room +above and then put the bag behind an empty box and hurried away. The +voices of women broke the stillness of the room in which he stood. +Their thin sharpness hurt something within him and he could not bear the +thought of the equally thin sharp silence he knew would fall upon the +women who were attending his mother's body in the room above when he +came into the presence of the dead. + +Along Main Street he went to a hardware store and from there went to +the mine office. Then with a pick and shovel on his shoulder he began to +climb the hill up which he had walked with his father when he was a lad. +On the train homeward bound an idea had come to him. “I will her among +the bushes on the hillside that looks down into the fruitful valley,” + he told himself. The details of a religious discussion between two +labourers that had gone on one day during the noon hour at the warehouse +had come into his mind and as the train ran eastward he for the first +time found himself speculating on the possibility of a life after death. +Then he brushed the thoughts aside. “Anyway if Cracked McGregor does +come back it is there you will find him, sitting on the log on the +hillside,” he thought. + +With the tools on his shoulder McGregor climbed the long hillside road, +now deep with black dust. He was going to dig the grave for the burial +of Nance McGregor. He did not glare at the miners who passed swinging +their dinner-pails as they had done in the old days but looked at the +ground and thought of the dead woman and a little wondered what place a +woman would yet come to occupy in his own life. On the hillside the +wind blew sharply and the great boy just emerging into manhood worked +vigorously making the dirt fly. When the hole had grown deep he stopped +and looked to where in the valley below a man who was hoeing corn +shouted to a woman who stood on the porch of a farm house. Two cows that +stood by a fence in a field lifted up their heads and bawled lustily. +“It is the place for the dead to lie,” whispered McGregor. “When my own +time comes I shall be brought up here.” An idea came to him. “I will +have father's body moved,” he told himself. “When I have made some +money I will have that done. Here we shall all lie in the end, all of us +McGregors.” + +The thought that had come to McGregor pleased him and he was pleased +also with himself for thinking the thought. The male in him made him +throw back his shoulders. “We are two of a feather, father and me,” he +muttered, “two of a feather and mother has not understood either of us. +Perhaps no woman was ever intended to understand us.” + +Jumping out of the hole he strode over the crest of the hill and began +the descent toward the town. It was late afternoon and the sun had +gone down behind clouds. “I wonder if I understand myself, if any +one understands,” he thought as he went swiftly along with the tools +clanking on his shoulder. + +McGregor did not want to go back to the town and to the dead woman in +the little room. He thought of the miners' wives, attendants to the +dead, who would sit with crossed hands looking at him and turned out of +the road to sit on the fallen log where once on a Sunday afternoon he +had sat with the black-haired boy who worked in the poolroom and where +the daughter of the undertaker had come to sit beside him. + +And then up the long hill came the woman herself. As she drew near he +recognised her tall figure and for some reason a lump came into his +throat She had seen him depart from the town with the pick and shovel on +his shoulder and after waiting what she thought an interval long enough +to still the tongues of gossip had followed. “I wanted to talk with +you,” she said, climbing over logs and coming to sit beside him. + +For a long time the man and woman sat in silence and stared at the town +in the valley below. McGregor thought she had grown more pale than ever +and looked at her sharply. His mind, more accustomed to look critically +at women than had been the mind of the boy who had once sat talking +to her on the same log, began to inventory her body. “She is already +becoming stooped,” he thought. “I would not want to make love to her +now.” + +Along the log toward him moved the undertaker's daughter and with a +swift impulse toward boldness slipped a thin hand into his. She began to +talk of the dead woman lying in the upstairs room in the town. “We have +been friends since you went away,” she explained. “She liked to talk of +you and I liked that too.” + +Made bold by her own boldness the woman hurried on. “I do not want +you to misunderstand me,” she said. “I know I can't get you. I'm not +thinking of that.” + +She began to talk of her own affairs and of the dreariness of life with +her father but McGregor's mind could not centre itself on her talk. When +they started down the hill he had the impulse to take her in his arms +and carry her as Cracked McGregor had once carried him but was so +embarrassed that he did not offer to help her. He thought that for the +first time some one from his native town had come close to him and he +watched her stooped figure with an odd new feeling of tenderness. “I +won't be alive long, maybe not a year. I've got the consumption,” she +whispered softly as he left her at the entrance to the hallway leading +up to her home, and McGregor was so stirred by her words that he turned +back and spent another hour wandering alone on the hillside before he +went to see the body of his mother. + + * * * * * + +In the room above the bakery McGregor sat at an open window and looked +down into the dimly lighted street. In a corner of the room lay his +mother in a coffin and two miners' wives sat in the darkness behind him. +All were silent and embarrassed. + +McGregor leaned out of the window and watched a group of miners who +gathered at a corner. He thought of the undertaker's daughter, now +nearing death, and wondered why she had suddenly come so close to him. +“It is not because she is a woman, I know that,” he told himself and +tried to dismiss the matter from his mind by watching the people in the +street below. + +In the mining town a meeting was being held. A box lay at the edge of +the sidewalk and upon it climbed that same young Hartnet who had once +talked to McGregor and who made his living by gathering birds' eggs and +trapping squirrels in the hills. He was frightened and talked rapidly. +Presently he introduced a large man with a flat nose who, when he had in +turn climbed upon the box, began to tell stories and anecdotes designed +to make the miners laugh. + +McGregor listened. He wished the undertaker's daughter were there to sit +in the darkened room beside him. He thought he would like to tell her of +his life in the city and of how disorganised and ineffective all modern +life seemed to him. Sadness invaded his mind and he thought of his dead +mother and of how this other woman would presently die. “It's just as +well. Perhaps there is no other way, no orderly march toward an orderly +end. Perhaps one has to die and return to nature to achieve that,” he +whispered to himself. + +In the street below the man upon the box, who was a travelling socialist +orator, began to talk of the coming social revolution. As he talked it +seemed to McGregor that his jaw had become loose from much wagging and +that his whole body was loosely put together and without force. The +speaker danced up and down on the box and his arms flapped about and +these also seemed loose, not a part of the body. + +“Vote with us and the thing is done,” he shouted. “Are you going to let +a few men run things forever? Here you live like beasts paying tribute +to your masters. Arouse yourselves. Join us in the struggle. You +yourselves can be masters if you will only think so.” + +“You will have to do something more than think,” roared McGregor, as +he leaned far out at the window. Again as always when he had heard men +saying words he was blind with anger. Sharply he remembered the walks +he had sometimes taken at night in the city streets and the air of +disorderly ineffectiveness all about him. And here in the mining town it +was the same. On every side of him appeared blank empty faces and loose +badly knit bodies. + +“Mankind should be like a great fist ready to smash and to strike. +It should be ready to knock down what stands in its way,” he cried, +astonishing the crowd in the street and frightening into something like +hysterics the two women who sat with him beside the dead woman in the +darkened room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The funeral of Nance McGregor was an event in Coal Creek. In the minds +of the miners she stood for something. Fearing and hating the husband +and the tall big-fisted son they had yet a tenderness for the mother +and wife. “She lost her money handing us out bread,” they said as they +pounded on the bar in the saloon. Word ran about among them and they +returned again and again to the subject. The fact that she had lost her +man twice--once in the mine when the timber fell and clouded his brain, +and then later when his body lay black and distorted near the door to +the McCrary cut after the dreadful time of the fire in the mine--was +perhaps forgotten but the fact that she had once kept a store and that +she had lost her money serving them was not forgotten. + +On the day of the funeral the miners came up out of the mine and stood +in groups in the open street and in the vacant bake shop. The men of the +night shift had their faces washed and had put white paper collars about +their necks. The man who owned the saloon locked the front door and +putting the keys into his pocket stood on the side-walk looking silently +at the windows of Nance McGregor's rooms. Out along the runway from +the mines came other miners--men of the day shift. Setting their dinner +pails on the stone along the front of the saloon and crossing the +railroad they kneeled and washed their blackened faces in the red stream +that flowed at the foot of the embankment The voice of the preacher, a +slender wasp-like young man with black hair and dark shadows under his +eyes, floated out to the listening men. A train of loaded coke cars +rumbled past along the back of the stores. + +McGregor sat at the head of the coffin dressed in a new black suit. +He stared at the wall back of the head of the preacher, not hearing, +thinking his own thoughts. + +Back of McGregor sat the undertaker's pale daughter. She leaned forward +until she touched the back of the chair in front and sat with her face +buried in a white handkerchief. Her weeping cut across the voice of the +preacher in the closely crowded little room filled with miners' wives +and in the midst of his prayer for the dead she was taken with a violent +fit of coughing and had to get up and hurry out of the room. + +After the services in the rooms above the bake shop a procession formed +on Main Street. Like awkward boys the miners fell into groups and walked +along behind the black hearse and the carriage in which sat the dead +woman's son with the minister. The men kept looking at each other and +smiling sheepishly. There had been no arrangement to follow the body +to its grave and when they thought of the son and the attitude he had +always maintained toward them they wondered whether or not he wanted +them to follow. + +And McGregor was unconscious of all this. He sat in the carriage beside +the minister and with unseeing eyes stared over the heads of the horses. +He was thinking of his life in the city and of what he should do there +in the future, of Edith Carson, sitting in the cheap dance hall and +of the evenings he had spent with her, of the barber on the park bench +talking of women and of his life with his mother when he was a boy in +the mining town. + +As the carriage climbed slowly up the hill followed by the miners +McGregor began to love his mother. For the first time he realised that +her life was full of meaning and that in her woman's way she had been +quite as heroic in her years of patient toil as had been her man Cracked +McGregor when he ran to his death in the burning mine. McGregor's hands +began to tremble and his shoulders straightened. He became conscious of +the men, the dumb blackened children of toil dragging their weary legs +up the hill. + +For what? McGregor stood up in the carriage and turning about looked at +the men. Then he fell upon his knees on the carriage seat and watched +them eagerly, his soul crying out to something he thought must be hidden +away among the black mass of them, something that was the keynote of +their lives, something for which he had not looked and in which he had +not believed. + +McGregor, kneeling in the open carriage at the top of the hill and +watching the marching men slowly toiling upward, had of a sudden one +of those strange awakenings that are the reward of stoutness in stout +souls. A strong wind lifted the smoke from the coke ovens and blew it +up the face of the hill on the farther side of the valley and the wind +seemed to have lifted also some of the haze that had covered his eyes. +At the foot of the hill along the railroad he could see the little +stream, one of the blood red streams of the mine country, and the dull +red houses of the miners. The red of the coke ovens, the red sun setting +behind the hills to the west and last of all the red stream flowing like +a river of blood down through the valley made a scene that burned itself +into the brain of the miner's son. A lump came into his throat and for +a moment he tried vainly to get back his old satisfying hate of the town +and the miners but it would not come. Long he looked down the hill +to where the miners of the night shift marched up the hill after the +carriage and the slowly moving hearse. It seemed to him that they like +himself were marching up out of the smoke and the little squalid houses +away from the shores of the blood red river into something new. What? +McGregor shook his head slowly like an animal in pain. He wanted +something for himself, for all these men. It seemed to him that he would +gladly lie dead like Nance McGregor to know the secret of that want. + +And then as though in answer to the cry out of his heart the file of +marching men fell into step. An instantaneous impulse seemed to run +through the ranks of stooped toiling figures. Perhaps they also looking +backward had caught the magnificence of the picture scrawled across +the landscape in black and red and had been moved by it so that their +shoulders straightened and the long subdued song of life began to sing +in their bodies. With a swing the marching men fell into step. Into the +mind of McGregor flashed a thought of another day when he had stood upon +this same hill with the half crazed man who stuffed birds and sat upon +a log by the roadside reading the Bible and how he had hated these men +because they did not march with orderly precision like the soldiers who +came to subdue them. In a flash he knew that he who had hated the miners +hated them no more. With Napoleonic insight he read a lesson into the +accident of the men's falling into step behind his carriage. A big grim +thought flashed into his brain. “Some day a man will come who will swing +all of the workers of the world into step like that,” he thought. “He +will make them conquer, not one another but the terrifying disorder +of life. If their lives have been wrecked by disorder it is not their +fault. They have been betrayed by the ambitions of their leaders, all +men have betrayed them.” McGregor thought that his mind swept down over +the men, that the impulses of his mind like living things ran among +them, crying to them, touching them, caressing them. Love invaded +his spirit and made his body tingle. He thought of the workers in the +Chicago warehouse and of the millions of others workers who in that +great city, in all cities, everywhere, went at the end of the day +shuffling off along the streets to their houses carrying with them no +song, no hope, nothing but a few paltry dollars with which to buy food +and keep the endless hurtful scheme of things alive. “There is a curse +on my country,” he cried. “Everyone has come here for gain, to grow +rich, to achieve. Suppose they should begin to want to live here. +Suppose they should quit thinking of gain, leaders and followers of +leaders. They are children. Suppose like children they should begin +to play a bigger game. Suppose they could just learn to march, nothing +else. Suppose they should begin to do with their bodies what their minds +are not strong enough to do--to just learn the one simple thing, to +march, whenever two or four or a thousand of them get together, to +march.” + +McGregor's thoughts moved him so that he wanted to yell. Instead +his face grew stern and he tried to command himself. “No, wait,” he +whispered. “Train yourself. Here is something to give point to your +life. Be patient and wait.” Again his thoughts swept away, running down +to the advancing men. Tears came into his eyes. “Men have taught them +that big lesson only when they wanted to kill. This must be different. +Some one must teach them the big lesson just for their own sakes, +that they also may know. They must march fear and disorder and +purposelessness away. That must come first.” + +McGregor turned and compelled himself to sit quietly beside the minister +in the carriage. He became bitter against the leaders of men, the +figures in old history that had once loomed so big in his mind. + +“They have half taught them the secret only to betray them,” he +muttered. “The men of books and of brains have done the same. That +loose-jawed fellow in the street last night--there must be thousands +of such, talking until their jaws hang loose like worn-out gates. Words +mean nothing but when a man marches with a thousand other men and is +not doing it for the glory of some king, then it will mean something. He +will know then that he is a part of something real and he will catch the +rhythm of the mass and glory in the fact that he is a part of the +mass and that the mass has meaning. He will begin to feel great and +powerful.” McGregor smiled grimly. “That is what the great leaders of +armies have known,” he whispered. “And they have sold men out. They have +used that knowledge to subdue men, to make them serve their own little +ends.” + +McGregor continued to look back at the men and in an odd sort of way +to wonder at himself and the thought that had come to him. “It can be +done,” he presently said aloud. “It will be done by some one, sometime. +Why not by me?” + +They buried Nance McGregor in the deep hole dug by her son before +the log on the hillside. On the morning of his arrival he had secured +permission of the mining company who owned the land to make this the +burial place of the McGregors. + +When the service over the grave was finished he looked about him at the +miners, standing uncovered along the hill and in the road leading down +into the valley, and felt that he should like to tell them what was in +his mind. He had an impulse to jump upon the log beside the grave and in +the presence of the green fields his father loved and across the grave +of Nance McGregor shout to them saying, “Your cause shall be my cause. +My brain and strength shall be yours. Your enemies I shall smite with +my naked fist.” Instead he walked rapidly past them and topping the hill +went down toward the town into the gathering night. + +McGregor could not sleep on that last night he was ever to spend in Coal +Creek. When darkness came he went along the street and stood at the +foot of the stairs leading to the home of the undertaker's daughter. The +emotions that had swept over him during the afternoon had subdued his +spirit and he wanted to be with some one who would also be subdued +and quiet. When the woman did not come down the stairs to stand in the +hallway as she had done in his boyhood he went up and knocked at her +door. Together they went along Main Street and climbed the hill. + +The undertaker's daughter walked with difficulty and was compelled to +stop and sit upon a stone by the roadside. When she attempted to rise +McGregor gathered her into his arms and when she protested patted her +thin shoulder with his big hand and whispered to her. “Be quiet,” he +said. “Do not talk about anything. Just be quiet.” + +The nights in the hills above mining towns are magnificent. The long +valleys, cut and slashed by the railroads and made ugly by the squalid +little houses of the miners are half lost in the soft blackness. Out +of the darkness sounds emerge. Coal cars creak and protest as they are +pushed along rails. Voices cry out. With a long reverberating rattle one +of the mine cars dumps its load down a metal chute into a car standing +on the railroad tracks. In the winter little fires are started along the +tracks by the workmen who are employed about the tipple and on summer +nights the moon comes out and touches with wild beauty the banks of +black smoke that drift upward from the long rows of coke ovens. + +With the sick woman in his arms McGregor sat in silence on the hillside +above Coal Creek and let new thoughts and new impulses play with his +spirit. The love for the figure of his mother that had come to him +during the afternoon returned and he took the woman of the mine country +into his arms and held her closely against his breast. + +The struggling man in the hills of his own country, who was trying to +clear his soul of the hatred of men bred in him by the disorder of life, +lifted his head and pressed the body of the undertaker's daughter hard +against his own body. The woman, understanding his mood, picked with her +thin fingers at his coat and wished she might die there in the darkness +in the arms of the man she loved. When he became conscious of her +presence and relaxed the grip of his arms about her shoulders she lay +still and waited for him to forget again and again to press her tightly +and let her feel in her worn-out body his massive strength and virility. + +“It is a job. It is something big I can try to do,” he whispered to +himself and in fancy saw the great disorderly city on the western plains +rocked by the swing and rhythm of men, aroused and awakening with their +bodies a song of new life. + + + + + +BOOK IV + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Chicago is a vast city and millions of people live within the limits of +its influence. It stands at the heart of America almost within sound +of the creaking green leaves of the corn in the vast corn fields of the +Mississippi Valley. It is inhabited by hordes of men of all nations who +have come across the seas or out of western corn--shipping towns to make +their fortunes. On all sides men are busy making fortunes. + +In little Polish villages the word has been whispered about, “In America +one gets much money,” and adventurous souls have set forth only to land +at last, a little perplexed and disconcerted, in narrow ill--smelling +rooms in Halstead Street in Chicago. + +In American villages the tale has been told. Here it has not been +whispered but shouted. Magazines and newspapers have done the job. The +word regarding the making of money runs over the land like a wind among +the corn. The young men listen and run away to Chicago. They have vigour +and youth but in them has been builded no dream no tradition of devotion +to anything but gain. + +Chicago is one vast gulf of disorder. Here is the passion for gain, +the very spirit of the bourgeoise gone drunk with desire. The result is +something terrible. Chicago is leaderless, purposeless, slovenly, down +at the heels. + +And back of Chicago lie the long corn fields that are not disorderly. +There is hope in the corn. Spring comes and the corn is green. It shoots +up out of the black land and stands up in orderly rows. The corn grows +and thinks of nothing but growth. Fruition comes to the corn and it is +cut down and disappears. Barns are filled to bursting with the yellow +fruit of the corn. + +And Chicago has forgotten the lesson of the corn. All men have +forgotten. It has never been told to the young men who come out of the +corn fields to live in the city. + +Once and once only in modern times the soul of America was stirred. +The Civil War swept like a purifying fire through the land. Men marched +together and knew the feel of shoulder to shoulder action. Brown stout +bearded figures returned after the war to the villages. The beginning of +a literature of strength and virility arose. + +And then the time of sorrow and of stirring effort passed and prosperity +returned. Only the aged are now cemented together by the sorrow of that +time and there has been no new national sorrow. + +It is a summer evening in America and the citizens sit in their houses +after the effort of the day. They talk of the children in school or of +the new difficulty of meeting the high prices of food stuff. In cities +the bands play in the parks. In villages the lights go out and one hears +the sound of hurrying horses on distant roads. + +A thoughtful man walking in the streets of Chicago on such an evening +sees women in white shirt waists and men with cigars in their mouths +who sit on the porches of the houses. The man is from Ohio. He owns a +factory in one of the large industrial towns there and has come to +the city to sell his product. He is a man of the better sort, quiet, +efficient, kindly. In his own community every one respects him and he +respects himself. Now he walks and gives himself over to thoughts. He +passes a house set among trees where a man cuts grass by the streaming +light from a window. The song of the lawn mower stirs the walker. He +idles along the street and looks in through the windows at Prints upon +the walls. A white--clad woman sits playing on a piano. “Life is +good,” he says, lighting a cigar; “it climbs on and up toward a kind of +universal fairness.” + +And then in the light from a street lamp the walker sees a man +staggering along the sidewalk, muttering and helping himself with his +hands upon a wall. The sight does not greatly disturb the pleasant +satisfying thoughts that stir in his mind. He has eaten a good dinner +at the hotel, he knows that drunken men are often but gay money-spending +dogs who to-morrow morning will settle down to their work feeling +secretly better for the night of wine and song. + +My thoughtful man is an American with the disease of comfort and +prosperity in his blood. He strolls along and turns a corner. He is +satisfied with the cigar he smokes and, he decides, satisfied with the +age in which he lives. “Agitators may howl,” he says, “but on the whole +life is good, and as for me I am going to spend my life attending to the +business in hand.” + +The walker has turned a corner into a side street. Two men emerge from +the door of a saloon and stand upon the sidewalk under a light. They +wave their arms up and down. Suddenly one of them springs forward and +with a quick forward thrust of his body and the flash of a clenched fist +in the lamp light knocks his companion into the gutter. Down the street +he sees rows of tall smoke-begrimed brick buildings hanging black +and ominous against the sky. At the end of a street a huge mechanical +apparatus lifts cars of coal and dumps them roaring and rattling into +the bowels of a ship that lies tied in the river. + +The walker throws his cigar away and looks about. A man walks before +him in the silent street. He sees the man raise his fist to the sky +and notes with a shock the movement of the lips and the hugeness and +ugliness of the face in the lamplight. + +Again he goes on, hurrying now, around another corner into a street +filled with pawn shops, clothing stores and the clamour of voices. In +his mind floats a picture. He sees two boys, clad in white rompers, +feeding clover to a tame rabbit in a suburban back lawn and wishes he +were at home in his own place. In his fancy the two sons are walking +under apple trees and laughing and tusseling for a great bundle of newly +pulled sweet smelling clover. The strange looking red man with the huge +face he has seen in the street is looking at the two children over a +garden wall. There is a threat in the look and the threat alarms him. +Into his mind comes the notion that the man who looks over the wall +wants to destroy the future of his children. + +The night advances. Down a stairway beside a clothing store comes a +woman with gleaming white teeth who is clad in a black dress. She makes +a Peculiar little jerking movement with her head to the walker. A patrol +wagon with clanging bells rushes through the street, two blue clad +policemen sitting stiffly in the seat. A boy--he can't be above +six--runs along the street pushing soiled newspapers under the noses of +idlers on the corners, his shrill childish voice rises above the din of +the trolley cars and the clanging notes of the patrol wagon. + +The walker throws his cigar into the gutter and climbing the steps of a +street car goes back to his hotel. His fine reflective mood is gone. He +half wishes that something lovely might come into American life but the +wish does not persist. He is only irritated and feels that a pleasant +evening has been in some way spoiled. He is wondering if he will be +successful in the business that brought him to the city. As he turns out +the light in his room and putting his head upon the pillow listens to +the noises of the city merged now into a quiet droning roar he thinks of +the brick factory on the banks of the river in Ohio and as he falls +into sleep the face of the red-haired man lowers at him from the factory +door. + + * * * * * + +When McGregor returned to the city after the burial of his mother he +began at once to try to put his idea of the marching men into form. +For a long time he did not know how to begin. The idea was vague and +shadowy. It belonged to the nights in the hills of his own country and +seemed a little absurd when he tried to think of it in the daylight of +North State Street in Chicago. + +McGregor felt that he had to prepare himself. He believed that he could +study books and learn much from men's ideas expressed in books without +being overwhelmed by their thoughts. He became a student and quit +the place in the apple-warehouse to the secret relief of the little +bright-eyed superintendent who had never been able to get himself up to +the point of raging at this big red fellow as he had raged at the German +before McGregor's time. The warehouse man felt that during the meeting +on the corner before the saloon on the day McGregor began to work for +him something had happened. The miner's son had unmanned him. “A man +ought to be boss in his own place,” he sometimes muttered to himself, +as he walked in the passageways among rows of piled apple barrels in +the upper part of the warehouse wondering why the presence of McGregor +irritated him. + +From six o'clock in the evening until two in the morning McGregor now +worked as night-cashier in a restaurant on South State Street below Van +Buren and from two until seven in the morning he slept in a room whose +windows looked down into Michigan Boulevard. On Thursday he was +free, his place being taken for the evening by the man who owned the +restaurant, a small excitable Irishman by the name of Tom O'Toole. + +McGregor got his chance to become a student through the bank account +belonging to Edith Carson. The opportunity arose in this way. On a +summer evening after his return from Pennsylvania he sat with her in the +darkened store back of the closed screen door. McGregor was morose and +silent. On the evening before he had tried to talk to several men at the +warehouse about the Marching Men and they had not understood. He blamed +his inability with words and sat in the half darkness with his face in +his hands and looked up the street saying nothing and thinking bitter +thoughts. + +The idea that had come to him made him half drunk with its possibilities +and he knew that he must not let it make him drunk. He wanted to begin +forcing men to do the simple thing full of meaning rather than the +disorganised ineffective things and he had an ever-present inclination +to arise, to stretch himself, to run into the streets and with his great +arms see if he could not sweep the people before him, starting them on +the long purposeful march that was to be the beginning of the rebirth of +the world and that was to fill with meaning the lives of men. Then when +he had walked the fever out of his blood and had frightened the people +in the streets by the grim look in his face he tried to school himself +to sit quietly waiting. + +The woman sitting beside him in a low rocking chair began trying to tell +him of something that had been in her mind. Her heart jumped and she +talked slowly, pausing between sentences to conceal the trembling of her +voice. “Would it help you in what you want to do if you could quit at +the warehouse and spend your days in study?” she asked. + +McGregor looked at her and nodded his head absent-mindedly. He thought +of the nights in his room when the hard heavy work of the day in the +warehouse seemed to have benumbed his brain. + +“Besides the business here I have seventeen hundred dollars in the +savings bank,” said Edith, turning aside to conceal the eager hopeful +look in her eyes. “I want to invest it. I do not want it lying there +doing nothing. I want you to take it and make a lawyer of yourself.” + +Edith sat rigid in her chair waiting for his answer. She felt that she +had put him to a test. In her mind was a new hope. “If he takes it he +will not be walking out at the door some night and never coming back.” + +McGregor tried to think. He had not tried to explain to her his new +notion of life and did not know how to begin. + +“After all why not stick to my plan and be a lawyer?” he asked himself. +“That might open the door. I'll do that,” he said aloud to the woman. +“Both you and mother have talked of it so I'll give it a trial. Yes, +I'll take the money.” + +Again he looked at her as she sat before him flushed and eager and was +touched by her devotion as he had been touched by the devotion of +the undertaker's daughter in Coal Creek. “I don't mind being under +obligations to you,” he said; “I don't know any one else I would take it +from.” + +In the street later the troubled man walked about trying to make new +plans for the accomplishment of his purpose. He was annoyed by what he +thought to be the dulness of his own brain and he thrust his fist up +into the air to look at it in the lamplight. “I'll get ready to use that +intelligently,” he thought; “a man wants trained brains backed up by a +big fist in the struggle I'm going into.” + +It was then that the man from Ohio walked past with his hands in his +pockets and attracted his attention. To McGregor's nostrils came the +odour of rich fragrant tobacco. He turned and stood staring at the +intruder on his thoughts. “That's what I am going to fight,” he growled; +“the comfortable well-to-do acceptance of a disorderly world, the +smug men who see nothing wrong with a world like this. I would like to +frighten them so that they throw their cigars away and run about like +ants when you kick over ant hills in the field.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +McGregor began to attend some classes at Chicago University and walked +about among the massive buildings, erected for the most part through the +bounty of one of his country's leading business men, wondering why the +great centre of learning seemed so little a part of the city. To him +the University seemed something entirely apart, not in tune with its +surrounding. It was like an expensive ornament worn on the soiled hand +of a street urchin. He did not stay there long. + +One day he got into disfavour with the professor in one of the classes. +He sat in a room among other students, his mind busy with thoughts of +the future and of how he might get his movement of the marching men +under way. In a chair beside him sat a large girl with blue eyes and +hair like yellow wheat. She like McGregor was unconscious of what was +going on about her and sat with half-closed eyes watching him. In the +corners of her eyes lurked a gleam of amusement. She drew sketches of +his huge mouth and nose on a pad of Paper. + +At McGregor's left with his legs sprawled into the aisle sat a youth who +was thinking of the yellow-haired girl and planning a campaign against +her. His father was a manufacturer of berry boxes in a brick building on +the West Side and he wished he were in school in another city so that +it would not be necessary to live at home. All day he thought of the +evening meal and of the coming of his father, nervous and tired, to +quarrel with his mother about the management of the servants. Now he was +trying to evolve a plan for getting money from his mother with which to +enjoy a dinner at a downtown restaurant. With delight he contemplated +such an evening with a box of cigarettes on the table and the +yellow-haired girl sitting opposite him under red lights. He was +a typical American youth of the upper middle class and was in the +University only because he was in no hurry to begin his life in the +commercial world. + +In front of McGregor sat another typical student, a pale nervous young +man who drummed with his fingers on the back of a book. He was very +serious about acquiring learning and when the professor paused in his +talk he threw up his hands and asked a question. When the professor +smiled he laughed loudly. He was like an instrument on which the +professor struck chords. + +The professor, a short man with a bushy black beard, heavy shoulders +and large powerful eye-glasses, spoke in a shrill voice surcharged with +excitement. + +“The world is full of unrest,” he said; “men are struggling like chicks +in the shell. In the hinterland of every man's mind uneasy thoughts +stir. I call your attention to what is going on in the Universities of +Germany.” + +The professor paused and glared about. McGregor was so irritated by +what he took to be the wordiness of the man that he could not restrain +himself. He felt as he had felt when the socialist orator talked on the +streets of Coal Creek. With an oath he arose and kicked out his foot to +push his chair away. The pad of paper fell out of the large girl's lap +and scattered its leaves about the floor. A light burned in McGregor's +blue eyes. As he stood in the classroom before the startled class his +head, big and red, had something of nobility about it like the head of +a fine beast. His voice rumbled out of his throat and the girl looked at +him, her mouth standing open. + +“We go from room to room hearing talk,” began McGregor. “On the street +corners downtown in the evenings and in towns and villages men talk +and talk. Books are written, jaws wag. The jaws of men are loose. They +wabble about--saying nothing.” + +McGregor's excitement grew. “If there is all this unrest why does it not +come to something?” he demanded. “Why do not you who have trained brains +strive to find the secret of order in the midst of this disorder? Why is +something not done?” + +The professor ran up and down on the platform. “I do not know what you +mean,” he cried nervously. McGregor turned slowly and stared at the +class. He tried to explain. “Why do not men lead their lives like men?” + he asked. “They must be taught to march, hundreds of thousands of men. +Do you not think so?” + +McGregor's voice rose and his great fist was raised. “The world should +become a great camp,” he cried. “The brains of the world should be +at the organisation of mankind. Everywhere there is disorder and men +chatter like monkeys in a cage. Why should some man not begin the +organisation of a new army? If there are men who do not understand what +is meant let them be knocked down.” + +The professor leaned forward and peered through his spectacles at +McGregor. “I understand your kind,” he said, and his voice trembled. +“The class is dismissed. We deprecate violence here.” + +The professor hurried through a door and down a long hallway with the +class chattering at his heels. McGregor sat in his chair in the empty +class room and stared at the wall. As the professor hurried away he +muttered to himself: “What's getting in here? What's getting into our +schools?” + + * * * * * + +Late on the following afternoon McGregor sat in his room thinking of +what had happened in the class. He had decided that he would not spend +any more time at the University but would devote himself entirely to the +study of law. Several young men came in. + +Among the students at the University McGregor had seemed very old. +Secretly he was much admired and had often been the subject of talk. +Those who had now come to see him wanted him to join a Greek Letter +Fraternity. They sat about his room, on the window sill and on a trunk +by the wall. They smoked pipes and were boyishly eager and enthusiastic. +A glow shone in the cheeks of the spokesman--a clean-looking youth +with black curly hair and round pink--and--white cheeks, the son of a +Presbyterian minister from Iowa. + +“You have been picked by our fellows to be one of us,” said the +spokesman. “We want you to become an Alpha Beta Pi. It is a grand +fraternity with chapters in the best schools in the country. Let me tell +you.” + +He began reeling off a list of names of statesmen, college professors, +business men and well known athletes who belonged to the order. + +McGregor sat by the wall looking at his guests and wondering what he +would say. He was a little amused and half hurt and felt like a man who +has had a Sunday School scholar stop him on the street to ask him about +the welfare of his soul. He thought of Edith Carson waiting for him in +her store on Monroe Street, of the angry miners standing in the saloon +in Coal Creek plotting to break into the restaurant while he sat with +the hammer in his hands waiting for battle, of old Mother Misery walking +at the heels of the soldiers' horses through the streets of the +mining village, and last of all of the terrible certainty that these +bright-eyed boys would be destroyed, swallowed up by the huge commercial +city in which they were to live. + +“It means a lot to be one of us when a chap gets out into the world,” + the curly-haired youth said. “It helps you get on, get in with the right +people. You can't go on without men you know. You ought to get in with +the best fellows.” He hesitated and looked at the floor. “I don't mind +telling you,” he said with an outburst of frankness, “that one of our +stronger men--Whiteside, the mathematician--wanted us to have you. He +said you were worth while. He thought you ought to see us and get to +know us and that we ought to see and get to know you.” + +McGregor got up and took his hat from a nail on the wall. He felt the +utter futility of trying to express what was in his mind and walked down +the stairs to the street with the file of boys following in embarrassed +silence and stumbling in the darkness of the hallway at his heels. +At the street door he stopped and faced them, struggling to put his +thoughts into words. + +“I can't do what you ask,” he said. “I like you and like your asking me +to come in with you, but I'm going to quit the University.” His voice +softened. “I would like to have you for friends,” he added. “You say a +man needs to know people after awhile. Well, I would like to know you +while you are what you are now. I don't want to know you after you +become what you will become.” + +McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalk +and went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face and +he knew he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened. “I +hate hitting boys,” he thought as he hurried away to his evening's work +at the restaurant. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When McGregor was admitted to the bar and ready to take his place among +the thousands of young lawyers scattered over the Chicago loop district +he half drew back from beginning the practice of his profession. To +spend his life quibbling over trifles with other lawyers was not what +he wanted. To have his place in life fixed by his ability in quibbling +seemed to him hideous. + +Night after night he walked alone in the streets thinking of the +matter. He grew angry and swore. Sometimes he was so stirred by the +meaninglessness of whatever way of life offered itself that he was +tempted to leave the city and become a tramp, one of the hordes of +adventurous dissatisfied souls who spend their lives drifting back and +forth along the American railroads. + +He continued to work in the South State Street restaurant that got its +patronage from the underworld. In the evenings from six until twelve +trade was quiet and he sat reading books and watching the restless +thrashing crowds that passed the window. Sometimes he became so absorbed +that one of the guests sidled past and escaped through the door without +paying his bill. In State Street the people moved up and down nervously, +wandering here and there, going without purpose like cattle confined in +a corral. Women in cheap imitations of the gowns worn by their sisters +two blocks away in Michigan Avenue and with painted faces leered at the +men. In gaudily lighted store-rooms that housed cheap suggestive shows +pianos kept up a constant din. + +In the eyes of the people who idled away the evenings in South State +Street was the vacant purposeless stare of modern life accentuated and +made horrible. With the stare went the shuffling walk, the wagging jaw, +the saying of words meaning nothing. On the wall of a building +opposite the door of the restaurant hung a banner marked “Socialist +Headquarters.” There where modern life had found well-nigh perfect +expression, where there was no discipline and no order, where men +did not move, but drifted like sticks on a sea-washed beach, hung the +socialist banner with its promise of the co-operative commonwealth. + +McGregor looked at the banner and at the moving people and was lost +in meditation. Walking from behind the cashier's desk he stood in the +street by the door and stared about. A fire began to burn in his eyes +and the fists that were thrust into his coat pockets were clenched. +Again as when he was a boy in Coal Creek he hated the people. The fine +love of mankind that had its basis in a dream of mankind galvanised by +some great passion into order and meaning was lost. + +In the restaurant after midnight trade briskened Waiters and bartenders +from fashionable restaurants of the loop district began to drop in to +meet friends from among the women of the town. When a woman came in +she walked up to one of these young men. “What kind of a night have you +had?” they asked each other. + +The visiting waiters stood about and talked in low tones. As they +talked they absentmindedly practised the art of withholding money from +customers, a source of income to them. They played with coins, pitched +them into the air, palmed them, made them appear and disappear with +marvellous rapidity. Some of them sat on stools along the counter eating +pie and drinking cups of hot coffee. + +A cook clad in a long dirty apron came into the room from the kitchen +and putting a dish on the counter stood eating its contents. He tried to +win the admiration of the idlers by boasting. In a blustering voice he +called familiarly to women seated at tables along the wall. At some time +in his life the cook had worked for a travelling circus and he talked +continually of his adventures on the road, striving to make himself a +hero in the eyes of his audience. + +McGregor read the book that lay before him on the counter and tried to +forget the squalid disorder of his surroundings. Again he read of the +great figures of history, the soldiers and statesmen who have been +leaders of men. When the cook asked him a question or made some remark +intended for his ears he looked up, nodded and read again. When a +disturbance started in the room he growled out a command and the +disturbance subsided. From time to time well dressed middle-aged men, +half gone in drink, came and leaned over the counter to whisper to him. +He made a motion with his hand to one of the women sitting at the tables +along the wall and idly playing with toothpicks. When she came to him he +pointed to the man and said, “He wants to buy you a dinner.” + +The women of the underworld sat at the tables and talked of McGregor, +each secretly wishing he might become her lover. They gossiped like +suburban wives, filling their talk with vague reference to things he had +said. They commented upon his clothes and his reading. When he looked at +them they smiled and stirred uneasily about like timid children. + +One of the women of the underworld, a thin woman with hollow red cheeks, +sat at a table talking with the other women of the raising of white +leghorn chickens. She and her husband, a fat old roan, a waiter in a +loop restaurant, had bought a ten-acre farm in the country and she was +helping to pay for it with the money made in the streets in the evening. +A small black-eyed woman who sat beside the chicken raiser reached up +to a raincoat hanging on the wall and taking a piece of white cloth from +the pocket began to work out a design in pale blue flowers for the front +of a shirtwaist. A youth with unhealthy looking skin sat on a stool by +the counter talking to a waiter. + +“The reformers have raised hell with business,” the youth boasted as he +looked about to be sure of listeners. “I used to have four women working +for me here in State Street in World's Fair year and now I have only one +and she crying and sick half the time.” + +McGregor stopped reading the book. “In every city there is a vice +spot, a place from which diseases go out to poison the people. The +best legislative brains in the world have made no progress against this +evil,” it said. + +He closed the book, threw it away from him and looked at his big fist +lying on the counter and at the youth talking boastfully to the waiter. +A smile played about the corners of his mouth. He opened and closed his +fist reflectively. Then taking a law book from a shelf below the counter +he began reading again, moving his lips and resting his head upon his +hands. + +McGregor's law office was upstairs over a secondhand clothing store in +Van Buren Street. There he sat at his desk reading and waiting and at +night he returned to the State Street restaurant. Now and then he went +to the Harrison Street police station to hear a police court trial and +through the influence of O'Toole was occasionally given a case that +netted him a few dollars. He tried to think that the years spent in +Chicago were years of training. In his own mind he knew what he wanted +to do but did not know how to begin. Instinctively he waited. He saw the +march and countermarch of events in the lives of the people tramping on +the sidewalks below his office window, saw in his mind the miners of the +Pennsylvania village coming down from the hills to disappear below +the ground, looked at the girls hurrying through the swinging doors of +department stores in the early morning, wondering which of them would +presently sit idling with toothpicks in O'Toole's and waited for the +word or the stir on the surface of that sea of humanity that would be +a sign to him. To an onlooker he might have seemed but another of the +wasted men of modern life, a drifter on the sea of things--but it was +not so. The people plunging through the streets afire with earnestness +concerning nothing had not succeeded in sucking him into the whirlpool +of commercialism in which they struggled and into which year after year +the best of America's youth was drawn. + +The idea that had come into his mind as he sat on the hill above the +mining town grew and grew. Day and night he dreamed of the actual +physical phenomena of the men of labour marching their way into power +and of the thunder of a million feet rocking the world and driving the +great song of order purpose and discipline into the soul of Americans. + +Sometimes it seemed to him that the dream would never be more than a +dream. In the dusty little office he sat and tears came into his eyes. +At such times he was convinced that mankind would go on forever along +the old road, that youth would continue always to grow into manhood, +become fat, decay and die with the great swing and rhythm of life a +meaningless mystery to them. “They will see the seasons and the planets +marching through space but they will not march,” he muttered, and went +to stand by the window and stare down into the dirt and disorder of the +street below. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In the office McGregor occupied in Van Buren Street there was another +desk besides his own. The desk was owned by a small man with an +extraordinary long moustache and with grease spots on the lapel of his +coat. In the morning he came in and sat in his chair with his feet on +his desk. He smoked long black stogies and read the morning papers. +On the glass panel of the door was the inscription, “Henry Hunt, +Real Estate Broker.” When he had finished with the morning papers he +disappeared, returning tired and dejected late in the afternoon. + +The real estate business of Henry Hunt was a myth. Although he bought +and sold no property he insisted on the title and had in his desk a +pile of letterheads setting forth the kind of property in which he +specialised. He had a picture of his daughter, a graduate of the Hyde +Park High School, in a glass frame on the wall. When he went out at the +door in the morning he paused to look at McGregor and said, “If any one +comes in about property tend to them for me. I'll be gone for a while.” + +Henry Hunt was a collector of tithes for the political bosses of +the first ward. All day he went from place to place through the ward +interviewing women, checking their names off a little red book he +carried in his pocket, promising, demanding, making veiled threats. In +the evening he sat in his flat overlooking Jackson Park and listened to +his daughter play on the piano. With all his heart he hated his place +in life and as he rode back and forth to town on the Illinois Central +trains he stared at the lake and dreamed of owning a farm and living +a free life in the country. In his mind he could see the merchants +standing gossiping on the sidewalk before the stores in an Ohio village +where he had lived as a boy and in fancy saw himself again a boy, +driving cows through the village street in the evening and making a +delightful little slap slap with his bare feet in the deep dust. + +It was Henry Hunt in his secret office as collector and lieutenant +to the “boss” of the first ward who shifted the scenes for McGregor's +appearance as a public character in Chicago. + +One night a young man--son of one of the city's plunging millionaire +wheat speculators--was found dead in a little blind alley back of a +resort known as Polk Street Mary's place. He lay crumpled up against +a board fence quite dead and with a bruise on the side of his head. A +policeman found him and dragged him to the street light at the corner of +the alley. + +For twenty minutes the policeman had been standing under the light +swinging his stick. He had heard nothing. A young man came up, touched +him on the arm and whispered to him. When he turned to go down the alley +the young man ran away up the street. + + * * * * * + +The powers that rule the first ward in Chicago were furious when the +identity of the dead man became known. The “boss,” a mild-looking +blue-eyed little man in a neat grey suit and with a silky moustache, +stood in his office opening and closing his fists convulsively. Then +he called a young man and sent for Henry Hunt and a well known police +official. + +For some weeks the newspapers of Chicago had been conducting a campaign +against vice. Swarms of reporters had over-run the ward. Daily they +issued word pictures of life in the underworld. On the front pages of +the papers with senators and governors and millionaires who had divorced +their wives, appeared also the names of Ugly Brown Chophouse Sam and +Carolina Kate with descriptions of their places, their hours of closing +and the class and quantity of their patronage. A drunken man rolled on +the floor at the back of a Twenty-second Street saloon and robbed of his +pocketbook had his picture on the front page of the morning papers. + +Henry Hunt sat in his office on Van Buren Street trembling with fright. +He expected to see his name in the paper and his occupation disclosed. + +The powers that ruled the First--quiet shrewd men who knew how to make +and to take profits, the very flower of commercialism--were frightened. +They saw in the prominence of the dead man a real opportunity for their +momentary enemies the press. For weeks they had been sitting quietly, +weathering the storm of public disapproval. In their minds they thought +of the ward as a kingdom in itself, something foreign and apart from +the city. Among their followers were men who had not been across the Van +Buren Street line into foreign territory for years. + +Suddenly through the minds of these men floated a menace. Like the small +soft-speaking boss the ward gripped its fist conclusively. Through the +streets and alleys ran a cry, a warning. Like birds of prey disturbed in +their nesting places they fluttered, uttering cries. Throwing his stogie +into the gutter Henry Hunt ran through the ward. From house to house he +uttered his cry--“Lay low! Pull off nothing.” + +The little boss in his office at the front of his saloon looked from +Henry Hunt to the police official. “It is no time for hesitation,” he +said. “It will prove a boon if we act quickly. We have got to arrest +and try that murderer and do it now. Who is our man? Quick. Let's have +action.” + +Henry Hunt lighted a fresh stogie. He played nervously with the ends of +his fingers and wished he were out of the ward and safely out of range +of the prying eyes of the press. In fancy he could hear his daughter +screaming with horror at the sight of his name spread in glaring letters +before the world and thought of her with a flush of abhorrence on her +young face turning from him forever. In his terror his mind darted here +and there. A name sprang to his lips. “It might have been Andy Brown,” + he said, puffing at the stogie. + +The little boss whirled his chair about. He began picking up the papers +scattered about his desk. When he spoke his voice was again soft and +mild. “It was Andy Brown,” he said. “Whisper the word about. Let a +_Tribune_ man locate Brown for you. Handle this right and you will save +your own scalp and get the fool papers off the back of the First.” + + * * * * * + +The arrest of Brown brought respite to the ward. The prediction of the +shrewd little boss made good. The newspapers dropped the clamorous +cry for reform and began demanding instead the life of Andrew Brown. +Newspaper artists rushed into police headquarters and made hurried +sketches to appear an hour later blazoned across the face of extras +on the streets. Grave scientific men got their pictures printed at the +heads of articles on “Criminal Characteristics of the Head and Face.” + +An adept and imaginative writer for an afternoon paper spoke of Brown as +a Jekyll and Hyde of the Tenderloin and hinted at other murders by +the same hand. From the comparatively quiet life of a not markedly +industrious yeggman Brown came out of the upper floor of a State Street +lodging house to stand stoically before the world of men--a storm centre +about which swirled and eddied the wrath of an aroused city. + +The thought that had flashed into the mind of Henry Hunt as he sat in +the office of the soft-voiced boss was the making of an opportunity for +McGregor. For months he and Andrew Brown had been friends. The yeggman, +a strongly built slow talking man, looked like a skilled mechanic of a +locomotive engineer. Coming into O'Toole's in the quiet hours between +eight and twelve he sat eating his evening meal and talking in a half +bantering humorous vein to the young lawyer. In his eyes lurked a kind +of hard cruelty tempered by indolence. It was he who gave McGregor the +name that still clings to him in that strange savage land--“Judge Mac, +the Big 'un.” + +When he was arrested Brown sent for McGregor and offered to give him +charge of his case. When the young lawyer refused he was insistent. In +a cell at the county jail they talked it over. By the door stood a guard +watching them. McGregor peered into the half darkness and said what he +thought should be said. “You are in a hole,” he began. “You don't want +me, you want a big name. They're all set to hang you over there.” He +waved his hand in the direction of the First. “They're going to hand you +over as an answer to a stirred up city. It's a job for the biggest and +best criminal lawyer in town. Name the man and I'll get him for you and +help raise the money to pay him.” + +Andrew Brown got up and walked to McGregor. Looking down at him he spoke +quickly and determinedly. “You do what I say,” he growled. “You take +this case. I didn't do the job. I was asleep in my room when it was +pulled off. Now you take the case. You won't clear me. It ain't in the +cards. But you get the job just the same.” + +He sat down again upon the iron cot at the corner of the cell. His voice +became slow and had in it a touch of cynical humour. “Look here, Big +'un,” he said, “the gang's picked my number out of the hat. I'm going +across but there's good advertising in the job for some one and you get +it.” + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The trial of Andrew Brown was both an opportunity and a test for +McGregor. For a number of years he had lived a lonely life in Chicago. +He had made no friends and his mind had not been confused by the endless +babble of small talk on which most of us subsist. Evening after evening +he had walked alone through the streets and had stood at the door of the +State Street restaurant a solitary figure aloof from life. Now he was to +be drawn into the maelstrom. In the past he had been let alone by life. +The great blessing of isolation had been his and in his isolation he had +dreamed a big dream. Now the quality of the dream and the strength of +its hold upon him was to be tested. + +McGregor was not to escape the influence of the life of his day. +Deep human passion lay asleep in his big body. Before the time of his +Marching Men he had yet to stand the most confusing of all the modern +tests of men, the beauty of meaningless women and the noisy clamour of +success that is equally meaningless. + +On the day of his conversation with Andrew Brown in the old Cook County +jail on Chicago's North Side we are therefore to think of McGregor as +facing these tests. After the talk with Brown he walked along the street +and came to the bridge that led over the river into the loop district. +In his heart he knew that he was facing a fight and the thought thrilled +him. With a new lift to his shoulders he walked over the bridge. He +looked at the people and again let his heart be filled with contempt for +them. + +He wished that the fight for Brown were a fight with fists. Boarding a +west side car he sat looking out through the car window at the passing +crowd and imagined himself among them, striking right and left, gripping +throats, demanding the truth that would save Brown and set himself up +before the eyes of men. + +When McGregor got to the Monroe Street millinery store it was evening +and Edith was preparing to go out to the evening meal. He stood looking +at her. In his voice rang a note of triumph. Out of his contempt for the +men and women of the underworld came boastfulness. “They have given me +a job they think I can't do,” he said. “I'm to be Brown's counsel in the +big murder case.” He put his hands on her frail shoulders and pulled her +to the light. “I'm going to knock them over and show them,” he boasted. +“They think they're going to hang Brown--the oily snakes. Well they +didn't count on me. Brown doesn't count on me. I'm going to show them.” + He laughed noisily in the empty shop. + +At a little restaurant McGregor and Edith talked of the test he was to +go through. As he talked she sat in silence and looked at his red hair. + +“Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart,” she said, thinking of +herself. + + * * * * * + +America is the land of murders. Day after day in cities and towns and +on lonely country roads violent death creeps upon men. Undisciplined and +disorderly in their way of life the citizens can do nothing. After each +murder they cry out for new laws which, when they are written into the +books of laws, the very lawmaker himself breaks. Harried through life +by clamouring demands, their days leave them no time for the quietude +in which thoughts grow. After days of meaningless hurry in the city they +jump upon trains or street cars and hurry through their favourite paper +to the ball game, the comic pictures and the market reports. + +And then something happens. The moment arrives. A murder that might have +got a single column on an inner page of yesterday's paper today spreads +its terrible details over everything. + +Through the streets hurry the restless scurrying newsboys, stirring the +crowds with their cries. The men who have passed impatiently the tales +of a city's shame snatch the papers and read eagerly and exhaustively +the story of a crime. + +And into the midst of such a maelstrom of rumours, hideous impossible +stories and well-laid plans to defeat the truth, McGregor hurled +himself. Day after day he wandered through the vice district south of +Van Buren Street. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and saloon hangers-on +looked at him and smiled knowingly. As the days passed and he made no +progress he became desperate. One day an idea came to him. “I'll go to +the good looking woman at the settlement house,” he told himself. “She +won't know who killed the boy but she can find out. I'll make her find +out.” + + * * * * * + +In Margaret Ormsby McGregor was to know what was to him a new kind of +womanhood, something sure, reliant, hedged about and prepared as a +good soldier is prepared, to have the best of it in the struggle for +existence. Something he had not known was yet to make its cry to the +man. + +Margaret Ormsby like McGregor himself had not been defeated by life. She +was the daughter of David Ormsby, head of the great plough trust with +headquarters in Chicago, a man who because of a certain fine assurance +in his attitude toward life had been called “Ormsby the Prince” by his +associates. Her mother Laura Ormsby was small nervous and intense. + +With a self-conscious abandonment, lacking just a shade of utter +security, Margaret Ormsby, beautiful in body and beautifully clad, went +here and there among the outcasts of the First Ward. She like all +women was waiting for an opportunity of which she did not talk even to +herself. She was something for the single-minded and primitive McGregor +to approach with caution. + +Hurrying along a narrow street lined with cheap saloons McGregor went in +at the door of the settlement house and sat in a chair at a desk facing +Margaret Ormsby. He knew something of her work in the First Ward and +that she was beautiful and self-possessed. He was determined that she +should help him. Sitting in the chair and looking at her across the +flat-top desk he choked back into her throat the terse sentences with +which she was wont to greet visitors. + +“It is all very well for you to sit there dressed up and telling me what +women in your position can do and can't do,” he said, “but I've come +here to tell you what you will do if you are of the kind that want to be +useful.” + +The speech of McGregor was a challenge which Margaret, the modern +daughter of one of our modern great men, could not well let pass. Had +she not brazened out her timidity to go calmly among prostitutes and +sordid muttering drunkards, serene in her consciousness of business-like +purpose? “What is it you want?” she asked sharply. + +“You have just two things that will help me,” said McGregor; “your +beauty and your virginity. These things are a kind of magnet, drawing +the women of the street to you. I know. I've heard them talk. + +“There are women who come in here who know who it was killed that boy in +the passageway and why it was done,” McGregor went on. “You're a fetish +with these women. They are children and they come in here to look at +you as children peep around curtains at guests sitting in the parlour of +their houses. + +“Well I want you to call these children into the room and let them tell +you family secrets. The whole ward here knows the story of that killing. +The air is filled with it. The men and women keep trying to tell me, but +they're afraid. The police have them scared and they half-tell me and +then run away like frightened animals. + +“I want them to tell you. You don't count with the police down here. +They think you're too beautiful and too good to touch the real life of +these people. None of them--the bosses or the police--are watching you. +I'll keep kicking up dust and you get the information I want. You can do +the job if you're any good.” + +After McGregor's speech the woman sat in silence and looked at him. For +the first time she had met a man who overwhelmed her and was in no way +diverted by her beauty nor her self-possession. A hot wave, half anger, +half admiration, swept over her. + +McGregor stared at the woman and waited. “I've got to have facts,” he +said. “Give me the story and the names of those who know the story and +I'll make them tell. I have some facts now--got them by bullying a girl +and by choking a bartender in an alley. Now I want you in your way to +put me in the way of getting more facts. You make the women talk and +tell you and then you tell me.” + +When McGregor had gone Margaret Ormsby got up from her desk in the +settlement house and walked across the city toward her father's office. +She was startled and frightened. In a moment and by the speech and +manner of this brutal young lawyer she had been made to realise that she +was but a child in the hands of the forces that played about her in +the First Ward. Her self-possession was shaken. “If they are +children--these women of the town--then I am a child, a child swimming +with them in a sea of hate and ugliness.” + +A new thought came into her mind. “But he is no child--that McGregor. He +is a child of nothing. He stands on a rock unshaken.” + +She tried to become indignant because of the blunt frankness of the +man's speech. “He talked to me as he would have talked to a woman of the +streets,” she thought. “He was not afraid to assume that at bottom we +are alike, just playthings in the hands of the man who dares.” + +In the street she stopped and looked about. Her body trembled and she +realised that the forces about her had become living things ready to +pounce upon her. “Anyway, I will do what I can. I will help him. I will +have to do that,” she whispered to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The clearing of Andrew Brown made a sensation in Chicago. At the trial +McGregor was able to introduce one of those breath-taking dramatic +climaxes that catch the attention of the mob. At the tense dramatic +moment of the trial a frightened hush fell upon the court room and that +evening in their houses men turned instinctively from the reading of the +papers to look at their beloved sitting about them. A chill of fear ran +over the bodies of women. For a moment Beaut McGregor had given them a +peep under the crust of civilisation that awoke an age-old trembling in +their hearts. In his fervour and impatience McGregor had cried out, not +against the incidental enemies of Brown but against all modern society +and its formlessness. To the listeners it seemed that he shook mankind +by the throat and that by the power and purposefulness of his own +solitary figure he revealed the pitiful weakness of his fellows. + +In the court room McGregor had sat, grim and silent, letting the State +build up its case. In his face was a challenge. His eyes looked out +from beneath swollen eyelids. For weeks he had been as tireless as +a bloodhound running through the First Ward and building his case. +Policemen had seen him emerge from alleyways at three in the morning, +the soft spoken boss hearing of his activities had eagerly questioned +Henry Hunt, a bartender in a dive on Polk Street had felt the grip of a +hand at his throat and a trembling girl of the town had knelt before him +in a little dark room begging protection from his wrath. In the court +room he sat waiting and watching. + +When the special counsel for the State, a man of great name in the +courts, had finished his insistent persistent cry for the blood of +the silent unemotional Brown, McGregor acted. Springing to his feet he +shouted hoarsely across the silent court room to a large woman sitting +among the witnesses. “They have tricked you Mary,” he roared. “The tale +about the pardon after the excitement dies is a lie. They're stringing +you. They're going to hang Andy Brown. Get up there and tell the naked +truth or his blood be on your hands.” + +A furor arose in the crowded court room. Lawyers sprang to their feet, +objecting, protesting. Above the noise arose a hoarse accusing voice. +“Keep Polk Street Mary and every woman from her place in here,” he +shouted. “They know who killed your man. Put them back there on the +stand. They'll tell. Look at them. The truth is coming out of them.” + +The clamour in the room subsided. The silent red-haired attorney, the +joke of the case, had scored. Walking in the streets at night the words +of Edith Carson had come back into his brain, and with the help +of Margaret Ormsby he had been able to follow a clue given by her +suggestion. + +“Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart.” + +In a moment he saw the message the women of the underworld, patrons of +O'Toole's, had been trying to convey to him. Polk Street Mary was the +sweetheart of Andy Brown. Now in the silent court room the voice of +a woman arose broken with sobs. To the listening crowd in the packed +little room came the story of the tragedy in the darkened house before +which stood the policeman idly swinging his night stick--the story of a +girl from an Illinois village procured and sold to the broker's son--of +the desperate struggle in the little room between the eager lustful man +and the frightened brave-hearted girl--of the blow with the chair in +the hands of the girl that brought death to the man--of the women of +the house trembling on the stairs and the body hastily pitched into the +passageway. + +“They told me they would get Andy off when this blew over,” wailed the +woman. + + * * * * * + +McGregor went out of the court room into the street. The glow of victory +was on him and he strode along with his heart beating high. His way led +over a bridge into the North Side and in his wanderings he passed the +apple warehouse where he had made his start in the city and where he had +fought with the German. When night came he walked in North Clark Street +and heard the newsboys shouting of his victory. Before him danced a new +vision, a vision of himself as a big figure in the city. Within himself +he felt the power to stand forth among men, to outwit them and outfight +them, to get for himself power and place in the world. + +The miner's son was half drunk with the new sense of achievement that +swept in on him. Out of Clark Street he went and walked east along +a residence street to the lake. By the lake he saw a street of great +houses surrounded by gardens and the thought came that at some time he +might have such a house of his own. The disorderly clatter of modern +life seemed very far away. When he came to the lake he stood in the +darkness thinking of the useless rowdy of the mining town suddenly +become a great lawyer in the city and the blood ran swiftly through his +body. “I am to be one of the victors, one of the few who emerge,” + he whispered to himself and with a jump of the heart thought also of +Margaret Ormsby looking at him with her fine questioning eyes as +he stood before the men in the court room and by the force of his +personality pushed his way through a fog of lies to victory and truth. + + + + + +BOOK V + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Margaret Ormsby was a natural product of her age and of American social +life in our times. As an individual she was lovely. Although her father +David Ormsby the plough king had come up to his position and his wealth +out of obscurity and poverty and had known during his early life what +it was to stand face to face with defeat, he had made it his business to +see that his daughter had no such experience. The girl had been sent +to Vassar, she had been taught to catch the fine distinction between +clothes that are quietly and beautifully expensive and clothes that +merely look expensive, she knew how to enter a room and how to leave a +room and had also a strong well trained body and an active mind. Added +to these things she had, without the least knowledge of life, a vigorous +and rather high handed confidence in her ability to meet life. + +During the years spent in the eastern college Margaret had made up her +mind that whatever happened she was not going to let her life be dull or +uninteresting. Once when a girl friend from Chicago came to the college +to visit her the two went for a day out of doors and sat down upon a +hillside to talk things over. “We women have been fools,” Margaret had +declared. “If Father and Mother think that I am going to come home and +marry some stick of a man they are mistaken. I have learned to smoke +cigarettes and have had my share of a bottle of wine. That may not +mean anything to you. I do not think it amounts to much either but it +expresses something. It fairly makes me ill when I think of how men +have always patronised women. They want to keep evil things away from +us--Bah! I am sick of that idea and a lot of the other girls here feel +the same way. What right have they? I suppose some day some little +whiffit of a business man will set himself up to take care of me. He had +better not. I tell you there is a new kind of women growing up and I am +going to be one of them. I am going to adventure, to taste life strongly +and deeply. Father and Mother might as well make up their minds to +that.” + +The excited girl had walked up and down before her companion, a mild +looking young woman with blue eyes, and had raised her hands above her +head as though to strike a blow. Her body was like the body of a fine +young animal standing alert to meet an enemy and her eyes reflected the +intoxication of her mood. “I want all of life,” she cried; “I want the +lust and the strength and the evil of it. I want to be one of the new +women, the saviours of our sex.” + +Between David Ormsby and his daughter there was an unusual bond. Six +foot three, blue eyed, broad shouldered, his presence had a strength +and dignity which marked him out among men and the daughter sensed his +strength. She was right in that. In his way the man was inspired. Under +his eye the trivialities of plough-making had become the details of a +fine art. In the factory he never lost the air of command which inspires +confidence. Foremen running into the office filled with excitement +because of a break in the machinery or an accident to a workman returned +to do his bidding quietly and efficiently. Salesmen going from village +to village to sell ploughs became under his influence filled with +the zeal of missionaries carrying the gospel to the unenlightened. +Stockholders of the plough company rushing to him with rumours of coming +business disaster stayed to write checks for new assessments on their +stock. He was a man who gave men back their faith in business and their +faith in men. + +To David plough-making was an end in life. Like other men of his type +he had other interests but they were secondary. In secret he thought +of himself as capable of a broader culture than most of his daily +associates and without letting it interfere with his efficiency tried to +keep in touch with the thoughts and movements of the world by reading. +After the longest and hardest day in the office he sometimes spent half +the night over a book in his room. + +As Margaret Ormsby grew into womanhood she was a constant source of +anxiety to her father. To him it seemed that she had passed from an +awkward and rather jolly girlhood into a peculiarly determined new kind +of womanhood over night. Her adventurous spirit worried him. One day he +had sat in his office reading a letter announcing her homecoming. The +letter seemed no more than a characteristic outburst from an impulsive +girl who had but yesterday fallen asleep at evening in his arms. It +confused him to think that an honest ploughmaker should have a letter +from his little girl talking of the kind of living that he believed +could only lead a woman to destruction. + +And then the next day there sat beside him at his table a new and +commanding figure demanding his attention. David got up from the table +and hurried away to his room. He wanted to readjust his thoughts. On his +desk was a photograph brought home by the daughter from school. He had +the common experience of being told by the photograph what he had been +trying to grasp. Instead of a wife and child there were two women in the +house with him. + +Margaret had come out of college a thing of beauty in face and figure. +Her tall straight well-trained body, her coal-black hair, her soft brown +eyes, the air she had of being prepared for life's challenge caught +and held the attention of men. There was in the girl something of her +father's bigness and not a little of the secret blind desires of her +mother. To an attentive household on the night of her arrival she +announced her intention of living her life fully and vividly. “I am +going to know things I can not get from books,” she said. “I am going to +touch life at many corners, getting the taste of things in my mouth. You +thought me a child when I wrote home saying that I wouldn't be cooped +up in the house and married to a tenor in the church choir or to an +empty-headed young business man but now you are going to see. I am going +to pay the price if necessary, but I am going to live.” + +In Chicago Margaret set about the business of living as though nothing +were needed but strength and energy. In a characteristic American way +she tried to hustle life. When the men in her own set looked confused +and shocked by the opinions she expressed she got out of her set and +made the common mistake of supposing that those who do not work and who +talk rather glibly of art and of freedom are by that token free men and +artists. + +Still she loved and respected her father. The strength in him made an +appeal to the native strong-thing in her. To a young socialist writer +who lived in the settlement house where she presently went to live +and who sought her out to sit by her desk berating men of wealth and +position she showed the quality of her ideals by pointing to David +Ormsby. “My father, the leader of an industrial trust, is a better man +than all of the noisy reformers that ever lived,” she declared. “He +makes ploughs anyway--makes them well--millions of them. He does not +spend his time talking and running his fingers through his hair. He +works and his work has lightened the labours of millions while the +talkers sit thinking noisy thoughts and getting round-shouldered.” + +In truth Margaret Ormsby was puzzled. Had she been allowed by a common +fellowship in living to be a real sister to all other women and to know +their common heritage of defeat, had she like her father when he was a +boy but known what it was to walk utterly broken and beaten in the face +of men and then to rise again and again to battle with life she would +have been splendid. + +She did not know. To her mind any kind of defeat had in it a touch of +something like immorality. When she saw all about her only a vast mob of +defeated and confused human beings trying to make headway in the +midst of a confused social organisation she was beside herself with +impatience. + +The distraught girl turned to her father and tried to get hold of the +keynote of his life; “I want you to tell me things,” she said, but the +father not understanding only shook his head. It did not occur to him to +talk to her as to a fine man friend and a kind of bantering half serious +companionship sprang up between them. The ploughmaker was happy in the +thought that the jolly girl he had known before his daughter went to +college had come back to live with him. + +After Margaret went to the settlement house she lunched with her father +almost every day. The hour together in the midst of the din that filled +their lives became for them both a treasured privilege. Day after day +they sat for an hour in a fashionable down-town eating place renewing +and strengthening their comradeship, laughing and talking amid the +crowds, delightful in their intimacy. With each other they playfully +took on the air of the two men of affairs, each in turn treating the +work of the other as something to be passed over lightly. Secretly +neither believed as he talked. + +In her effort to get hold of and move the sordid human wrecks floating +in and out of the door of the settlement house Margaret thought of her +father at his desk directing the making of ploughs. “It is clean and +important work,” she thought. “He is a big and effective man.” + +At his desk in the office of the plough trust David thought of his +daughter in the settlement house at the edge of the First Ward. “She +is a white shining thing amid dirt and ugliness,” he thought “Her whole +life is like the life of her mother during the hours when she once lay +bravely facing death for the sake of a new life.” + +On the day of her meeting with McGregor, father and daughter sat as +usual in the restaurant. Men and women passed up and down the long +carpeted aisles and looked at them admiringly. A waiter stood at +Ormsby's shoulder anxious for the generous tip. Into the air that hung +over them, the little secret atmosphere of comradeship they cherished +so carefully, was thrust the sense of a new personality. Floating in +Margaret's mind beside the quiet noble face of her father, with its +stamp of ability and kindliness, was another face--the face of the man +who had talked to her in the settlement house, not as Margaret Ormsby +daughter of David Ormsby of the plough trust but as a woman who could +serve his ends and whom he meant should serve. The vision in her mind +haunted her and she listened indifferently to the talk of her father. +She felt that the stern face of the young lawyer with its strong mouth +and its air of command was as something impending and tried to get back +the feeling of dislike she had felt when first he thrust himself in at +the settlement house door. She succeeded only in recalling certain firm +lines of purpose that offset and tempered the brutality of his face. + +Sitting there in the restaurant opposite her father, where day after +day they had tried so hard to build a real partnership in existence, +Margaret suddenly burst into tears. + +“I have met a man who has compelled me to do what I did not want to do,” + she explained to the astonished man and then smiled at him through the +tears that glistened in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In Chicago the Ormsbys lived in a large stone house in Drexel Boulevard. +The house had a history. It was owned by a banker who was a large +stockholder and one of the directors of the plough trust. Like all +men who knew him well the banker admired and respected the ability and +integrity of David Ormsby. When the ploughmaker came to the city from +a town in Wisconsin to be the master of the plough trust he offered him +the house to use. + +The house had come to the banker from his father, a grim determined old +money-making merchant of a past generation who had died hated by half +Chicago after toiling sixteen hours daily for sixty years. In his old +age the merchant had built the house to express the power wealth had +given him. It had floors and woodwork cunningly wrought of expensive +woods by workmen sent to Chicago by a firm in Brussels. In the long +drawing room at the front of the house hung a chandelier that had cost +the merchant ten thousand dollars. The stairway leading to the floor +above was from the palace of a prince in Venice and had been bought for +the merchant and brought over seas to the house in Chicago. + +The banker who inherited the house did not want to live in it. Even +before the death of his father and after his own unsuccessful marriage +he lived at a down town club. In his old age the merchant, retired from +business, lived in the house with another old man, an inventor. He +could not rest although he had given up business with that end in view. +Digging a trench in the lawn at the back of the house he with his friend +spent his days trying to reduce the refuse of one of his factories to +something having commercial value. Fires burned in the trench and at +night the grim old man, hands covered with tar, sat in the house under +the chandelier. After the death of the merchant the house stood empty, +staring at passers-by in the street, its walks and paths overgrown with +weeds and rank grass. + +David Ormsby fitted into his house. Walking through the long halls or +sitting smoking his cigar in an easy chair on the wide lawn he looked +arrayed and environed. The house became a part of him like a well-made +and intelligently worn suit of clothes. Into the drawing room under the +ten thousand dollar chandelier he moved a billiard table and the click +of ivory balls banished the churchliness of the place. + +Up and down the stairway moved American girls, friends of Margaret, +their skirts rustling and their voices running through the huge +rooms. In the evening after dinner David played billiards. The careful +calculation of the angles and the English interested him. Playing in the +evening with Margaret or with a man friend the fatigue of the day passed +and his honest voice and reverberating laugh brought a smile to the +lips of people passing in the street. In the evening David brought his +friends to sit in talk with him on the wide verandas. At times he went +alone to his room at the top of the house and buried himself in books. +On Saturday evenings he had a debauch and with a group of friends from +town sat at a card table in the long parlour playing poker and drinking +highballs. + +Laura Ormsby, Margaret's mother, had never seemed a real part of the +life about her. Even as a child the daughter had thought her hopelessly +romantic. Life had treated her too well and from every one about her she +expected qualities and reactions which in her own person she would not +have tried to achieve. + +David had already begun to rise when he married her, the slender +brown-haired daughter of a village shoemaker, and even in those days the +little plough company with its ownership scattered among the merchants +and farmers of the vicinity had started under his hand to make progress +in the state. People already spoke of its master as a coming man and of +Laura as the wife of a coming man. + +To Laura this was in some way unsatisfactory. Sitting at home and doing +nothing she had still a passionate wish to be known as a character, an +individual, a woman of action. On the street as she walked beside her +husband, she beamed upon people but when the same people spoke, calling +them a handsome couple, a flush rose to her cheeks and a flash of +indignation ran through her brain. + +Laura Ormsby lay awake in her bed at night thinking of her life. She had +a world of fancies in which she at such times lived. In her dream +world a thousand stirring adventures came to her. She imagined a letter +received through the mail, telling of an intrigue in which David's name +was coupled with that of another woman and lay abed quietly hugging the +thought. She looked at the face of the sleeping David tenderly. “Poor +hard-pressed boy,” she muttered. “I shall be resigned and cheerful and +lead him gently back to his old place in my heart.” + +In the morning after a night spent in this dream world Laura looked at +David, so cool and efficient, and was irritated by his efficiency. +When he playfully dropped his hand upon her shoulder she drew away and +sitting opposite him at breakfast watched him reading the morning paper +all unconscious of the rebel thoughts in her mind. + +Once after she had moved to Chicago and after Margaret's return from +college Laura had the faint suggestion of an adventure. Although it +turned out tamely it lingered in her mind and in some way sweetened her +thoughts. + +She was alone on a sleeping car coming from New York. A young man sat +in a seat opposite her and the two fell into talk. As she talked Laura +imagined herself eloping with the young man and under her lashes looked +sharply at his weak and pleasant face. She kept the talk alive as others +in the car crawled away for the night behind the green swaying curtains. + +With the young man Laura discussed ideas she had got from reading Ibsen +and Shaw. She grew bold and daring in the advancing of opinions and +tried to stir the young man to some overt speech or action that might +arouse her indignation. + +The young man did not understand the middle-aged woman who sat beside +him and talked so boldly. He knew of but one prominent man named Shaw +and that man had been governor of Iowa and later a member of the cabinet +of President McKinley. It startled him to think that a prominent member +of the Republican party should have such thoughts or express such +opinions. He talked of fishing in Canada and of a comic opera he had +seen in New York and at eleven o'clock yawned and disappeared behind +the green curtains. As the young man lay in his berth he muttered to +himself, “Now what did that woman want?” A thought came into his mind +and he reached up to where his trousers swung in a little hammock above +the window and looked to see that his watch and pocket-book were still +there. + +At home Laura Ormsby nursed the thought of the talk with the strange +man on the train. In her mind he became something romantic and daring, +a streak of light across what she was pleased to think of as her sombre +life. + +Sitting at dinner she talked of him describing his charms. “He had +a wonderful mind and we sat late into the night talking,” she said, +watching the face of David. + +When she had spoken Margaret looked up and said laughingly, “Have a +heart Dad. Here is romance. Do not be blind to it. Mother is trying to +scare you about an alleged love affair.” + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +One evening three weeks after the great murder trial McGregor took a +long walk in the streets of Chicago and tried to plan out his life. He +was troubled and disconcerted by the event that had crowded in upon the +heels of his dramatic success in the court room and more than troubled +by the fact that his mind constantly played with the dream of having +Margaret Ormsby as his wife. In the city he had become a power and +instead of the names and the pictures of criminals and keepers of +disorderly houses his name and his picture now appeared on the front +pages of newspapers. Andrew Leffingwell, the political representative +in Chicago of a rich and successful publisher of sensational newspapers, +had visited him in his office and had proposed to make him a political +figure in the city. Finley a noted criminal lawyer had offered him a +partnership. The lawyer, a small smiling man with white teeth, had not +asked McGregor for an immediate decision. In a way he had taken the +decision for granted. Smiling genially and rolling a cigar across +McGregor's desk he had spent an hour telling stories of famous court +room triumphs. + +“One such triumph is enough to make a man,” he declared. “You have no +idea how far such a success will carry you. The word of it keeps running +through men's minds. A tradition is built up. The remembrance of it acts +upon the minds of jurors. Cases are won for you by the mere connection +of your name with the case.” + +McGregor walked slowly and heavily through the streets without seeing +the people. In Wabash Avenue near Twenty-third Street he stopped in a +saloon and drank beer. The saloon was in a room below the level of +the sidewalk and the floor was covered with sawdust. Two half drunken +labourers stood by the bar quarrelling. One of the labourers who was a +socialist continually cursed the army and his words started McGregor to +thinking of the dream he had so long held and that now seemed fading. +“I was in the army and I know what I am talking about,” declared the +socialist. “There is nothing national about the army. It is a privately +owned thing. Here it is secretly owned by the capitalists and in Europe +by the aristocracy. Don't tell me--I know. The army is made up of bums. +If I'm a bum I became one then. You will see fast enough what fellows +are in the army if the country is ever caught and drawn into a great +war.” + +Becoming excited the socialist raised his voice and pounded on the bar. +“Hell, we don't know ourselves at all,” he cried. “We never have been +tested. We call ourselves a great nation because we are rich. We are +like a fat boy who has had too much pie. Yes sir--that's what we are +here in America and as far as our army goes it is a fat boy's plaything. +Keep away from it.” + +McGregor sat in the corner of the saloon and looked about. Men came in +and went out at the door. A child carried a pail down the short flight +of steps from the street and ran across the sawdust floor. Her voice, +thin and sharp, pierced through the babble of men's voices. “Ten cents' +worth--give me plenty,” she pleaded, raising the pail above her head and +putting it on the bar. + +The confident smiling face of Finley the lawyer came back into +McGregor's mind. Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the +lawyer looked upon men as pawns in a great game and like the ploughmaker +his intentions were honourable and his purpose clear. He was intent upon +making much of his life, being successful. If he played the game on the +side of the criminal that was but a chance. Things had fallen out so. In +his mind was something else--the expression of his own purpose. + +McGregor rose and went out of the saloon. In the street men stood about +in groups. At Thirty-ninth Street a crowd of youths scuffling on the +sidewalk pushed against the tall muttering man who passed with his hat +in his hand. He began to feel that he was in the midst of something +too vast to be moved by the efforts of any one man. The pitiful +insignificance of the individual was apparent. As in a long procession +the figures of the individuals who had tried to rise out of the ruck of +American life passed before him. With a shudder he realised that for the +most part the men whose names filled the pages of American history meant +nothing. The children who read of their deeds were unmoved. Perhaps they +had only increased the disorder. Like the men passing in the street they +went across the face of things and disappeared into the darkness. + +“Perhaps Finley and Ormsby are right,” he whispered. “They get what +they can, they have the good sense to know that life runs quickly like +a flying bird passing an open window. They know that if a man thinks of +anything else he is likely to become another sentimentalist and spend +his life being hypnotised by the wagging of his own jaw.” + + * * * * * + +In his wanderings McGregor came to an out-of-door restaurant and garden +far out on the south side. The garden had been built for the amusement +of the rich and successful. Upon a little platform a band played. +Although the garden was walled about it was open to the sky and above +the laughing people seated at the tables shone the stars. + +McGregor sat alone at a little table on a balcony beneath a shaded +light. Below him along a terrace were other tables occupied by men and +women. On a platform in the centre of the garden dancers appeared. + +McGregor who had ordered a dinner left it untouched. A tall graceful +girl, strongly suggestive of Margaret Ormsby, danced upon the platform. +With infinite grace her body gave expression to the movements of the +dance and like a thing blown by the wind she moved here and there in the +arms of her partner, a slender youth with long black hair. In the figure +of the dancing woman there was expressed much of the idealism man +has sought to materialise in women and McGregor was thrilled by it. A +sensualism so delicate that it did not appear to be sensualism began +to invade him. With a new hunger he looked forward to the time when he +would again see Margaret. + +Upon the platform in the garden appeared other dancers. The lights at +the tables were turned low. From the darkness laughter arose. McGregor +stared about. The people seated at the tables on the terrace caught and +held his attention and he began looking sharply at the faces of the men. +How cunning they were, these men who had been successful in life. Were +they not after all the wise men? Behind the flesh that had grown so +thick upon their bones what cunning eyes. There was a game of life and +they had played it. The garden was a part of the game. It was beautiful +and did not all that was beautiful in the world end by serving them? The +arts of men, the thoughts of men, the impulses toward loveliness that +came into the minds of men and women, did not all these things work +solely to lighten the hours of the successful? The eyes of the men at +the tables as they looked at the women who danced were not too greedy. +They were filled with assurance. Was it not for them that the dancers +turned here and there revealing their grace? If life was a struggle had +they not been successful in the struggle? + +McGregor arose from the table and left his food untouched. Near the +entrance to the gardens he stopped and leaning against a pillar looked +again at the scene before him. Upon the platform appeared a whole troupe +of women-dancers. They were dressed in many-coloured garments and danced +a folk dance. As McGregor watched a light began to creep back into his +eyes. The women who now danced were unlike her who had reminded him +of Margaret Ormsby. They were short of stature and there was something +rugged in their faces. Back and forth across the platform they moved +in masses. By their dancing they were striving to convey a message. +A thought came to McGregor. “It is the dance of labour,” he muttered. +“Here in this garden it is corrupted but the note of labour is not +lost. There is a hint of it left in these figures who toil even as they +dance.” + +McGregor moved away from the shadows of the pillar and stood, hat in +hand, beneath the garden lights waiting as though for a call out of the +ranks of the dancers. How furiously they worked. How the bodies twisted +and squirmed. Out of sympathy with their efforts sweat appeared on the +face of the man who stood watching. “What a storm must be going on just +below the surface of labour,” he muttered. “Everywhere dumb brutalised +men and women must be waiting for something, not knowing what they want. +I will stick to my purpose but I will not give up Margaret,” he said +aloud, turning and half running out of the garden and into the street. + +In his sleep that night McGregor dreamed of a new world, a world of soft +phrases and gentle hands that stilled the rising brute in man. It was +a world-old dream, the dream out of which such women as Margaret Ormsby +have been created. The long slender hands he had seen lying on the desk +in the settlement house now touched his hands. Uneasily he rolled about +in bed and desire came to him so that he awakened. On the Boulevard +people still passed up and down. McGregor arose and stood in the +darkness by the window of his room watching. A theatre had just spat +forth its portion of richly dressed men and women and when he had opened +the window the voices of the women came clear and sharp to his ears. + +The distracted man stared into the darkness and his blue eyes were +troubled. The vision of the disordered and disorganised band of miners +marching silently in the wake of his mother's funeral into whose lives +he by some supreme effort was to bring order was disturbed and shattered +by the more definite and lovely vision that had come to him. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +During the days since she had seen McGregor Margaret had thought of him +almost constantly. She weighed and balanced her own inclinations and +decided that if the opportunity came she would marry the man whose force +and courage had so appealed to her. She was half disappointed that the +opposition she had seen in her father's face when she had told him +of McGregor and had betrayed herself by her tears did not become more +active. She wanted to fight, to defend the man she had secretly chosen. +When nothing was said of the matter she went to her mother and tried to +explain. “We will have him here,” the mother said quickly. “I am giving +a reception next week. I will make him the chief figure. Let me have his +name and address and I will attend to the matter.” + +Laura arose and went into the house. A shrewd gleam came into her eyes. +“He will act like a fool before our people,” she told herself. “He is a +brute and will be made to look like a brute.” She could not restrain her +impatience and sought out David. “He is a man to fear,” she said; “he +would stop at nothing. You must think of some way to put an end to +Margaret's interest in him. Do you know of a better plan than to have +him here where he will look the fool?” + +David took the cigar from his lips. He felt annoyed and irritated that +an affair concerning Margaret had been brought forward for discussion. +In his heart he also feared McGregor. “Let it alone,” he said sharply. +“She is a woman grown and has more judgment and good sense than any +other woman I know.” He got up and threw the cigar over the veranda into +the grass. “Women are not understandable,” he half shouted. “They do +inexplicable things, have inexplicable fancies. Why do they not go +forward along straight lines like a sane man? I years ago gave up +understanding you and now I am being compelled to give up understanding +Margaret.” + + * * * * * + +At Mrs. Ormsby's reception McGregor appeared arrayed in the black suit +he had purchased for his mother's funeral. His flaming red hair and +rude countenance arrested the attention of all. About him on all sides +crackled talk and laughter. As Margaret had been alarmed and ill at ease +in the crowded court room where a fight for life went on, so he among +these people who went about uttering little broken sentences and +laughing foolishly at nothing, felt depressed and uncertain. In the +midst of the company he occupied much the same position as a new and +ferocious animal safely caught and now on caged exhibition. They thought +it clever of Mrs. Ormsby to have him and he was, in not quite the +accepted sense, the lion of the evening. The rumour that he would be +there had induced more than one woman to cut other engagements and +come to where she could take the hand of and talk with this hero of +the newspapers, and the men shaking his hand, looked at him sharply and +wondered what power and what cunning lay in him. + +In the newspapers after the murder trial a cry had sprung up about the +person of McGregor. Fearing to print in full the substance of his speech +on vice, its ownership and its significance, they had filled their +columns with talk of the man. The huge Scotch lawyer of the Tenderloin +was proclaimed as something new and startling in the grey mass of the +city's population. Then as in the brave days that followed the man +caught irresistibly the imagination of writing men, himself dumb in +written or spoken words except in the heat of an inspired outburst when +he expressed perfectly that pure brute force, the lust for which sleeps +in the souls of artists. + +Unlike the men the beautifully gowned women at the reception had no fear +of McGregor. They saw in him something to be tamed and conquered and +they gathered in groups to engage him in talk and return the inquiring +stare in his eyes. They thought that with such an unconquered soul +about, life might take on new fervour and interest. Like the women who +sat playing with toothpicks in O'Toole's restaurant, more than one of +the women at Mrs. Ormsby's reception had a half unconscious wish that +such a man might be her lover. + +One after another Margaret brought forward the men and women of her +world to couple their names with McGregor's and try to establish him +in the atmosphere of assurance and ease that pervaded the house and the +people. He stood by the wall bowing and staring boldly about and thought +that the confusion and distraction of mind that had followed his +first visit to Margaret at the settlement house was being increased +immeasurably with every passing moment. He looked at the glittering +chandelier on the ceiling and at the people moving about--the men at +ease, comfortable--the women with wonderfully delicate expressive hands +and with their round white necks and shoulders showing above their gowns +and a feeling of utter helplessness pervaded him. Never before had he +been in a company so feminine. He thought of the beautiful women about +him, seeing them in his direct crude and forceful way merely as females +at work among males, carrying forward some purpose. “With all the softly +suggestive sensuality of their dress and their persons they must in some +way have sapped the strength and the purpose of these men who move among +them so indifferently,” he thought. Within himself he knew of nothing to +set up as a defence against what he believed such beauty must become +to the man who lived with it. Its power he thought must be something +monumental and he looked with admiration at the quiet face of Margaret's +father, moving among his guests. + +McGregor went out of the house and stood in the half darkness on the +veranda. When Mrs. Ormsby and Margaret followed he looked at the older +woman and sensed her antagonism. The old love of battle swept in on him +and he turned and stood in silence looking at her. “The fine lady,” he +thought, “is no better than the women of the First Ward. She has an idea +I will surrender without a fight.” + +Out of his mind went the fear of the assurance and stability of +Margaret's people that had almost overcome him in the house. The +woman who had all her life thought of herself as one waiting only the +opportunity to appear as a commanding figure in affairs made by her +presence a failure of the effort to submerge McGregor. + + * * * * * + +On the veranda stood the three people. McGregor the silent became the +talkative. Seized with one of the inspirations that were a part of his +nature he threw talk about, sparring and returning thrust for thrust +with Mrs. Ormsby. When he thought that the time had come for him to get +at the thing that was in his mind he went into the house and presently +came out carrying his hat. The quality of harshness that crept into his +voice when he was excited or determined startled Laura Ormsby. Looking +down at her, he said, “I am going to take your daughter for a walk in +the street. I want to talk with her.” + +Laura hesitated and smiled uncertainly. She determined to speak out, to +be like the man crude and direct. When she had her mind fixed and ready +Margaret and McGregor were already half way down the gravel walk to the +gate and the opportunity to distinguish herself had passed. + + * * * * * + +McGregor walked beside Margaret, absorbed in thoughts of her. “I am +engaged in a work here,” he said, waving his hand vaguely toward the +city. “It is a big work and it takes a lot out of me. I have not come +to see you, because I've been uncertain. I've been afraid you would +overcome me and drive thoughts of the work out of my head.” + +By the iron gate at the end of the gravel walk they turned and faced +each other. McGregor leaned against the brick wall and looked at her. “I +want you to marry me,” he said. “I think of you constantly. Thinking of +you I can only half do my work. I get to thinking that another man may +come and take you and I waste hour after hour being afraid.” + +She put a trembling hand upon his arm and he thinking to check an +attempt at an answer before he had finished, hurried on. + +“There are things to be said and understood between us before I can come +to you as a suitor. I did not think I should feel toward a woman as +I feel toward you and I have certain adjustments to make. I thought I +could get along without your kind of women. I thought you were not for +me--with the work I have thought out to do in the world. If you will not +marry me I'll be glad to know now so that I can get my mind straightened +out.” + +Margaret raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder. The act was a +kind of acknowledgment of his right to talk to her so directly. She +said nothing. Filled with a thousand messages of love and tenderness she +longed to pour into his ear she stood in silence on the gravel path with +her hand on his shoulder. + +And then an absurd thing happened. The fear that Margaret might come to +some quick decision that would affect all of their future together made +McGregor frantic. He did not want her to speak and wished his own words +unsaid. “Wait. Not now,” he cried and threw up his hand intending to +take her hand. His fist struck the arm that lay on his shoulder and it +in turn knocked his hat flying into the road. McGregor started to run +after it and then stopped. He put his hand to his head and appeared +lost in thought. When he turned again to pursue the hat Margaret, unable +longer to control herself, shouted with laughter. + +Hatless, McGregor walked up Drexel Boulevard in the soft stillness of +the summer night. He was annoyed at the outcome of the evening and in +his heart half wished that Margaret had sent him away defeated. His arms +ached to have her against his breast but his mind kept presenting one +after another the objections to marriage with her. “Men are submerged +by such women and forget their work,” he told himself. “They sit looking +into the soft brown eyes of their beloved, thinking of happiness. A man +should go about his work thinking of that. The fire that runs through +the veins of his body should light his mind. One wants to take the love +of woman as an end in life and the woman accepts that and is made happy +by it.” He thought with gratitude of Edith in her shop on Monroe Street. +“I do not sit in my room at night dreaming of taking her in my arms and +pouring kisses on her lips,” he whispered. + + * * * * * + +In the door of her house Mrs. Ormsby had stood watching McGregor and +Margaret. She had seen them stop at the end of the walk. The figure of +the man was lost in shadows and that of Margaret stood alone, outlined +against a distant light. She saw Margaret's hand thrust out--was she +clutching his sleeve--and heard the murmur of voices. And then the man +precipitating himself into the street. His hat catapulted ahead of him +and a quick outburst of half-hysterical laughter broke the stillness. + +Laura Ormsby was furious. Although she hated McGregor she could not bear +the thought that laughter should break the spell of romance. “She is +just like her father,” she muttered. “At least she might show some +spirit and not be like a wooden thing, ending her first talk with a +lover with a laugh like that.” + +As for Margaret she stood in the darkness trembling with happiness. She +imagined herself going up the dark stairway to McGregor's office in +Van Buren Street where once she had gone to take him news of the murder +case--laying her hand upon his shoulder and saying, “Take me in your +arms and kiss me. I am your woman. I want to live with you. I am ready +to renounce my people and my world and to live your life for your sake.” + Margaret, standing in the darkness before the huge old house in Drexel +Boulevard, imagined herself with Beaut McGregor--living with him as his +wife in a small apartment over a fish market on a West Side street. Why +a fish market she could not have said. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Edith Carson was six years older than McGregor and lived entirely within +herself. Hers was one of those natures that do not express themselves +in words. Although at his coming into the shop her heart beat high no +colour came to her cheeks and her pale eyes did not flash back into his +a message. Day after day she sat in her shop at work, quiet, strong in +her own kind of faith, ready to give her money, her reputation, and if +need be her life to the working out of her own dream of womanhood. She +did not see in McGregor the making of a man of genius as did Margaret +and did not hope to express through him a secret desire for power. She +was a working woman and to her he represented all men. In her secret +heart she thought of him merely as the man--her man. + +And to McGregor Edith was companion and friend. He saw her sitting year +after year in her shop, putting money into the savings bank, keeping a +cheerful front before the world, never assertive, kindly, in her own way +sure of herself. “We could go on forever as we are now and she be none +the less pleased,” he told himself. + +One afternoon after a particularly hard week of work he went out to her +place to sit in her little workroom and think out the matter of marrying +Margaret Ormsby. It was a quiet season in Edith's trade and she was +alone in the shop serving a customer. McGregor lay down upon the little +couch in the workroom. For a week he had been speaking to gatherings of +workmen night after night and later had sat in his own room thinking of +Margaret. Now on the couch with the murmur of voices in his ears he fell +asleep. + +When he awoke it was late in the night and on the floor by the side of +the couch sat Edith with her fingers in his hair. + +McGregor opened his eyes quietly and looked at her. He could see a tear +running down her cheek. She was staring straight ahead at the wall of +the room and by the dim light that came through a window he could see +the drawn cords of her little neck and the knot of mouse coloured hair +on her head. + +McGregor closed his eyes quickly. He felt like one who has been aroused +out of sleep by a dash of cold water across his breast. It came over +him with a rush that Edith Carson had been expecting something from +him--something he was not prepared to give. + +She got up after a time and crept quietly away into the shop and with +a great clatter and bustle he arose also and began calling loudly. He +demanded the time and complained about a missed appointment. Turning +up the gas, Edith walked with him to the door. On her face sat the old +placid smile. McGregor hurried away into the darkness and spent the rest +of the night walking in the streets. + +The next day he went to Margaret Ormsby at the settlement house. With +her he used no art. Driving straight to the point he told her of the +undertaker's daughter sitting beside him on the eminence above Coal +Creek, of the barber and his talk of women on the park bench and how +that had led him to that other woman kneeling on the floor in the +little frame house, his fists in her hair and of Edith Carson whose +companionship had saved him from all of these. + +“If you can't hear all of this and still want life with me,” he said, +“there is no future for us together. I want you. I'm afraid of you and +afraid of my love for you but still I want you. I've been seeing your +face floating above the audiences in the halls where I've been at work. +I've looked at babies in the arms of workingmen's wives and wanted to +see my babe in your arms. I care more for what I am doing than I do for +you but I love you.” + +McGregor arose and stood over her. “I love you with my arms aching to +close about you, with my brain planning the triumph of the workers, with +all of the old perplexing human love that I had almost thought I would +never want. + +“I can't bear this waiting. I can't bear this not knowing so that I can +tell Edith. I can't have my mind filled with the need of you just as men +are beginning to catch the infection of an idea and are looking to me +for clear-headed leadership. Take me or let me go and live my life.” + +Margaret Ormsby looked at McGregor. When she spoke her voice was as +quiet as the voice of her father telling a workman in the shop what to +do with a broken machine. + +“I am going to marry you,” she said simply. “I am full of the thought of +it. I want you, want you so blindly that I think you can't understand.” + +She stood up facing him and looked into his eyes. + +“You must wait,” she said. “I must see Edith, I myself must do that. All +these years she has served you--she has had that privilege.” + +McGregor looked across the table into the beautiful eyes of the woman he +loved. + +“You belong to me even if I do belong to Edith,” he said. + +“I will see Edith,” Margaret answered again. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +McGregor left the telling of the story of his love to Margaret. Edith +Carson who knew defeat so well and who had in her the courage of defeat +was to meet defeat at his hands through the undefeated woman and he let +himself forget the whole matter. For a month he had been trying to get +workingmen to take up the idea of the Marching Men without success and +after the talk with Margaret he kept doggedly at the work. + +And then one evening something happened that aroused him. The Marching +Men idea that had become more than half intellectualised became again a +burning passion and the matter of his life with women got itself cleared +up swiftly and finally. + +It was night and McGregor stood upon the platform of the Elevated +Railroad at State and Van Buren Streets. He had been feeling guilty +concerning Edith and had been intending to go out to her place but +the scene in the street below fascinated him and he remained standing, +looking along the lighted thoroughfare. + +For a week there had been a strike of teamsters in the city and that +afternoon there had been a riot. Windows had been smashed and several +men injured. Now the evening crowds gathered and speakers climbed upon +boxes to talk. Everywhere there was a great wagging of jaws and waving +of arms. McGregor grew reminiscent. Into his mind came the little mining +town and he saw himself again a boy sitting in the darkness on the steps +before his mother's bake shop and trying to think. Again in fancy he +saw the disorganised miners tumbling out of the saloon to stand on the +street swearing and threatening and again he was filled with contempt +for them. + +And then in the heart of the great western city the same thing happened +that had happened when he was a boy in Pennsylvania. The officials of +the city, having decided to startle the striking teamsters by a display +of force, sent a regiment of state troops marching through the streets. +The soldiers were dressed in brown uniforms. They were silent. As +McGregor looked down they turned out of Polk Street and came with +swinging measured tread up State Street past the disorderly mobs on the +sidewalk and the equally disorderly speakers on the curb. + +McGregor's heart beat so that he nearly choked. The men in the uniforms, +each in himself meaning nothing, had become by their marching together +all alive with meaning. Again he wanted to shout, to run down into the +street and embrace them. The strength in them seemed to kiss, as with +the kiss of a lover, the strength within himself and when they had +passed and the disorderly jangle of voices broke out again he got on a +car and went out to Edith's with his heart afire with resolution. + +Edith Carson's millinery shop was in the hands of a new owner. She had +sold out and fled. McGregor stood in the show room looking about him at +the cases filled with their feathery finery and at the hats along the +wall. The light from a street lamp that came in at the window started +millions of tiny motes dancing before his eyes. + +Out of the room at the back of the shop--the room where he had seen the +tears of suffering in Edith's eyes--came a woman who told him of Edith's +having sold the business. She was excited by the message she had to +deliver and walked past the waiting man, going to the screen door to +stand with her back to him and look up the street. + +Out of the corners of her eyes the woman looked at him. She was a small +black-haired woman with two gleaming gold teeth and with glasses on her +nose. “There has been a lovers' quarrel here,” she told herself. + +“I have bought the store,” she said aloud. “She told me to tell you that +she had gone.” + +McGregor did not wait for more but hurried past the woman into the +street. In his heart was a feeling of dumb aching loss. On an impulse he +turned and ran back. + +Standing in the street by the screen door he shouted hoarsely. “Where +did she go?” he demanded. + +The woman laughed merrily. She felt that she was getting with the shop a +flavour of romance and adventure very attractive to her. Then she walked +to the door and smiled through the screen. “She has only just left,” she +said. “She went to the Burlington station. I think she has gone West. I +heard her tell the man about her trunk. She has been around here for two +days since I bought the shop. I think she has been waiting for you to +come. You did not come and now she has gone and perhaps you won't find +her. She did not look like one who would quarrel with a lover.” + +The woman in the shop laughed softly as McGregor hurried away. “Now who +would think that quiet little woman would have such a lover?” she asked +herself. + +Down the street ran McGregor and raising his hand stopped a passing +automobile. The woman saw him seated in the automobile talking to a +grey-haired man at the wheel and then the machine turned and disappeared +up the street at a law-breaking pace. + +McGregor had again a new light on the character of Edith Carson. “I can +see her doing it,” he told himself--“cheerfully telling Margaret that +it didn't matter and all the time planning this in the back of her head. +Here all of these years she has been leading a life of her own. The +secret longings, the desires and the old human hunger for love and +happiness and expression have been going on under her placid exterior as +they have under my own.” + +McGregor thought of the busy days behind him and realised with shame how +little Edith had seen of him. It was in the days when his big movement +of The Marching Men was just coming into the light and on the night +before he had been in a conference of labour men who had wanted him to +make a public demonstration of the power he had secretly been building +up. Every day his office was filled with newspaper men who asked +questions and demanded explanations. And in the meantime Edith had been +selling her shop to that woman and getting ready to disappear. + +In the railroad station McGregor found Edith sitting in a corner with +her face buried in the crook of her arm. Gone was the placid exterior. +Her shoulders seemed narrower. Her hand, hanging over the back of the +seat in front of her, was white and lifeless. + +McGregor said nothing but snatched up the brown leather bag that sat +beside her on the floor and taking her by the arm led her up a flight of +stone steps to the street. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the Ormsby household father and daughter sat in the darkness on the +veranda. After Laura Ormsby's encounter with McGregor there had been +another talk between her and David. Now she had gone on a visit to her +home-town in Wisconsin and father and daughter sat together. + +To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. “It is not +a matter of good sense,” he had said; “one can not pretend there is a +prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and may some +day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that will bring +either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret. He may end his +life in jail.” + + * * * * * + +McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front door +of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the hearty +voice of David. “Come and sit out here,” he said. + +McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got up +and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart she +sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people. Her +voice trembled with alarm. “Come in,” she said, turning and leading the +way into the house. + +The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and +called to David. “We want you in here with us,” he said harshly. + +In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw +its light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the +floor. + +“I've made a mistake,” said McGregor. “I've been going on and on making +a mistake.” He turned to Margaret. “We didn't count on something here. +There is Edith. She isn't what we thought.” + +Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt +that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he loved +to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over and then +go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion. + +To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She +also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also looked +at the floor. To herself she was saying, “He is going to take himself +away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear him +say that.” In the doorway stood David. “He is going to give me back +Margaret,” he thought, and his heart danced with happiness. + +McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. His +blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning them +and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. “If I am +clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream,” he thought. “If I fail +in this I shall fail in everything.” Turning he took hold of the sleeve +of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two men +stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to her he +continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The action +caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through him. “Here +is a man,” he told himself. + +“You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is +now and you see what it has done to her,” said McGregor. + +The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky +white. McGregor threw up his hands. + +“Wait,” he said, “a man and woman can't live together for years and then +part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent. They +find they love each other. I've found out that though I want you, I love +Edith. She loves me. Look at her.” + +Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice +came the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. “Oh, we'll +be married, Margaret and I,” he said; “her beauty has won me. I follow +beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right.” + +He turned to Edith and stood staring at her. + +“You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we +looked into each other's eyes. We ached with it--each wanting the other. +You are made to endure. You would get over anything and be cheerful +after a while. You know that--don't you?” + +The eyes of Edith came up level with his own. + +“Yes I know,” she said. + +Margaret Ormsby jumped up from her chair, her eyes swimming. + +“Stop,” she cried. “I do not want you. I would never marry you now. You +belong to her. You are Edith's.” + +McGregor's voice became soft and quiet. + +“Oh, I know,” he said; “I know! I know! But I want children. Look at +Edith. Do you think she could bear children to me?” + +A change came over Edith Carson. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders +straightened. + +“That's for me to say,” she cried, springing forward and clutching his +arm. “That is between me and God. If you intend to marry me come now and +do it. I was not afraid to give you up and I'm not afraid that I shall +die bearing children.” + +Dropping McGregor's arm Edith ran across the room and stood before +Margaret. “How do you know you are more beautiful or can bear more +beautiful children?” she demanded. “What do you mean by beauty anyway? I +deny your beauty.” She turned to McGregor. “Look,” she cried, “she does +not stand the test.” + +Pride swept over the woman that had come to life within the body of the +little milliner. With calm eyes she stared at the people in the room +and when she looked again toward Margaret there was a challenge in her +voice. + +“Beauty has to endure,” she said swiftly. “It has to be daring. It has +to outlive long years of life and many defeats.” A hard look came into +her eyes as she challenged the daughter of wealth. “I had the courage to +be defeated and I have the courage to take what I want,” she said. “Have +you that courage? If you have take this man. You want him and so do I. +Take his arm and walk away with him. Do it now, here before my eyes.” + +Margaret shook her head. Her body trembled and her eyes looked wildly +about. She turned to David Ormsby. “I did not know that life could +be like this,” she said. “Why didn't you tell me? She is right. I am +afraid.” + +A light came into McGregor's eyes and he turned quickly about. “I see,” + he said, looking sharply at Edith, “you have also your purpose.” Turning +again he looked into the eyes of David. + +“There is something to be decided here. It is perhaps the supreme +test of a man's life. One struggles to keep a thought in mind, to be +impersonal, to see that life has a purpose outside his own purpose. You +have perhaps made that struggle. You see I'm making it now. I'm going to +take Edith and go back to work.” + +At the door McGregor stopped and put out his hand to David who took it +and looked at the big lawyer respectfully. + +“I'm glad to see you go,” said the ploughmaker briefly. + +“I'm glad to be going,” said McGregor, understanding that there was +nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind of +David Ormsby. + + + + + +BOOK VI + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The Marching Men Movement was never a thing to intellectualise. For +years McGregor tried to get it under way by talking. He did not succeed. +The rhythm and swing that was at the heart of the movement hung fire. +The man passed through long periods of depression and had to drive +himself forward. And then after the scene with Margaret and Edith in the +Ormsby house came action. + +There was a man named Mosby about whose figure the action for a time +revolved. He was bartender for Neil Hunt, a notorious character of South +State Street, and had once been a lieutenant in the army. Mosby was what +in modern society is called a rascal. After West Point and a few years +at some isolated army post he began to drink and one night during a +debauch and when half crazed by the dullness of his life he shot a +private through the shoulder. He was arrested and put on his honour not +to escape but did escape. For years he drifted about the world a haggard +cynical figure who got drunk whenever money came his way and who would +do anything to break the monotony of existence. + +Mosby was enthusiastic about the Marching Men idea. He saw in it an +opportunity to worry and alarm his fellow men. He talked a union of +bartenders and waiters to which he belonged into giving the idea a +trial and in the morning they began to march up and down in the strip of +parkland that faced the lake at the edge of the First Ward. “Keep your +mouths shut,” commanded Mosby. “We can worry the officials of this town +like the devil if we work this right. When you are asked questions say +nothing. If the police try to arrest us we will swear we are only doing +it for the sake of exercise.” + +Mosby's plan worked. Within a week crowds began to gather in the morning +to watch the Marching Men and the police started to make inquiry. Mosby +was delighted. He threw up his job as bartender and recruited a motley +company of young roughs whom he induced to practise the march step +during the afternoons. When he was arrested and dragged into court +McGregor acted as his lawyer and he was discharged. “I want to get +these men out into the open,” Mosby declared, looking very innocent and +guileless. “You can see for yourself that waiters and bartenders get +pale and stoop-shouldered at their work and as for these young roughs +isn't it better for society to have them out there marching about than +idling in bar rooms and planning God knows what mischief?” + +A grin appeared over the face of the First Ward. McGregor and Mosby +organised another company of marchers and a young man who had been a +sergeant in a company of regulars was induced to help with the drilling. +To the men themselves it was all a joke, a game that appealed to the +mischievous boy in them. Everybody was curious and that gave the +thing tang. They grinned as they marched up and down. For a while they +exchanged gibes with the spectators but McGregor put a stop to that. +“Be silent,” he said, going about among the men during the rest periods. +“That's the best thing to do. Be silent and attend to business and your +marching will be ten times as effective.” + +The Marching Men Movement grew. A young Jewish newspaper man, half +rascal, half poet, wrote a scare-head story for one of the Sunday +papers announcing the birth of the Republic of Labour. The story was +illustrated by a drawing showing McGregor leading a vast horde of men +across an open plain toward a city whose tall chimneys belched forth +clouds of smoke. Beside McGregor in the picture and arrayed in a gaudy +uniform was Mosby the ex-army officer. In the article he was called the +war lord of “The secret republic growing up within a great capitalistic +empire.” + +It had begun to take form--the movement of the Marching Men. Rumours +began to run here and there. There was a question in men's eyes. Slowly +at first it began to rumble through their minds. There was the tap of +feet clicking sharply on pavements. Groups formed, men laughed, the +groups disappeared only to again reappear. In the sun before factory +doors men stood talking, half understanding, beginning to sense the fact +that there was something big in the wind. + +At first the movement did not get anywhere with the ranks of labour. +There would be a meeting, perhaps a series of meetings in one of the +little halls where labourers gather to attend to the affairs of their +unions. McGregor would speak. His voice harsh and commanding could be +heard in the streets below. Merchants came out of the stores and stood +in the doorways listening. Young fellows who smoked cigarettes stopped +looking at passing girls and gathered in crowds below the open windows. +The slow working brain of labour was being aroused. + +After a time a few young men, fellows who worked at the saws in a box +factory and others who ran machines in a factory where bicycles were +made, volunteered to follow the lead of the men of the First Ward. On +summer evenings they gathered in vacant lots and marched back and forth +looking at their feet and laughing. + +McGregor insisted upon the training. He never had any intention of +letting his Marching Men Movement become merely a disorganised band of +walkers such as we have all seen in many a labour parade. He meant that +they should learn to march rhythmically, swinging along like veterans. +He was determined that the thresh of feet should come finally to sing +a great song, carrying the message of a powerful brotherhood into the +hearts and brains of the marchers. + +McGregor gave all of his time to the movement. He made a scant living by +the practice of his profession but gave it no thought. The murder case +had brought him other cases and he had taken a partner, a ferret-eyed +little man who worked out the details of what cases came to the firm and +collected the fees, half of which he gave to the partner who was intent +upon something else. Day after day, week after week, month after month, +McGregor went up and down the city, talking to workers, learning to +talk, striving to make his idea understood. + +One evening in September he stood in the shadow of a factory wall +watching a group of men who marched in a vacant lot. The movement had +become by that time really big. A flame burned in his heart at the +thought of what it might become. It was growing dark and the clouds +of dust raised by the feet of the men swept across the face of the +departing sun. In the field before him marched some two hundred men, the +largest company he had been able to get together. For a week they had +stayed at the marching evening after evening and were beginning a little +to understand the spirit of it. Their leader on the field, a tall square +shouldered man, had once been a captain in the State Militia and now +worked as engineer in a factory where soap was made. His commands rang +out sharp and crisp on the evening air. “Fours right into line,” he +cried. The words were barked forth. The men straightened their shoulders +and swung out vigorously. They had begun to enjoy the marching. + +In the shadow of the factory wall McGregor moved uneasily about. He felt +that this was the beginning, the real birth of his movement, that these +men had really come out of the ranks of labour and that in the breasts +of the marching figures there in the open space understanding was +growing. + +He muttered and walked back and forth. A young man, a reporter on one of +the city's great daily papers, leaped from a passing street car and came +to stand near him. “What's up here? What's this going on? What's it all +about? You better tell me,” he said. + +In the dim light McGregor raised his fists above his head and talked +aloud. “It's creeping in among them,” he said. “The thing that can't be +put into words is getting itself expressed. Something is being done here +in this field. A new force is coming into the world.” + +Half beside himself McGregor ran up and down swinging his arms. Again +turning to the reporter who stood by a factory wall--a rather dandified +figure he was with a tiny moustache--he shouted: + +“Don't you see?” he cried. His voice was harsh. “See how they march! +They are finding out what I mean. They have caught the spirit of it!” + +McGregor began to explain. He talked hurriedly, his words coming forth +in short broken sentences. “For ages there has been talk of brotherhood. +Always men have babbled of brotherhood. The words have meant nothing. +The words and the talking have but bred a loose-jawed race. The jaws of +men wabble about but the legs of these men do not wabble.” + +He again walked up and down, dragging the half-frightened man along the +deepening shadow of the factory wall. + +“You see it begins--now in this field it begins. The legs and the feet +of men, hundreds of legs and feet make a kind of music. Presently there +will be thousands, hundreds of thousands. For a time men will cease to +be individuals. They will become a mass, a moving all-powerful mass. +They will not put their thoughts into words but nevertheless there will +be a thought growing up in them. They will of a sudden begin to realise +that they are a part of something vast and mighty, a thing that moves, +that is seeking new expression. They have been told of the power of +labour but now, you see, they will become the power of labour.” + +Swept along by his own words and perhaps by something rhythmical in the +moving mass of men McGregor became feverishly anxious that the dapper +young man should understand. “Do you remember--when you were a boy--some +man who had been a soldier telling you that the men who marched had +to break step and go in a disorderly mob across a bridge because their +orderly stride would have shaken the bridge to pieces?” + +A shiver ran over the body of the young man. In his off hours he was +a writer of plays and stories and his trained dramatic sense caught +quickly the import of McGregor's words. Into his mind came a scene on +a village street of his own place in Ohio. In fancy he saw the village +fife and drum corps marching past. His mind recalled the swing and the +cadence of the tune and again as when he was a boy his legs ached to run +out among the men and go marching away. + +Filled with excitement he began also to talk. “I see,” he cried; “you +think there is a thought in that, a big thought that men have not +understood?” + +On the field the men, becoming bolder as they became less +self-conscious, came sweeping by, their bodies falling into a long +swinging stride. + +The young man pondered. “I see. I see. Every one who stood watching as +I did when the fife and drum corps went past felt what I felt. They were +hiding behind a mask. Their legs also tingled and the same wild militant +thumping went on in their hearts. You have found that out, eh? You mean +to lead labour that way?” + +With open mouth the young man stared at the field and at the moving mass +of men. He became oratorical in his thoughts. “Here is a big man,” he +muttered. “Here is a Napoleon, a Caesar of labour come to Chicago. He is +not like the little leaders. His mind is not sicklied over with the pale +cast of thought. He does not think that the big natural impulses of +men are foolish and absurd. He has got hold of something here that will +work. The world had better watch this man.” + +Half beside himself he walked up and down at the edge of the field, his +body trembling. + +Out of the ranks of the marching men came a workman. In the field words +arose. A petulant quality came into the voice of the captain who gave +commands. The newspaper man listened anxiously. “That's what will spoil +everything. The men will begin to lose heart and will quit,” he thought, +leaning forward and waiting. + +“I've worked all day and I can't march up and down here all night,” + complained the voice of the workman. + +Past the shoulder of the young man went a shadow. Before his eyes on +the field, fronting the waiting ranks of men, stood McGregor. His fist +shot out and the complaining workman crumpled to the ground. + +“This is no time for words,” said the harsh voice. “Get back in +there. This is not a game. It's the beginning of men's realisation of +themselves. Get in there and say nothing. If you can't march with us get +out. The movement we have started can pay no attention to whimperers.” + +Among the ranks of men a cheer arose. By the factory wall the excited +newspaper man danced up and down. At a word of command from the captain +the line of marching men again swept down the field and he watched them +with tears standing in his eyes. “It's going to work,” he cried. “It's +bound to work. At last a man has come to lead the men of labor.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John Van Moore a young Chicago advertising man went one afternoon to +the offices of the Wheelright Bicycle Company. The company had both its +factory and offices far out on the west side. The factory was a huge +brick affair fronted by a broad cement sidewalk and a narrow green lawn +spotted with flower beds. The building used for offices was smaller and +had a veranda facing the street. Up the sides of the office building +vines grew. + +Like the reporter who had watched the Marching Men in the field by the +factory wall John Van Moore was a dapper young man with a moustache. +In his leisure hours he played a clarinet. “It gives a man something to +cling to,” he explained to his friends. “One sees life going past +and feels that he is not a mere drifting log in the stream of things. +Although as a musician I amount to nothing, it at least makes me dream.” + +Among the men in the advertising office where he worked Van Moore was +known as something of a fool, redeemed by his ability to string words +together. He wore a heavy black braided watch chain and carried a cane +and he had a wife who after marriage had studied medicine and with whom +he did not live. Sometimes on a Saturday evening the two met at some +restaurant and sat for hours drinking and laughing. When the wife had +gone to her own place the advertising man continued the fun, going from +saloon to saloon and making long speeches setting forth his philosophy +of life. “I am an individualist,” he declared, strutting up and down and +swinging the cane about. “I am a dabbler, an experimenter if you will. +Before I die it is my dream that I will discover a new quality in +existence.” + +For the bicycle company the advertising man was to write a booklet +telling in romantic and readable form the history of the company. +When finished the booklet would be sent out to those who had answered +advertisements put into magazines and newspapers. The company had +a process of manufacture peculiar to Wheelright bicycles and in the +booklet this was to be much emphasised. + +The manufacturing process in regard to which John Van Moore was to +wax eloquent had been conceived in the brain of a workman and was +responsible for the company's success. Now the workman was dead and the +president of the company had decided that he would take credit for the +idea. He had thought a good deal of the matter and had decided that in +truth the notion must have been more than a little his own. “It must +have been so,” he told himself, “otherwise it would not have worked out +so well.” + +In the offices of the bicycle company the president, a grey gross man +with tiny eyes, walked up and down a long room heavily carpeted. In +reply to questions asked by the advertising man, who sat at a table with +a pad of paper before him, he raised himself on his toes, put a thumb +in the armhole of his vest and told a long rambling tale of which he was +the hero. + +The tale concerned a purely imaginary young workman who spent all of the +earlier years of his life labouring terribly. At evening he ran quickly +from the shop where he was employed and going without sleep toiled +for long hours in a little garret. When the workman had discovered the +secret that made successful the Wheelright bicycle he opened a shop and +began to reap the reward of his efforts. + +“That was me. I was that fellow,” cried the fat man who in reality +had bought his interest in the bicycle company after the age of forty. +Tapping himself on the breast he paused as though overcome with feeling. +Tears came into his eyes. The young workman had become a reality to him. +“All day I ran about the little shop crying 'Quality! Quality!' I do +that now. It is a fetish with me. I do not make bicycles for money but +because I am a workman with pride in my work. You may put that in the +book. You may quote me as saying that. A big point should be made of +my pride in my work.” The advertising man nodded his head and scribbled +upon the pad of paper. Almost he could have written the story without +the visit to the factory. When the fat man was not looking he turned his +face to one side and listened attentively. With a whole heart he +wished the president would go away and leave him alone to wander in the +factory. + +On the evening before, John Van Moore had taken part in an adventure. +With a companion, a fellow who drew cartoons for the daily papers, he +had gone into a saloon and there had met another man of the newspapers. + +In the saloon the three men had sat until late into the night drinking +and talking. The second newspaper man--that same dapper fellow who had +watched the marchers by the factory wall--had told over and over the +story of McGregor and his Marchers. “I tell you there is something +growing up here,” he had said. “I have seen this McGregor and I +know. You may believe me or not but the fact is that he has found +out something. There is an element in men that up to now has not been +understood--there is a thought hidden away within the breast of labour, +a big unspoken thought--it is a part of men's bodies as well as their +minds. Suppose this fellow has figured that out and understands it, eh!” + +Becoming more and more excited as he continued to drink the newspaper +man had been half wild in his conjectures as to what was to happen in +the world. Thumping with his fist upon a table wet with beer he had +addressed the writer of advertisements. “There are things that animals +know that have not been understood by men,” he cried. “Consider the +bees. Have you thought that man has not tried to work out a collective +intellect? Why should man not try to work that out?” + +The newspaper man's voice became low and tense. “When you go into a +factory I want you to keep your eyes and your ears open,” he said. “Go +into one of the great rooms where many men are at work. Stand perfectly +still. Don't try to think. Wait.” + +Jumping out of his seat the excited man had walked up and down before +his companions. A group of men standing before the bar listened, their +glasses held half way to their lips. + +“I tell you there is already a song of labour. It has not got itself +expressed and understood but it is in every shop, in every field where +men work. In a dim way the men who work are conscious of the song +although if you talk of the matter they only laugh. The song is low +harsh rhythmical. I tell you it comes out of the very soul of labour. +It is akin to the thing that artists understand and that is called form. +This McGregor understands something of that. He is the first leader of +labour that has understood. The world shall hear from him. One of these +days the world shall ring with his name.” + +In the bicycle factory John Van Moore looked at the pad of paper before +him and thought of the words of the half drunken man in the saloon. In +the great shop at his back there was the steady grinding roar of many +machines. The fat man, hypnotised by his own words, continued to walk up +and down telling of the hardship that had once confronted the imaginary +young workman and above which he had risen triumphant. “We hear much of +the power of labour but there has been a mistake made,” he said. “Such +men as myself--we are the power. Do you see we have come out of the +mass? We stand forth.” + +Stopping before the advertising man and looking down the fat man winked. +“You do not need to say that in the book. There is no need of quoting +me there. Our bicycles are being bought by workingmen and it would be +foolish to offend them but what I say is nevertheless true. Do not such +men as I, with our cunning brains and our power of patience build these +great modern organisations?” + +The fat man waved his arm toward the shops from which the roar of +machinery came. The advertising man absentmindedly nodded his head. He +was trying to hear the song of labour talked of by the drunken man. It +was quitting time and there was the sound of many feet moving about the +floor of the factory. The roar of the machinery stopped. + +Again the fat man walked up and down talking of the career of the +labourer who had come forth from the ranks of labour. From the factory +the men began filing out into the open. There was the sound of feet +scuffling along the wide cement sidewalk past the flowerbeds. + +Of a sudden the fat man stopped. The advertising man sat with pencil +suspended above the paper. From the walk below sharp commands rang out. +Again the sound of men moving about came in through the windows. + +The president of the bicycle company and the advertising man ran to the +window. There on the cement sidewalk stood the men of the company formed +into columns of fours and separated into companies. At the head of each +company stood a captain. The captains swung the men about. “Forward! +March!” they shouted. + +The fat man stood with his mouth open and looked at the men. “What's +going on down there? What do you mean? Quit that!” he bawled. + +A derisive laugh floated up through the window. + +“Attention! Forward, guide right!” shouted a captain. + +The men went swinging down the broad cement sidewalk past the window and +the advertising man. In their faces was something determined and grim. +A sickly smile flitted across the face of the grey-haired man and then +faded. The advertising man, without knowing just what was going on felt +that the older man was afraid. He sensed the terror in his face. In his +heart he was glad to see it. + +The manufacturer began to talk excitedly. “Now what's this?” he +demanded. “What's going on? What kind of a volcano are we men of affairs +walking over? Haven't we had enough trouble with labour? What are +they doing now?” Again he walked up and down past the table where the +advertising man sat looking at him. “We'll let the book go,” he said. +“Come to-morrow. Come any time. I want to look into this. I want to find +out what's going on.” + +Leaving the office of the bicycle company John Van Moore ran along the +street past stores and houses. He did not try to follow the Marching Men +but ran forward blindly, filled with excitement. He remembered the words +of the newspaper man about the song of labour, and was drunk with the +thought that he had caught the swing of it. A hundred times he had seen +men pouring out of factory doors at the end of the day. Always before +they had been just a mass of individuals. Each had been thinking of his +own affairs and each man had shuffled off into his own street and had +been lost in the dim alleyways between the tall grimy buildings. Now all +of this was changed. The men did not shuffle off alone but marched along +the street shoulder to shoulder. + +A lump came also into the throat of this man and he like that other by +the factory wall began to say words. “The song of labour is here. It has +begun to get itself sung!” he cried. + +John Van Moore was beside himself. The face of the fat man pale with +terror came back into his mind. On the sidewalk before a grocery store +he stopped and shouted with delight. Then he began dancing wildly about, +startling a group of children who with fingers in their mouths stood +with staring eyes watching. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +All through the early months of that year in Chicago, rumours of a new +and not understandable movement among labourers ran about among men of +affairs. In a way the labourers understood the undercurrent of terror +their marching together had inspired and like the advertising man +dancing on the sidewalk before the grocery were made happy by it. Grim +satisfaction dwelt in their hearts. Remembering their boyhoods and +the creeping terror that invaded their fathers' houses in times of +depression they were glad to spread terror among the homes of the rich +and the well-to-do. For years they had been going through life blindly, +striving to forget age and poverty. Now they felt that life had a +purpose, that they were marching toward some end. When in the past they +had been told that power dwelt in them they had not believed. “He is +not to be trusted,” thought the man at the machine looking at the man at +work at the next machine. “I have heard him talk and at bottom he is a +fool.” + +Now the man at the machine did not think of his brother at the next +machine. In his dreams at night he was beginning to have a new vision. +Power had breathed its message into his brain. Of a sudden he saw +himself as a part of a giant walking in the world. “I am like a drop of +blood running through the veins of labour,” he whispered to himself. “In +my own way I am adding strength to the heart and the brain of labour. I +have become a part of this thing that has begun to move. I will not talk +but will wait. If this marching is the thing then I will march. Though I +am weary at the end of the day that shall not stop me. Many times I +have been weary and was alone. Now I am a part of something vast. This I +know, that a consciousness of power has crept into my brain and although +I be persecuted I shall not surrender what I have gained.” + +In the offices of the plough trust a meeting of men of affairs was +called. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the movement going +on among the workers. At the plough works it had broken out. No more at +evening did the men shuffle along, like a disorderly mob but marched in +companies along the brick-paved street that ran by the factory door. + +At the meeting David Ormsby had been as always quiet and self-possessed. +A halo of kindly intent hung over him and when a banker, one of the +directors of the company, had finished a speech he arose and walked up +and down, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. The banker was a +fat man with thin brown hair and delicate hands. As he talked he held a +pair of yellow gloves and beat with them on a long table at the centre +of the room. The soft thump of the gloves upon the table made a chorus +to the things he had to say. David motioned for him to be seated. “I +will myself go to see this McGregor,” he said, walking across the room +and putting an arm about the shoulder of the banker. “Perhaps there is +as you say a new and terrible danger here but I do not think so. For +thousands, no doubt for millions of years, the world has gone on its way +and I do not think it is to be stopped now. + +“It has been my fortune to see and to know this McGregor,” added David +smiling at the others in the room. “He is a man and not a Joshua to make +the sun stand still.” + +In the office in Van Buren Street, David, the grey and confident, stood +before the desk at which sat McGregor. “We will get out of here if you +do not mind,” he said. “I want to talk to you and I would not like being +interrupted. I have a fancy that we talk out of doors.” + +The two men went in a street car to Jackson Park and, forgetting to +dine, walked for an hour along the paths under the trees. The wind from +the lake had chilled the air and the park was deserted. + +They went to stand on a pier that ran out into the lake. On the pier +David tried to begin the talk that was the object of their being +together but felt that the wind and the water that beat against the +piling of the pier made talk too difficult. Although he could not have +told why, he was relieved by the necessity of delay. Into the park they +went again and found a seat upon a bench facing a lagoon. + +In the presence of the silent McGregor David felt suddenly embarrassed +and awkward. “By what right do I question him?” he asked himself and in +his mind could find no answer. A half dozen times he started to say what +he had come to say but stopped and his talk ran off into trivialities. +“There are men in the world you have not taken into consideration,” + he said finally, forcing himself to begin. With a laugh he went on, +relieved that the silence had been broken. “You see the very inner +secret of strong men has been missed by you and others.” + +David Ormsby looked sharply at McGregor. “I do not believe that you +believe we are after money, we men of affairs. I trust you see beyond +that. We have our purpose and we keep to our purpose quietly and +doggedly.” + +Again David looked at the silent figure sitting in the dim light and +again his mind ran out, striving to penetrate the silence. “I am not +a fool and perhaps I know that the movement you have started among the +workers is something new. There is power in it as in all great ideas. +Perhaps I think there is power in you. Why else should I be here?” + +Again David laughed uncertainly. “In a way I am in sympathy with you,” + he said. “Although all through my life I have served money I have not +been owned by it. You are not to suppose that men like me have not +something beyond money in mind.” + +The old plough maker looked away over McGregor's shoulder to where the +leaves of the trees shook in the wind from the lake. “There have been +men and great leaders who have understood the silent competent servants +of wealth,” he said half petulantly. “I want you to understand these +men. I should like to see you become such a one yourself--not for the +wealth it would bring but because in the end you would thus serve all +men. You would get at truth thus. The power that is in you would be +conserved and used more intelligently.” + +“To be sure, history has taken little or no account of the men of whom +I speak. They have passed through life unnoticed, doing great work +quietly.” + +The plough maker paused. Although McGregor had said nothing the older +man felt that the interview was not going as it should. “I should like +to know what you have in mind, what in the end you hope to gain for +yourself or for these men,” he said somewhat sharply. “There is after +all no point to our beating about the bush.” + +McGregor said nothing. Arising from the bench he began again to walk +along the path with Ormsby at his side. + +“The really strong men of the world have had no place in history,” + declared Ormsby bitterly. “They have not asked that. They were in Rome +and in Germany in the time of Martin Luther but nothing is said of them. +Although they do not mind the silence of history they would like other +strong men to understand. The march of the world is a greater thing than +the dust raised by the heels of some few workers walking through the +streets and these men are responsible for the march of the world. You +are making a mistake. I invite you to become one of us. If you plan to +upset things you may get yourself into history but you will not really +count. What you are trying to do will not work. You will come to a bad +end.” + +When the two men emerged from the park the older man had again the +feeling that the interview had not been a success. He was sorry. The +evening he felt had marked for him a failure and he was not accustomed +to failures. “There is a wall here that I cannot penetrate,” he thought. + +Along the front of the park beneath a grove of trees they walked in +silence. McGregor seemed not to have heard the words addressed to him. +When they came to where a long row of vacant lots faced the park he +stopped and stood leaning against a tree to look away into the park, +lost in thought. + +David Ormsby also became silent. He thought of his youth in the little +village plough factory, of his efforts to get on in the world, of the +long evenings spent reading books and trying to understand the movements +of men. + +“Is there an element in nature and in youth that we do not understand +or that we lose sight of?” he asked. “Are the efforts of the patient +workers of the world always to be abortive? Can some new phase of life +arise suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of men +like me as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us individuality, +the right to stand forth, the right to work things out and to control?” + +The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree. +Again he was irritated and kept lighting cigars which after two or three +puffs he threw away. In the bushes at the back of the bench insects +began to sing. The wind coming now in gentle gusts swayed slowly the +branches of the trees overhead. + +“Is there an eternal youth in the world, a state out of which men pass +unknowingly, a youth that forever destroys, tearing down what has been +built?” he asked. “Are the mature lives of strong men of so little +account? Have you like the empty fields that bask in the sun in the +summer the right to remain silent in the presence of men who have had +thoughts and have tried to put their thoughts into deeds?” + +Still saying nothing McGregor pointed with his finger along the road +that faced the park. From a side street a body of men swung about a +corner, coming with long strides toward the two. As they passed beneath +a street lamp that swung gently in the wind their faces flashing in and +out of the light seemed to be mocking David Ormsby. For a moment anger +burned in him and then something, perhaps the rhythm of the moving mass +of men, brought a gentler mood. The men swinging past turned another +corner and disappeared beneath the structure of an elevated railroad. + +The ploughmaker walked away from McGregor. Something in the interview, +terminating thus with, the presence of the marching figures had he felt +unmanned him. “After all there is youth and the hope of youth. What he +has in mind may work,” he thought as he climbed aboard a street car. + +In the car David put his head out at the window and looked at the long +line of apartment buildings that lined the streets. He thought again of +his own youth and of the evenings in the Wisconsin village when, himself +a youth, he went with other young men singing and marching in the +moonlight. + +In a vacant lot he again saw a body of the Marching Men moving back and +forth and responding quickly to the commands given by a slender young +man who stood on the sidewalk beneath a street lamp and held a stick in +his hand. + +In the car the grey-haired man of affairs put his head down upon the +back of the seat in front. Half unconscious of his own thoughts his mind +began to dwell upon the figure of his daughter. “Had I been Margaret I +should not have let him go. No matter what the cost I should have clung +to the man,” he muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +It is difficult not to be of two minds about the manifestation now +called, and perhaps rightly, “The Madness of the Marching Men.” In +one mood it comes back to the mind as something unspeakably big and +inspiring. We go each of us through the treadmill of our lives caught +and caged like little animals in some vast menagerie. In turn we love, +marry, breed children, have our moments of blind futile passion and +then something happens. All unconsciously a change creeps over us. Youth +passes. We become shrewd, careful, submerged in little things. Life, +art, great passions, dreams, all of these pass. Under the night sky +the suburbanite stands in the moonlight. He is hoeing his radishes and +worrying because the laundry has torn one of his white collars. The +railroad is to put on an extra morning train. He remembers that fact +heard at the store. For him the night becomes more beautiful. For ten +minutes longer he can stay with the radishes each morning. There is much +of man's life in the figure of the suburbanite standing absorbed in his +own thoughts in the midst of his radishes. + +And so about the business of our lives we go and then of a sudden +there comes again the feeling that crept over us all in the year of the +Marching Men. In a moment we are again a part of the moving mass. The +old religious exaltation, strange emanation from the man McGregor, +returns. In fancy we feel the earth tremble under the feet of the +men--the marchers. With a conscious straining of the mind we strive to +grasp the processes of the mind of the leader during that year when men +sensed his meaning, when they saw as he saw the workers--saw them massed +and moving through the world. + +My own mind, striving feebly to follow that greater and simpler mind, +gropes about. I remember sharply the words of a writer who said that men +make their own gods and realise that I myself saw something of the birth +of such a god. For he was near to being a god then--our McGregor. The +thing he did rumbles in the minds of men yet. His long shadow will fall +across men's thoughts for ages. The tantalising effort to understand his +meaning will tempt us always into endless speculation. + +Only last week I met a man--he was a steward in a club and lingered +talking to me by a cigar case in an empty billiard-room--who suddenly +turned away to conceal from me two large tears that had jumped into his +eyes because of a kind of tenderness in my voice at the mention of the +Marching Men. + +Another mood comes. It may be the right mood. I see sparrows jumping +about in an ordinary roadway as I walk to my office. From the maple +trees the little winged seeds come fluttering down before my eyes. A +boy goes past sitting in a grocery wagon and over-driving a rather bony +horse. As I walk I overtake two workmen shuffling along. They remind +me of those other workers and I say to myself that thus men have +always shuffled, that never did they swing forward into that world-wide +rhythmical march of the workers. + +“You were drunk with youth and a kind of world madness,” says my normal +self as I go forward again, striving to think things out. + +Chicago is still here--Chicago after McGregor and the Marching Men. The +elevated trains still clatter over the frogs at the turning into Wabash +Avenue; the surface cars clang their bells; the crowds pour up in the +morning from the runway leading to the Illinois Central trains; life +goes on. And men in their offices sit in their chairs and say that the +thing that happened was abortive, a brain storm, a wild outbreak of the +rebellious the disorderly and the hunger in the minds of men. + +What begging of the question. The very soul of the Marching Men was a +sense of order. That was the message of it, the thing that the world has +not come up to yet. Men have not learned that we must come to understand +the impulse toward order, have that burned into our consciousness, +before we move on to other things. There is in us this madness for +individual expression. For each of us the little moment of running +forward and lifting our thin childish voices in the midst of the great +silence. We have not learned that out of us all, walking shoulder to +shoulder, there might arise a greater voice, something to make the +waters of the very seas to tremble. + +McGregor knew. He had a mind not sick with much thinking of trifles. +When he had a great idea he thought it would work and he meant to see +that it did work. + +Mightily was he equipped. I have seen the man in halls talking, his +huge body swaying back and forth, his great fists in the air, his voice +harsh, persistent, insistent--with something of the quality of the drums +in it--beating down into the upturned faces of the men crowded into the +stuffy little places. + +I remember that newspaper men used to sit in their little holes and +write saying of him that the times made McGregor. I do not know about +that. The city caught fire from the man at the time of that terrible +speech of his in the court room when Polk Street Mary grew afraid and +told the truth. There he stood, the raw untried red-haired miner from +the mines and the Tenderloin, facing an angry court and a swarm of +protesting lawyers and uttering that city-shaking philippic against the +old rotten first ward and the creeping cowardice in men that lets vice +and disease go on and pervade all modern life. It was in a way another +“J'Accuse!” from the lips of another Zola. Men who heard it have told +me that when he had finished in the whole court no man spoke and no man +dared feel guiltless. “For the moment something--a section, a cell, +a figment, of men's brains opened--and in that terrible illuminating +instant they saw themselves as they were and what they had let life +become.” + +They saw something else, or thought they did, saw McGregor a new force +for Chicago to reckon with. After the trial one young newspaper man +returned to his office and running from desk to desk yelled in the +faces of his brother reporters: “Hell's out for noon. We've got a big +red-haired Scotch lawyer up here on Van Buren Street that is a kind of a +new scourge of the world. Watch the First Ward get it.” + +But McGregor never looked at the First Ward. That wasn't bothering him. +From the court room he went to march with men in a new field. + +Followed the time of waiting and of patient quiet work. In the evenings +McGregor worked at the law cases in the bare room in Van Buren Street. +That queer bird Henry Hunt still stayed with him, collecting tithes for +the gang and going to his respectable home at night--a strange triumph +of the small that had escaped the tongue of McGregor on that day +in court when so many men had their names bruited to the world in +McGregor's roll call--the roll call of the men who were but merchants, +brothers of vice, the men who should have been masters in the city. + +And then the movement of the Marching Men began to come to the surface. +It got into the blood of men. That harsh drumming voice began to shake +their hearts and their legs. + +Everywhere men began to see and hear of the Marchers. From lip to lip +ran the question, “What's going on?” + +“What's going on?” How that cry ran over Chicago. Every newspaper man in +town got assignments on the story. The papers were loaded with it every +day. All over the city they appeared, everywhere--the Marching Men. + +There were leaders enough! The Cuban War and the State Militia had +taught too many men the swing of the march step for there not to be at +least two or three competent drill masters in every little company of +men. + +And there was the marching song the Russian wrote for McGregor. Who +could forget it? Its high pitched harsh feminine strain rang in the +brain. How it went pitching and tumbling along in that wailing calling +endless high note. It had strange breaks and intervals in the rendering. +The men did not sing it. They chanted it. There was in it just the weird +haunting something the Russians know how to put into their songs and +into the books they write. It isn't the quality of the soil. Some of our +own music has that. But in this Russian song there was something else, +something world-wide and religious--a soul, a spirit. Perhaps it is +just the spirit that broods over that strange land and people. There was +something of Russia in McGregor himself. + +Anyway the marching song was the most persistently penetrating thing +Americans had ever heard. It was in the streets, the shops, the offices, +the alleys and in the air overhead--the wail--half shout. No noise could +drown it. It swung and pitched and rioted through the air. + +And there was the fellow who wrote the music down for McGregor. He was +the real thing and he bore the marks of the shackles on his legs. He had +remembered the march from hearing the men sing it as they went over +the Steppes to Siberia, the men who were going up out of misery to more +misery. “It would come out of the air,” he explained. “The guards would +run down the line of men to shout and strike out with their short +whips. 'Stop it!' they cried. And still it went on for hours, defying +everything, there on the cold cheerless plains.” + +And he had brought it to America and put it to music for McGregor's +marchers. + +Of course the police tried to stop the marchers. Into a street they +would run crying “Disperse!” The men did disperse only to appear again +on some vacant lot working away at the perfection of the marching. Once +an excited squad of police captured a company of them. The same men were +back in line the next evening. The police could not arrest a hundred +thousand men because they marched shoulder to shoulder along the streets +and chanted a weird march song as they went. + +The whole thing was not an outbreak of labour. It was something +different from anything that had come into the world before. The unions +were in it but besides the unions there were the Poles, the Russian +Jews, the Hunks from the stockyards and the steel works in South +Chicago. They had their own leaders, speaking their own languages. And +how they could throw their legs into the march! The armies of the old +world had for years been training men for the strange demonstration that +had broken out in Chicago. + +The thing was hypnotic. It was big. It is absurd to sit writing of it +now in such majestic terms but you have to go back to the newspapers of +that day to realise how the imagination of men was caught and held. + +Every train brought writers tumbling into Chicago. In the evening fifty +of them would gather in the back room at Weingardner's restaurant where +such men congregate. + +And then the thing broke out all over the country, in steel towns like +Pittsburgh and Johnstown and Lorain and McKeesport and men working in +little independent factories in towns down in Indiana began drilling +and chanting the march song on summer evenings on the village baseball +ground. + +How the people, the comfortable well-fed middle class people were +afraid! It swept over the country like a religious revival, the creeping +dread. + +The writing men got to McGregor, the brain back of it all, fast enough. +Everywhere his influence appeared. In the afternoon there would be a +hundred newspaper men standing on the stairway leading up to the big +bare office in Van Buren Street. At his desk he sat, big and red and +silent. He looked like a man half asleep. I suppose the thing that was +in their minds had something to do with the way men looked at him but +in any case the crowd in Weingardner's agreed that there was in the man +something of the same fear-inspiring bigness there was in the movement +he had started and was guiding. + +It seems absurdly simple now. There he sat at his desk. The police might +have walked in and arrested him. But if you begin figuring that way the +whole thing was absurd. What differs it if men march coming from work, +swinging along shoulder to shoulder or shuffle aimlessly along, and what +harm can come out of the singing of a song? + +You see McGregor understood something that all of us had not counted +on. He knew that every one has an imagination. He was at war with men's +minds. He challenged something in us that we hardly realised was there. +He had been sitting there for years thinking it out. He had watched Dr. +Dowie and Mrs. Eddy. He knew what he was doing. + +A crowd of newspaper men went one night to hear McGregor at a big +outdoor meeting up on the North Side. Dr. Cowell was with them--the big +English statesman and writer who later was drowned on the _Titanic._ +He was a big man, physically and mentally, and was in Chicago to see +McGregor and try to understand what he was doing. + +And McGregor got him as he had all men. Out there under the sky the +men stood silent, Cowell's head sticking up above the sea of faces, and +McGregor talked. The newspaper men declared he could not talk. They +were wrong about that. McGregor had a way of throwing up his arms and +straining and shouting out his sentences, that got to the souls of men. + +He was a kind of crude artist drawing pictures on the mind. + +That night he talked about labour as always--labour personified--huge +crude old Labour. How he made the men before him see and feel the blind +giant who has lived in the world since time began and who still goes +stumbling blindly about, rubbing his eyes and lying down to sleep away +centuries in the dust of the fields and the factories. + +A man arose in the audience and climbed upon the platform beside +McGregor. It was a daring thing to do and men's knees trembled. While +the man was crawling up to the platform shouts arose. One has in mind +a picture of a bustling little fellow going into the house and into the +upper room where Jesus and his followers were having the last supper +together, going in there to wrangle about the price to be paid for the +wine. + +The man who got on the platform with McGregor was a socialist. He wanted +to argue. + +But McGregor did not argue with him. He sprang forward, it was a quick +tiger-like movement, and spun the socialist about, making him stand +small and blinking and comical before the crowd. + +Then McGregor began to talk. He made of the little stuttering arguing +socialist a figure representing all labour, made him the personification +of the old weary struggle of the world. And the socialist who went to +argue stood with tears in his eyes, proud of his position in men's eyes. + +All over the city McGregor talked of old Labour and how he was to be +built up and put before men's eyes by the movement of the Marching Men. +How our legs tingled to fall in step and go marching away with him. + +Out of the crowds there came the note of that wailing march. Some one +always started that. + +That night on the North Side Doctor Cowell got hold of the shoulder of a +newspaper man and led him to a car. He who knew Bismarck and who had sat +in council with kings went walking and babbling half the night through +the empty streets. + +It is amusing now to think of the things men said under the influence of +McGregor. Like old Doctor Johnson and his friend Savage they walked half +drunk through the streets swearing that whatever happened they would +stick to the movement. Doctor Cowell himself said things just as absurd +as that. + +And all over the country men were getting the idea--the Marching +Men--old Labour in one mass marching before the eyes of men--old Labour +that was going to make the world see--see and feel its bigness at last. +Men were to come to the end of strife--men united--Marching! Marching! +Marching! + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In all of the time of The Marching Men there was but one bit of written +matter from the leader McGregor. It had a circulation running into the +millions and was printed in every tongue spoken in America. A copy of +the little circular lies before me now. + +THE MARCHERS + + “They ask us what we mean. + Well, here is our answer. + We mean to go on marching. + We mean to march in the morning and in the evening when the sun + goes down. + On Sundays they may sit on their porches or shout at men playing + ball in a field + But we will march. + On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust + of country roads we will march. + Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry, + But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder. + We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble. + Shoulder to shoulder we will go--all of us-- + On and on forever. + We will not talk nor listen to talk. + We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to + march. + Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear. + We do not think and banter words. + We march. + Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards. + See, the inner parts of our hands are rough. + And still we march--we the workers.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Who will ever forget that Labour Day in Chicago? How they +marched!--thousands and thousands and more thousands! They filled the +streets. The cars stopped. Men trembled with the import of the impending +hour. + +Here they come! How the ground trembles! The chant chant chant of that +song! It must have been thus that Grant felt at the great review of the +veterans in Washington when all day long they marched past him, the men +of the Civil War, the whites of their eyes showing in the tan of their +faces. McGregor stood on the stone curbing above the tracks in Grant +Park. As the men marched they massed in there about him, thousands of +them, steel workers and iron workers and great red-necked butchers and +teamsters. + +And in the air wailed the marching song of the workers. + +All of the world that was not marching jammed into the buildings facing +Michigan Boulevard and waited. Margaret Ormsby was there. She sat +with her father in a carriage near where Van Buren Street ends at the +Boulevard. As the men kept crowding in about them she clutched nervously +at the sleeve of David Ormsby's coat. “He is going to speak,” she +whispered and pointed. Her tense air of expectancy expressed much of the +feeling of the crowd. “See, listen, he is going to speak out.” + +It must have been five in the afternoon when the men got through +marching. They were massed in there clear down to the Twelfth Street +Station of the Illinois Central. McGregor lifted his hands. In the hush +his harsh voice carried far. “We are at the beginning,” he shouted and +silence fell upon the people. In the stillness one standing near her +might have heard Margaret Ormsby weeping softly. There was the gentle +murmur that always prevails where many people stand at attention. The +weeping of the woman was scarcely audible but it persisted like the +sound of little waves on a beach at the end of the day. + + + + + +BOOK VII + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The idea prevalent among men that the woman to be beautiful must be +hedged about and protected from the facts of life has done something +more than produce a race of women not physically vigorous. It has made +them deficient in strength of soul also. After the evening when +she stood facing Edith and when she had been unable to arise to the +challenge flung at her by the little milliner Margaret Ormsby was forced +to stand facing her own soul and there was no strength in her for the +test. Her mind insisted on justifying her failure. A woman of the people +placed in such a position would have been able to face it calmly. She +would have gone soberly and steadily about her work and after a +few months of pulling weeds in a field, trimming hats in a shop or +instructing children in a schoolroom would have been ready to thrust out +again, making another trial at life. Having met many defeats she would +have been armed and ready for defeat. Like a little animal in a +forest inhabited by other and larger animals she would have known the +effectiveness of lying perfectly still for a long period, making her +patience a part of her equipment for living. + +Margaret had decided that she hated McGregor. After the scene in her +house she gave up her work in the settlement house and for a long time +went about nursing her hatred. In the street as she walked about her +mind kept bringing accusations against him and in her room at night she +sat by the window looking at the stars and said strong words. “He is a +brute,” she declared hotly, “a mere animal untouched by the culture that +makes for gentleness. There is something animal-like and horrible in +my nature that has made me care for him. I shall pluck it out. In the +future I shall make it my business to forget the man and all of the +dreadful lower strata of life that he represents.” + +Filled with this idea Margaret went about among her own people and +tried to become interested in the men and women she met at dinners and +receptions. It did not work and when, after a few evenings spent in the +company of men absorbed in the getting of money, she found them only +dull creatures whose mouths were filled with meaningless words, her +irritation grew and she blamed McGregor for that also. “He had no right +to come into my consciousness and then take himself off,” she declared +bitterly. “The man is more of a brute than I thought. He no doubt preys +upon everyone as he has preyed upon me. He is without tenderness, knows +nothing of the meaning of tenderness. The colourless creature he has +married will serve his body. That is what he wants. He does not want +beauty. He is a coward who dare not stand up to beauty and is afraid of +me.” + +When the Marching Men Movement began to make a stir in Chicago Margaret +went on a visit to New York. For a month she lived with two women +friends at a big hotel near the sea and then hurried home. “I will see +the man and hear him talk,” she told herself. “I cannot cure myself of +the consciousness of him by running away. Perhaps I am myself a coward. +I shall go into his presence. When I hear his brutal words and see again +the hard gleam that sometimes comes into his eyes I shall be cured.” + +Margaret went to hear McGregor talk to a gathering of workingmen in a +West Side hall and came away more alive to him than ever. In the hall +she sat concealed in deep shadows by the door and waited with trembling +eagerness. + +On all sides of her were men crowded together. Their faces were washed +but the grime of the shops was not quite effaced. Men from the steel +mills with the cooked look that follows long exposure to intense +artificial heat, men of the building trades with their broad hands, big +men and small men, misshapen and straight, labouring men, all sat at +attention, waiting. + +Margaret noticed that as McGregor talked the lips of the working men +moved. Fists were clenched. Applause came quick and sharp like the +report of guns. + +In the shadows at the further side of the hall the black coats of the +workers made a blot out of which intense faces looked and across which +the flickering gas jets in the centre of the hall threw dancing lights. + +The words of the speaker were shot forth. The sentences seemed broken +and disconnected. As he talked giant pictures flashed through the minds +of the hearers. Men felt themselves big and exalted. A little steel +worker sitting near Margaret, who earlier in the evening had been abused +by his wife because he wanted to come to the meeting instead of helping +with the dishes at home, stared fiercely about. He thought he would like +to fight hand in hand with a wild animal in a forest. + +Standing on the narrow stage McGregor seemed a giant seeking expression. +His mouth worked, the sweat stood upon his forehead and he moved +restlessly up and down. At times, with his hands advanced and with the +eager forward crouch of his body, he was like a wrestler waiting to +grapple with an opponent. + +Margaret was deeply moved. Her years of training and of refinement were +stripped off and she felt that, like the women of the French Revolution, +she would like to go out into the streets and march screaming and +fighting in feminine rage for the things of this man's mind. + +McGregor had scarcely begun to talk. His personality, the big eager +something in him, had caught and held this audience as it had caught +and held other audiences in other halls and was to hold them night after +night for months. + +McGregor was something the men to whom he talked understood. He was +themselves become expressive and he moved them as no other leader had +ever moved them before. His very lack of glibness, the things in him +wanting expression and not getting expressed, made him seem like one of +them. He did not confuse their minds but drew for them great scrawling +pictures and to them he cried, “March!” and for marching he promised +them realisation of themselves. + +“I have heard men in colleges and speakers in halls talk of the +brotherhood of man,” he cried. “They do not want such a brotherhood. +They would flee before it. But we will make by our marching such a +brotherhood that they will tremble and say to one another, 'See, Old +Labour is awake. He has found his strength.' They will hide themselves +and eat their words of brotherhood. + +“A clamour of voices will arise, many voices, crying out, 'Disperse! +Cease marching! I am afraid!' + +“This talk of brotherhood. The words mean nothing. Man cannot love man. +We do not know what they mean by such love. They hurt us and underpay +us. Sometimes one of us gets an arm torn off. Are we to lie in our beds +loving the man who gets rich from the iron machine that ripped the arm +from the shoulder? + +“On our knees and in our arms we have borne their children. On the +streets we see them--the petted children of our madness. See we have +let them run about misbehaving. We have given them automobiles and wives +with soft clinging dresses. When they have cried we have cared for them. + +“And they being children with the minds of children are confused. The +noise of affairs alarms them. They run about shaking their fingers and +commanding. They speak with pity of us--Labour--their father. + +“And now we will show them their father in his might. The little +machines they have in their factories are toys we have given them and +that for the time we leave in their hands. We do not think of the +toys nor the soft-bodied women. We make of ourselves a mighty army, a +marching army going along shoulder to shoulder. We can love that. + +“When they see us, hundreds of thousands of us, marching into their +minds and into their consciousness, then will they be afraid. And at the +little meetings they have when three or four of them sit talking, daring +to decide what things we shall have from life, there will be in their +minds a picture. We will stamp it there. + +“They have forgotten our power. Let us reawaken it. See, I shake Old +Labour by the shoulder. He arouses. He sits up. He thrusts his huge form +up from where he was asleep in the dust and the smoke of the mills. They +look at him and are afraid. See, they tremble and run away, falling over +each other. The did not know Old Labour was so big. + +“But you workers are not afraid. You are the arms and the legs and the +hands and the eyes of Labour. You have thought yourself small. You have +not got yourself into one mass so that I could shake and arouse you. + +“You must get that way. You must march shoulder to shoulder. You must +march so that you yourselves shall come to know what a giant you are. +If one of your number whines or complains or stands upon a box throwing +words about knock him down and keep marching. + +“When you have marched until you are one giant body then will happen a +miracle. A brain will grow in the giant you have made. + +“Will you march with me?” + +Like a volley from a battery of guns came the sharp reply from the eager +upturned faces of the audience. “We will! Let us march!” they shouted. + +Margaret Ormsby went out at the door and into the crowds on Madison +Street. As she walked in the press she lifted her head in pride that +a man possessed of such a brain and of the simple courage to try to +express such magnificent ideas through human beings had ever shown +favour toward her. Humbleness swept over her and she blamed herself for +the petty thoughts concerning him that had been in her mind. “It does +not matter,” she whispered to herself. “Now I know that nothing matters, +nothing but his success. He must do this thing he has set out to do. He +must not be denied. I would give the blood out of my body or expose my +body to shame if that could bring him success.” + +Margaret became exalted in her humbleness. When her carriage had taken +her to her house she ran quickly upstairs to her own room and knelt by +her bed. She started to pray but presently stopped and sprang to her +feet. Running to the window she looked off across the city. “He must +succeed,” she cried again. “I shall myself be one of his marchers. I +will do anything for him. He is tearing the veil from my eyes, from all +men's eyes. We are children in the hands of this giant and he must not +meet defeat at the hands of children.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +On the day of the great demonstration, when McGregor's power over the +minds and the bodies of the men of labour sent hundreds of thousands +marching and singing in the streets, there was one man who was untouched +by the song of labour expressed in the threshing of feet. David Ormsby +had in his quiet way thought things out. He expected that the new +impetus given to solidity in the ranks of labour would make trouble for +him and his kind, that it would express itself finally in strikes and +in wide-spread industrial disturbance. He was not worried. In the end +he thought that the silent patient power of money would bring his people +the victory. On that day he did not go to his office but in the morning +stayed in his own room thinking of McGregor and of his daughter. Laura +Ormsby was out of the city but Margaret was at home. David believed +he had measured accurately the power of McGregor over her mind but +occasional doubts came to him. “Well the time has come to have it out +with her,” he decided. “I must reassert my ascendency over her mind. +The thing that is going on here is really a struggle of minds. McGregor +differs from other leaders of labour as I differ from most leaders of +the forces of money. He has brains. Very well. I shall meet him on that +level. Then, when I have made Margaret think as I think, she will return +to me.” + + * * * * * + +When he was still a small manufacturer in the Wisconsin town David +had been in the habit of driving out in the evening with his daughter. +During the drives he had been almost a lover in his attentions to the +child and now when he thought of the forces at work within her he was +convinced that she was still a child. Early in the afternoon he had a +carriage brought to the door and drove off with her to the city. “She +will want to see the man in the height of his power. If I am right in +thinking that she is still under the influence of his personality there +will be a romantic desire for that. + +“I will give her the chance,” he thought proudly. “In this struggle I +ask no quarter from him and shall not make the common mistake of parents +in such cases. She is fascinated by the figure he has made of himself. +Showy men who stand out from the crowd have that power. She is still +under his influence. Why else her constant distraction and her want of +interest in other things? Now I will be with her when the man is most +powerful, when he shows to the greatest advantage, and then I will make +my fight for her. I will point out to her another road, the road along +which the real victors in life must learn to travel.” + +Together David the quiet efficient representative of wealth and his +woman child sat in the carriage on the day of McGregor's triumph. For +the moment an impassable gulf seemed to separate them and with intense +eyes each watched the hordes of men who massed themselves about the +labour leader. At the moment McGregor seemed to have caught all men in +the sweep of his movement. Business men had closed their desks, labour +was exultant, writers and men given to speculation in thought walked +about dreaming of the realisation of the brotherhood of man. In the long +narrow treeless park the music made by the steady never-ending thresh of +feet arose to something vast and rhythmical. It was like a mighty chorus +come up out of the hearts of men. David was unmoved. Occasionally he +spoke to the horses and looked from the faces of the men massed about +him to his daughter's face. In the coarse faces of the men he thought +he saw only a crude sort of intoxication, the result of a new kind of +emotionalism. “It will not outlast thirty days of ordinary living in +their squalid surroundings,” he thought grimly. “It is not the kind of +exaltation for Margaret. I can sing her a more wonderful song. I must +get myself ready for that.” + +When McGregor arose to speak Margaret was overcome with emotions. +Dropping to her knees in the carriage she put her head down upon her +father's arm. For days she had been telling herself that in the future +of the man she loved there was no place for failure. Now again she +whispered to herself that this great sturdy figure must not be denied +the fulfilment of its purpose. When in the hush that followed the +massing of the labourers about him the harsh booming voice floated over +the heads of the people her body shook as with a chill. Extravagant +fancies invaded her mind and she wished it were possible for her to do +something heroic, something that would make her live again in the mind +of McGregor. She wanted to serve him, to give him something out of +herself, and thought wildly that there might yet come a time and a way +by which the beauty of her body could be laid like a gift before him. +The half mythical figure of Mary the lover of Jesus came into her mind +and she aspired to be such another. With her body shaken with emotions +she pulled at the sleeve of her father's coat. “Listen! It is going to +come now,” she murmured. “The brain of labour is going to express the +dream of labour. An impulse sweet and lasting is going to come into the +world.” + + * * * * * + +David Ormsby said nothing. When McGregor had begun to speak he touched +the horses with the whip and drove slowly along Van Buren Street past +the silent attentive ranks of men. When he had got into one of the +streets near the river a vast cheer arose. It seemed to shake the city +and the horses reared and leaped forward over the rough cobblestones. +With one hand David quieted them while with the other he gripped the +hand of his daughter. They drove over a bridge and into the West Side +and as they went the marching song of the workers rising up out of +thousands of throats rang in their ears. For a time the air seemed to +pulsate with it but as they went westward it grew continually less and +less distinct. At last when they had turned into a street lined by tall +factories it died out altogether. “That is the end of him for me and +mine,” thought David and again set himself for the task he had to +perform. + +Through street after street David let the horses wander while he clung +to his daughter's hand and thought of what he wanted to say. Not all of +the streets were lined with factories. Some, and these in the evening +light were the most hideous, were bordered by the homes of workers. The +houses of the workers, jammed closely together and black with grime, +were filled with noisy life. Women sat in the doorways and children ran +screaming and shouting in the road. Dogs barked and howled. Everywhere +was dirt and disorder, the terrible evidence of men's failure in the +difficult and delicate art of living. In one of the streets a little +girl child who sat on the post of a fence made a ludicrous figure. As +David and Margaret drove past she beat with her heels against the sides +of the post and screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks and her dishevelled +hair was black with dirt. “I want a banana! I want a banana!” she +howled, staring at the blank walls of one of the houses. In spite of +herself Margaret was touched and her mind left the figure of McGregor. +By an odd chance the child on the post was the daughter of that +socialist orator who one night on the North Side had climbed upon a +platform to confront McGregor with the propaganda of the Socialist +Party. + +David turned the horses into a wide boulevard that ran south through the +factory district of the west. As they came out into the boulevard they +saw sitting on the sidewalk before a saloon a drunkard with a drum in +his hand. The drunkard beat upon the drum and tried to sing the marching +song of the workers but succeeded only in making a queer grunting noise +like a distressed animal. The sight brought a smile to David's lips. +“Already it has begun to disintegrate,” he muttered. “I brought you into +this part of town on purpose,” he said to Margaret. “I wanted you to see +with your own eyes how much the world needs the thing he is trying to +do. The man is terribly right about the need for discipline and order. +He is a big man doing a big thing and I admire his courage. He would be +a really big man had he the greater courage.” + +On the boulevard into which they had turned all was quiet. The summer +sun was setting and over the roofs of buildings the west was ablaze with +light. They passed a factory surrounded by little patches of garden. +Some employer of labour had tried thus feebly to bring beauty into the +neighbourhood of the place where his men worked. David pointed with +the whip. “Life is a husk,” he said, “and we men of affairs who take +ourselves so seriously because the fates have been good to us have odd +silly little fancies. See what this fellow has been at, patching away, +striving to create beauty on the shell of things. He is like McGregor +you see. I wonder if the man has made himself beautiful, if either he or +McGregor has seen to it that there is something lovely inside the husk +he wears around and that he calls his body, if he has seen through life +to the spirit of life. I do not believe in patching nor do I believe in +disturbing the shell of things as McGregor has dared to do. I have my +own beliefs and they are the beliefs of my kind. This man here, this +maker of little gardens, is like McGregor. He might better let men find +their own beauty. That is my way. I have, I want to think, kept myself +for the sweeter and more daring effort.” + +David turned and looked hard at Margaret who had begun to be influenced +by his mood. She waited, looking with averted face at the sky over the +roofs of buildings. David began to talk of himself in relation to her +and her mother. A note of impatience came into his voice. + +“How far you have been carried away, haven't you?” he said sharply. +“Listen. I am not talking to you now as your father nor as Laura's +daughter. Let us be clear about that I love you and am in a contest +to win your love. I am McGregor's rival. I accept the handicap of +fatherhood. I love you. You see I have let something within myself +alight upon you. McGregor has not done that. He refused what you had +to offer but I do not. I have centred my life upon you and have done it +quite knowingly and after much thought. The feeling I have is something +quite special. I am an individualist but believe in the oneness of man +and woman. I would dare venture into but one other life beyond my own +and that the life of a woman. I have chosen to ask you to let me venture +so into your life. We will talk of it.” + +Margaret turned and looked at her father. Later she thought that some +strange phenomena must have happened at the moment Something like a film +was torn from her eyes and she saw the man David, not as a shrewd and +calculating man of affairs, but as something magnificently young. Not +only was he strong and solid but in his face there was at the moment the +deep lines of thought and suffering she had seen on the countenance of +McGregor. “It is strange,” she thought. “They are so unlike and yet the +two men are both beautiful.” + +“I married your mother when I was a child as you are a child now,” David +went on. “To be sure I had a passion for her and she had one for me. +It passed but it was beautiful enough while it lasted. It did not have +depth or meaning. I want to tell you why. Then I am going to make you +understand McGregor so that you may take your measure of the man. I am +coming to that. I have to begin at the beginning. + +“My factory began to grow and as an employer of labour I became +concerned in the lives of a good many men.” + +His voice again became sharp. “I have been impatient with you,” he said. +“Do you think this McGregor is the only man who has seen and thought of +other men in the mass? I have done that and have been tempted. I also +might have become sentimental and destroyed myself. I did not. Loving a +woman saved me. Laura did that for me although when it came to the real +test of our love, understanding, she failed. I am nevertheless grateful +to her that she was once the object of my love. I believe in the beauty +of that.” + +Again David paused and began to tell his story in a new way. The figure +of McGregor came back into Margaret's mind and her father began to +feel that to take it entirely away would be an accomplishment full of +significance. “If I can take her from him, I and my kind can take the +world from him also,” he thought. “It will be another victory for the +aristocracy in the never-ending battle with the mob.” + +“I came to a turning point,” he said aloud. “All men come to that point. +To be sure the great mass of people drift quite stupidly but we are not +now talking of people in general. There is you and me and there is the +thing McGregor might be. We are each in our way something special. We +come, people like us, to a place where there are two roads to take. I +took one and McGregor has taken another. I know why and perhaps he knows +why. I concede to him knowledge of what he has done. But now it is time +for you to decide which road you will take. You have seen the crowds +moving along the broad way he has chosen and now you will set out on +your own way. I want you to look down my road with me.” + +They came to a bridge over a canal and David stopped the horses. A body +of McGregor's marchers passed and Margaret's pulse began to beat high +again. When she looked at her father however he was unmoved and she was +a little ashamed of her emotions. For a moment David waited, as though +for inspiration, and when the horses started on again he began to talk. +“A labour leader came to my factory, a miniature McGregor with a crooked +twist to him. He was a rascal but the things he said to my men were +all true enough. I was making money for my investors, a lot of it. +They might have won in a fight with me. One evening I went out into the +country to walk alone under the trees and think it over.” + +David's voice became harsh and Margaret thought it had become strangely +like the voice of McGregor talking to workingmen. “I bought the man +off,” David said. “I used the cruel weapon men like me have to use. +I gave him money and told him to get out, to let me alone. I did it +because I had to win. My kind of men always have to win. During the walk +I took alone I got hold of my dream, my belief. I have the same dream +now. It means more to me than the welfare of a million men. For it I +would crush whatever opposed me. I am going to tell you of the dream. + +“It is too bad one has to talk. Talk kills dreams and talk will also +kill all such men as McGregor. Now that he has begun to talk we will get +the best of him. I do not worry about McGregor. Time and talk will bring +about his destruction.” + +David's mind ran off in a new direction. “I do not think a man's life +is of much importance,” he said. “No man is big enough to grasp all +of life. That is the foolish fancy of children. The grown man knows he +cannot see life at one great sweep. It cannot be comprehended so. One +has to realise that he lives in a patchwork of many lives and many +impulses. + +“The man must strike at beauty. That is the realisation maturity brings +and that is where the woman conies in. That is what McGregor was not +wise enough to understand. He is a child you see in a land of excitable +children.” + +The quality of David's voice changed. Putting his arm about his daughter +he drew her face down beside his own. Night descended upon them. The +woman who was tired from much thinking began to feel grateful for the +touch of the strong hand on her shoulder. David had accomplished his +purpose. He had for the moment made his daughter forget that she was +his daughter. There was something hypnotic in the quiet strength of his +mood. + +“I come now to women, to your part,” he said. “We will talk of the thing +I want to make you understand. Laura failed as the woman. She never saw +the point. As I grew she did not grow with me. Because I did not talk of +love she did not understand me as a lover, did not know what I wanted, +what I demanded of her. + +“I wanted to fit my love down upon her figure as one puts a glove on his +hand. You see I was the adventurer, the man mussed and moiled by life +and its problems. The struggle to exist, to get money, could not be +avoided. I had to make that struggle. She did not. Why could she not +understand that I did not want to come into her presence to rest or to +say empty words. I wanted her to help me create beauty. We should have +been partners in that. Together we should have undertaken the most +delicate and difficult of all struggles, the struggle for living beauty +in our everyday affairs.” + +Bitterness swept over the old ploughmaker and he used strong words. “The +whole point is in what I am now saying. That was my cry to the woman. +It came out of my soul. It was the only cry to another I have ever made. +Laura was a little fool. Her mind flitted away to little things. I do +not know what she wanted me to be and now I do not care. Perhaps she +wanted me to be a poet, a stringer together of words, one to write +shrill little songs about her eyes and lips. It does not matter now what +she wanted. + +“But you matter.” + +David's voice cut through the fog of new thoughts that were confusing +his daughter's mind and she could feel his body stiffen. A thrill ran +through her own body and she forgot McGregor. With all the strength of +her spirit she was absorbed in what David was saying. In the challenge +that was coming from the lips of her father she began to feel there +would be born in her own life a definite purpose. + +“Women want to push out into life, to share with men the disorder and +mussiness of little things. What a desire! Let them try it if they wish. +They will sicken of the attempt. They lose sight of something bigger +they might undertake. They have forgotten the old things, Ruth in the +corn and Mary with the jar of precious ointment, they have forgotten the +beauty they were meant to help men create. + +“Let them share only in man's attempt to create beauty. That is the +big, the delicate task to which they should consecrate themselves. Why +attempt instead the cheaper, the secondary task? They are like this +McGregor.” + +The ploughmaker became silent. Taking up the whip he drove the horses +rapidly along. He thought that his point was made and was satisfied to +let the imagination of his daughter do the rest. They turned off the +boulevard and passed through a street of small stores. Before a saloon +a troop of street urchins led by a drunken man without a hat gave a +grotesque imitation of McGregor's Marchers before a crowd of laughing +idlers. With a sinking heart Margaret realised that even at the height +of his power the forces that would eventually destroy the impulses back +of McGregor's Marchers were at work. She crept closer to David. “I love +you,” she said. “Some day I may have a lover but always I shall love +you. I shall try to be what you want of me.” + +It was past two o'clock that night when David arose from the chair where +he had been for several hours quietly reading. With a smile on his +face he went to a window facing north toward the city. All through +the evening groups of men had been passing the house. Some had gone +scuffling along, a mere disorderly mob, some had gone shoulder to +shoulder chanting the marching song of the workers and a few, under the +influence of drink, had stopped before the house to roar out threats. +Now all was quiet. David lighted a cigar and stood for a long time +looking out over the city. He was thinking of McGregor and wondering +what excited dream of power the day had brought into the man's head. +Then he thought of his daughter and of her escape. A soft light came +into his eyes. He was happy but when he had partially undressed a new +mood came and he turned out the lights in the room and went again to the +window. In the room above Margaret had been unable to sleep and had also +crept to the window. She was thinking again of McGregor and was ashamed +of her thoughts. By chance both father and daughter began at the same +moment to doubt the truth of what David had said during the drive along +the boulevard. Margaret could not express her doubts in words but tears +came into her eyes. + +As for David, he put his hand on the sill of the window and for just +a moment his body trembled as with age and weariness. “I wonder,” he +muttered--“if I had youth--perhaps McGregor knew he would fail and yet +had the courage of failure, I wonder if both Margaret and myself lack +the greater courage, if that evening long ago when I walked under the +trees I made a mistake? What if after all this McGregor and his woman +knew both roads. What if they, after looking deliberately along the road +toward success in life, went without regret along the road to failure? +What if McGregor and not myself knew the road to beauty?” + +END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 7045-0.txt or 7045-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/4/7045/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland + +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: Marching Men + +Author: Sherwood Anderson + + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7045] +This file was first posted on February 27, 2003 +Last Updated: March 14, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + + + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + MARCHING MEN + </h1> + <h2> + By Sherwood Anderson + </h2> + <h5> + Author of “Windy Mcpherson's Son” + </h5> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + MCMXVII + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO + </h3> + <h3> + AMERICAN WORKINGMEN + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>BOOK II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> <b>BOOK III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <b>BOOK IV</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>BOOK V</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> <b>BOOK VI</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> <b>BOOK VII</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Uncle Charlie Wheeler stamped on the steps before Nance McGregor's + bake-shop on the Main Street of the town of Coal Creek Pennsylvania and + then went quickly inside. Something pleased him and as he stood before the + counter in the shop he laughed and whistled softly. With a wink at the + Reverend Minot Weeks who stood by the door leading to the street, he + tapped with his knuckles on the showcase. + </p> + <p> + “It has,” he said, waving attention to the boy, who was making a mess of + the effort to arrange Uncle Charlie's loaf into a neat package, “a pretty + name. They call it Norman—Norman McGregor.” Uncle Charlie laughed + heartily and again stamped upon the floor. Putting his finger to his + forehead to suggest deep thought, he turned to the minister. “I am going + to change all that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Norman indeed! I shall give him a name that will stick! Norman! Too soft, + too soft and delicate for Coal Creek, eh? It shall be rechristened. You + and I will be Adam and Eve in the garden naming things. We will call it + Beaut—Our Beautiful One—Beaut McGregor.” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Minot Weeks also laughed. He thrust four fingers of each hand + into the pockets of his trousers, letting the extended thumbs lie along + the swelling waist line. From the front the thumbs looked like two tiny + boats on the horizon of a troubled sea. They bobbed and jumped about on + the rolling shaking paunch, appearing and disappearing as laughter shook + him. The Reverend Minot Weeks went out at the door ahead of Uncle Charlie, + still laughing. One fancied that he would go along the street from store + to store telling the tale of the christening and laughing again. The tall + boy could imagine the details of the story. + </p> + <p> + It was an ill day for births in Coal Creek, even for the birth of one of + Uncle Charlie's inspirations. Snow lay piled along the sidewalks and in + the gutters of Main Street—black snow, sordid with the gathered + grime of human endeavour that went on day and night in the bowels of the + hills. Through the soiled snow walked miners, stumbling along silently and + with blackened faces. In their bare hands they carried dinner pails. + </p> + <p> + The McGregor boy, tall and awkward, and with a towering nose, great + hippopotamus-like mouth and fiery red hair, followed Uncle Charlie, + Republican politician, postmaster and village wit to the door and looked + after him as with the loaf of bread under his arm he hurried along the + street. Behind the politician went the minister still enjoying the scene + in the bakery. He was preening himself on his nearness to life in the + mining town. “Did not Christ himself laugh, eat and drink with publicans + and sinners?” he thought, as he waddled through the snow. The eyes of the + McGregor boy, as they followed the two departing figures, and later, as he + stood in the door of the bake-shop watching the struggling miners, + glistened, with hatred. It was the quality of intense hatred for his + fellows in the black hole between the Pennsylvania hills that marked the + boy and made him stand forth among his fellows. + </p> + <p> + In a country of so many varied climates and occupations as America it is + absurd to talk of an American type. The country is like a vast + disorganised undisciplined army, leaderless, uninspired, going in + route-step along the road to they know not what end. In the prairie towns + of the West and the river towns of the South from which have come so many + of our writing men, the citizens swagger through life. Drunken old + reprobates lie in the shade by the river's edge or wander through the + streets of a corn shipping village of a Saturday evening with grins on + their faces. Some touch of nature, a sweet undercurrent of life, stays + alive in them and is handed down to those who write of them, and the most + worthless man that walks the streets of an Ohio or Iowa town may be the + father of an epigram that colours all the life of the men about him. In a + mining town or deep in the entrails of one of our cities life is + different. There the disorder and aimlessness of our American lives + becomes a crime for which men pay heavily. Losing step with one another, + men lose also a sense of their own individuality so that a thousand of + them may be driven in a disorderly mass in at the door of a Chicago + factory morning after morning and year after year with never an epigram + from the lips of one of them. + </p> + <p> + In Coal Creek when men got drunk they staggered in silence through the + street. Did one of them, in a moment of stupid animal sportiveness, + execute a clumsy dance upon the barroom floor, his fellow—labourers + looked at him dumbly, or turning away left him to finish without witnesses + his clumsy hilarity. + </p> + <p> + Standing in the doorway and looking up and down the bleak village street, + some dim realisation of the disorganised ineffectiveness of life as he + knew it came into the mind of the McGregor boy. It seemed to him right and + natural that he should hate men. With a sneer on his lips, he thought of + Barney Butterlips, the town socialist, who was forever talking of a day + coming when men would march shoulder to shoulder and life in Coal Creek, + life everywhere, should cease being aimless and become definite and full + of meaning. + </p> + <p> + “They will never do that and who wants them to,” mused the McGregor boy. A + blast of wind bearing snow beat upon him and he turned into the shop and + slammed the door behind him. Another thought stirred in his head and + brought a flush to his cheeks. He turned and stood in the silence of the + empty shop shaking with emotion. “If I could form the men of this place + into an army I would lead them to the mouth of the old Shumway cut and + push them in,” he threatened, shaking his fist toward the door. “I would + stand aside and see the whole town struggle and drown in the black water + as untouched as though I watched the drowning of a litter of dirty little + kittens.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The next morning when Beaut McGregor pushed his baker's cart along the + street and began climbing the hill toward the miners' cottages, he went, + not as Norman McGregor, the town baker boy, only product of the loins of + Cracked McGregor of Coal Creek, but as a personage, a being, the object of + an art. The name given him by Uncle Charlie Wheeler had made him a marked + man. He was as the hero of a popular romance, galvanised into life and + striding in the flesh before the people. Men looked at him with new + interest, inventorying anew the huge mouth and nose and the flaming hair. + The bartender, sweeping the snow from before the door of the saloon, + shouted at him. “Hey, Norman!” he called. “Sweet Norman! Norman is too + pretty a name. Beaut is the name for you! Oh you Beaut!” + </p> + <p> + The tall boy pushed the cart silently along the street. Again he hated + Coal Creek. He hated the bakery and the bakery cart. With a burning + satisfying hate he hated Uncle Charlie Wheeler and the Reverend Minot + Weeks. “Fat old fools,” he muttered as he shook the snow off his hat and + paused to breathe in the struggle up the hill. He had something new to + hate. He hated his own name. It did sound ridiculous. He had thought + before that there was something fancy and pretentious about it. It did not + fit a bakery cart boy. He wished it might have been plain John or Jim or + Fred. A quiver of irritation at his mother passed through him. “She might + have used more sense,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + And then the thought came to him that his father might have chosen the + name. That checked his flight toward universal hatred and he began pushing + the cart forward again, a more genial current of thought running through + his mind. The tall boy loved the memory of his father, “Cracked McGregor.” + “They called him 'Cracked' until that became his name,” he thought. “Now + they are at me.” The thought renewed a feeling of fellowship between + himself and his dead father—it softened him. When he reached the + first of the bleak miners' houses a smile played about the corners of his + huge mouth. + </p> + <p> + In his day Cracked McGregor had not borne a good reputation in Coal Creek. + He was a tall silent man with something morose and dangerous about him. He + inspired fear born of hatred. In the mines he worked silently and with + fiery energy, hating his fellow miners among whom he was thought to be “a + bit off his head.” They it was who named him “Cracked” McGregor and they + avoided him while subscribing to the common opinion that he was the best + miner in the district. Like his fellow workers he occasionally got drunk. + When he went into the saloon where other men stood in groups buying drinks + for each other he bought only for himself. Once a stranger, a fat man who + sold liquor for a wholesale house, approached and slapped him on the back. + “Come, cheer up and have a drink with me,” he said. Cracked McGregor + turned and knocked the stranger to the floor. When the fat man was down he + kicked him and glared at the crowd in the room. Then he walked slowly out + at the door staring around and hoping some one would interfere. + </p> + <p> + In his house also Cracked McGregor was silent. When he spoke at all he + spoke kindly and looked into the eyes of his wife with an eager expectant + air. To his red-haired son he seemed to be forever pouring forth a kind of + dumb affection. Taking the boy in his arms he sat for hours rocking back + and forth and saying nothing. When the boy was ill or troubled by strange + dreams at night the feel of his father's arms about him quieted him. In + his arms the boy went to sleep happily. In the mind of the father there + was a single recurring thought, “We have but the one bairn, we'll not put + him into the hole in the ground,” he said, looking eagerly to the mother + for approval. + </p> + <p> + Twice had Cracked McGregor walked with his son on a Sunday afternoon. + Taking the lad by the hand the miner went up the face of the hill, past + the last of the miners' houses, through the grove of pine trees at the + summit and on over the hill into sight of a wide valley on the farther + side. When he walked he twisted his head far to one side like one + listening. A falling timber in the mines had given him a deformed shoulder + and left a great scar on his face, partly covered by a red beard filled + with coal dust. The blow that had deformed his shoulder had clouded his + mind. He muttered as he walked along the road and talked to himself like + an old man. + </p> + <p> + The red-haired boy ran beside his father happily. He did not see the + smiles on the faces of the miners, who came down the hill and stopped to + look at the odd pair. The miners went on down the road to sit in front of + the stores on Main Street, their day brightened by the memory of the + hurrying McGregors. They had a remark they tossed about. “Nance McGregor + should not have looked at her man when she conceived,” they said. + </p> + <p> + Up the face of the hill climbed the McGregors. In the mind of the boy a + thousand questions wanted answering. Looking at the silent gloomy face of + his father, he choked back the questions rising in his throat, saving them + for the quiet hour with his mother when Cracked McGregor was gone to the + mine. He wanted to know of the boyhood of his father, of the life in the + mine, of the birds that flew overhead and why they wheeled and flew in + great ovals in the sky. He looked at the fallen trees in the woods and + wondered what made them fall and whether the others would presently fall + in their turn. + </p> + <p> + Over the hill went the silent pair and through the pinewood to an eminence + half way down the farther side. When the boy saw the valley lying so green + and broad and fruitful at their feet he thought it the most wonderful + sight in the world. He was not surprised that his father had brought him + there. Sitting on the ground he opened and closed his eyes, his soul + stirred by the beauty of the scene that lay before them. + </p> + <p> + On the hillside Cracked McGregor went through a kind of ceremony. Sitting + upon a log he made a telescope of his hands and looked over the valley + inch by inch like one seeking something lost. For ten minutes he would + look intently at a clump of trees or a spot in the river running through + the valley where it broadened and where the water roughened by the wind + glistened in the sun. A smile lurked in the corners of his mouth, he + rubbed his hands together, he muttered incoherent words and bits of + sentences, once he broke forth into a low droning song. + </p> + <p> + On the first morning, when the boy sat on the hillside with his father, it + was spring and the land was vividly green. Lambs played in the fields; + birds sang their mating songs; in the air, on the earth and in the water + of the flowing river it was a time of new life. Below, the flat valley of + green fields was patched and spotted with brown new-turned earth. The + cattle walking with bowed heads, eating the sweet grass, the farmhouses + with red barns, the pungent smell of the new ground, fired his mind and + awoke the sleeping sense of beauty in the boy. He sat upon the log drunk + with happiness that the world in which he lived could be so beautiful. In + his bed at night he dreamed of the valley, confounding it with the old + Bible tale of the Garden of Eden, told him by his mother. He dreamed that + he and his mother went over the hill and down toward the valley but that + his father, wearing a long white robe and with his red hair blowing in the + wind, stood upon the hillside swinging a long sword blazing with fire and + drove them back. + </p> + <p> + When the boy went again over the hill it was October and a cold wind blew + down the hill into his face. In the woods golden brown leaves ran about + like frightened little animals and golden-brown were the leaves on the + trees about the farmhouses and golden-brown the corn standing shocked in + the fields. The scene saddened the boy. A lump came into his throat and he + wanted back the green shining beauty of the spring. He wished to hear the + birds singing in the air and in the grass on the hillside. + </p> + <p> + Cracked McGregor was in another mood. He seemed more satisfied than on the + first visit and ran up and down on the little eminence rubbing his hands + together and on the legs of his trousers. Through the long afternoon he + sat on the log muttering and smiling. + </p> + <p> + On the road home through the darkened woods the restless hurrying leaves + frightened the boy so that, with his weariness from walking against the + wind, his hunger from being all day without food, and with the cold + nipping at his body, he began to cry. The father took the boy in his arms + and holding him across his breast like a babe went down the hill to their + home. + </p> + <p> + It was on a Tuesday morning that Cracked McGregor died. His death fixed + itself as something fine in the mind of the boy and the scene and the + circumstance stayed with him through life, filling him with secret pride + like a knowledge of good blood. “It means something that I am the son of + such a man,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + It was past ten in the morning when the cry of “Fire in the mine” ran up + the hill to the houses of the miners. A panic seized the women. In their + minds they saw the men hurrying down old cuts, crouching in hidden + corridors, pursued by death. Cracked McGregor, one of the night shift, + slept in his house. The boy's mother, threw a shawl about her head, took + his hand and ran down the hill to the mouth of the mine. Cold winds + spitting snow blew in their faces. They ran along the tracks of the + railroad, stumbling over the ties, and stood on the railroad embankment + that overlooked the runway to the mine. + </p> + <p> + About the runway and along the embankment stood the silent miners, their + hands in their trousers pockets, staring stolidly at the closed door of + the mine. Among them was no impulse toward concerted action. Like animals + at the door of a slaughter-house they stood as though waiting their turn + to be driven in at the door. An old crone with bent back and a huge stick + in her hand went from one to another of the miners gesticulating and + talking. “Get my boy—my Steve! Get him out of there!” she shouted, + waving the stick about. + </p> + <p> + The door of the mine opened and three men came out, staggering as they + pushed before them a small car that ran upon rails. On the car lay three + other men, silent and motionless. A woman thinly clad and with great + cave-like hollows in her face climbed the embankment and sat upon the + ground below the boy and his mother. “The fire is in the old McCrary cut,” + she said, her voice quivering, a dumb hopeless look in her eyes. “They + can't get through to close the doors. My man Ike is in there.” She put + down her head and sat weeping. The boy knew the woman. She was a neighbour + who lived in an unpainted house on the hillside. In the yard in front of + her house a swarm of children played among the stones. Her husband, a + great hulking fellow, got drunk and when he came home kicked his wife. The + boy had heard her screaming at night. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly in the growing crowd of miners below the embankment Beaut + McGregor saw his father moving restlessly about. On his head he had his + cap with the miner's lamp lighted. He went from group to group among the + people, his head hanging to one side. The boy looked at him intently. He + was reminded of the October day on the eminence overlooking the fruitful + valley and again he thought of his father as a man inspired, going through + a kind of ceremony. The tall miner rubbed his hands up and down his legs, + he peered into the faces of the silent men standing about, his lips moved + and his red beard danced up and down. + </p> + <p> + As the boy looked a change came over the face of Cracked McGregor. He ran + to the foot of the embankment and looked up. In his eyes was the look of a + perplexed animal. The wife bent down and began to talk to the weeping + woman on the ground, trying to comfort her. She did not see her husband + and the boy and man stood in silence looking into each other's eyes. + </p> + <p> + Then the puzzled look went out of the father's face. He turned and running + along with his head rolling about reached the closed door of the mine. A + man, who wore a white collar and had a cigar stuck in the corner of his + mouth, put out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Wait!” he shouted. Pushing the man aside with his powerful arm the + runner pulled open the door of the mine and disappeared down the runway. + </p> + <p> + A hubbub arose. The man in the white collar took the cigar from his mouth + and began to swear violently. The boy stood on the embankment and saw his + mother running toward the runway of the mine. A miner gripped her by the + arm and led her back up the face of the embankment. In the crowd a woman's + voice shouted, “It's Cracked McGregor gone to close the door to the + McCrary cut.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the white collar glared about as he chewed the end of his + cigar. “He's gone crazy,” he shouted, again closing the door to the mine. + </p> + <p> + Cracked McGregor died in the mine, almost within reach of the door to the + old cut where the fire burned. With him died all but five of the + imprisoned miners. All day parties of men tried to get down into the mine. + Below in the hidden passages under their own homes the scurrying miners + died like rats in a burning barn while their wives, with shawls over their + heads, sat silently weeping on the railroad embankment. In the evening the + boy and his mother went up the hill alone. From the houses scattered over + the hill came the sound of women weeping. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + For several years after the mine disaster the McGregors, mother and son, + lived in the house on the hillside. The woman went each morning to the + offices of the mine where she washed windows and scrubbed floors. The + position was a sort of recognition on the part of the mine officials of + the heroism of Cracked McGregor. + </p> + <p> + Nance McGregor was a small blue-eyed woman with a sharp nose. She wore + glasses and had the name in Coal Creek of being quick and sharp. She did + not stand by the fence to talk with the wives of other miners but sat in + her house and sewed or read aloud to her son. She subscribed for a + magazine and had bound copies of it standing upon shelves in the room + where she and the boy ate breakfast in the early morning. Before the death + of her husband she had maintained a habit of silence in her house but + after his death she expanded, and, with her red-haired son, discussed + freely every phase of their narrow lives. As he grew older the boy began + to believe that she like the miners had kept hidden under her silence a + secret fear of his father. Certain things she said of her life encouraged + the thought. + </p> + <p> + Norman McGregor grew into a tall broad-shouldered boy with strong arms, + flaming red hair and a habit of sudden and violent fits of temper. There + was something about him that held the attention. As he grew older and was + renamed by Uncle Charlie Wheeler he began going about looking for trouble. + When the boys called him “Beaut” he knocked them down. When men shouted + the name after him on the street he followed them with black looks. It + became a point of honour with him to resent the name. He connected it with + the town's unfairness to Cracked McGregor. + </p> + <p> + In the house on the hillside the boy and his mother lived together + happily. In the early morning they went down the hill and across the + tracks to the offices of the mine. From the offices the boy went up the + hill on the farther side of the valley and sat upon the schoolhouse steps + or wandered in the streets waiting for the day in school to begin. In the + evening mother and son sat upon the steps at the front of their home and + watched the glare of the coke ovens on the sky and the lights of the + swiftly-running passenger trains, roaring whistling and disappearing into + the night. + </p> + <p> + Nance McGregor talked to her son of the big world outside the valley and + told him of the cities, the seas and the strange lands and peoples beyond + the seas. “We have dug in the ground like rats,” she said, “I and my + people and your father and his people. With you it will be different. You + will get out of here to other places and other work.” She grew indignant + thinking of the life in the town. “We are stuck down here amid dirt, + living in it, breathing it,” she complained. “Sixty men died in that hole + in the ground and then the mine started again with new men. We stay here + year after year digging coal to burn in engines that take other people + across the seas and into the West.” + </p> + <p> + When the son was a tall strong boy of fourteen Nance McGregor bought the + bakery and to buy it took the money saved by Cracked McGregor. With it he + had planned to buy a farm in the valley beyond the hill. Dollar by dollar + it had been put away by the miner who dreamed of life in his own fields. + </p> + <p> + In the bakery the boy worked and learned to make bread. Kneading the dough + his arms and hands grew as strong as a bear's. He hated the work, he hated + Coal Creek and dreamed of life in the city and of the part he should play + there. Among the young men he began to make here and there a friend. Like + his father he attracted attention. Women looked at him, laughed at his big + frame and strong homely features and looked again. When they spoke to him + in the bakery or on the street he spoke back fearlessly and looked them in + the eyes. Young girls in the school walked home down the hill with other + boys and at night dreamed of Beaut McGregor. When some one spoke ill of + him they answered defending and praising him. Like his father he was a + marked man in the town of Coal Creek. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + One Sunday afternoon three boys sat on a log on the side of the hill that + looked down into Coal Creek. From where they sat they could see the + workers of the night shift idling in the sun on Main Street. From the coke + ovens a thin line of smoke rose into the sky. A freight train heavily + loaded crept round the hill at the end of the valley. It was spring and + over even that hive of black industry hung a faint promise of beauty. The + boys talked of the life of people in their town and as they talked thought + each of himself. + </p> + <p> + Although he had not been out of the valley and had grown strong and big + there, Beaut McGregor knew something of the outside world. It isn't a time + when men are shut off from their fellows. Newspapers and magazines have + done their work too well. They reached even into the miner's cabin and the + merchants along Main Street of Coal Creek stood before their stores in the + afternoon and talked of the doings of the world. Beaut McGregor knew that + life in his town was exceptional, that not everywhere did men toil all day + black and grimy underground, that not all women were pale bloodless and + bent. As he went about delivering bread he whistled a song. “Take me back + to Broadway,” he sang after the soubrette in a show that had once come to + Coal Creek. + </p> + <p> + Now as he sat on the hillside he talked earnestly while he gesticulated + with his hands. “I hate this town,” he said. “The men here think they are + confoundedly funny. They don't care for anything but making foolish jokes + and getting drunk. I want to go away.” His voice rose and hatred flamed up + in him. “You wait,” he boasted. “I'll make men stop being fools. I'll make + children of them. I'll——” Pausing he looked at his two + companions. + </p> + <p> + Beaut poked the ground with a stick. The boy sitting beside him laughed. + He was a short well—dressed black—haired boy with rings on his + fingers who worked in the town poolroom, racking the pool balls. “I'd like + to go where there are women with blood in them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Three women came up the hill toward them, a tall pale brown-haired woman + of twenty-seven and two fairer young girls. The black-haired boy + straightened his tie and began thinking of a conversation he would start + when the women reached him. Beaut and the other boy, a fat fellow, the son + of a grocer, looked down the hill to the town over the heads of the + newcomers and continued in their minds the thoughts that had made the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Hello girls, come and sit here,” shouted the black-haired boy, laughing + and looking boldly into the eyes of the tall pale woman. They stopped and + the tall woman began stepping over the fallen logs, coming to them. The + two young girls followed, laughing. They sat down on the log beside the + boys, the tall pale woman at the end beside red-haired McGregor. An + embarrassed silence fell over the party. Both Beaut and the fat boy were + disconcerted by this turn to their afternoon's outing and wondered how it + would turn out. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman began to talk in a low tone. “I want to get away from + here,” she said, “I wish I could hear birds sing and see green things + grow.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut McGregor had an idea. “You come with me,” he said. He got up and + climbed over the logs and the pale woman followed. The fat boy shouted at + them, relieving his own embarrassment by trying to embarrass them. + “Where're you going—you two?” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + Beaut said nothing. He stepped over the logs to the road and began + climbing the hill. The tall woman walked beside him and held her skirts + out of the deep dust of the road. Even on this her Sunday gown there was a + faint black mark along the seams—the mark of Coal Creek. + </p> + <p> + As McGregor walked his embarrassment left him. He thought it fine that he + should be thus alone with a woman. When she had tired from the climb he + sat with her on a log beside the road and talked of the black-haired boy. + “He has your ring on his finger,” he said, looking at her and laughing. + </p> + <p> + She held her hand pressed tightly against her side and closed her eyes. + “The climbing hurts me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Tenderness took hold of Beaut. When they went on again he walked behind + her, his hand upon her back pushing her up the hill. The desire to tease + her about the black-haired boy had passed and he wished he had said + nothing about the ring. He remembered the story the black-haired boy had + told him of his conquest of the woman. “More than likely a mess of lies,” + he thought. + </p> + <p> + Over the crest of the hill they stopped and rested, leaning against a worn + rail fence by the woods. Below them in a wagon a party of men went down + the hill. The men sat upon boards laid across the box of a wagon and sang + a song. One of them stood in the seat beside the driver and waved a + bottle. He seemed to be making a speech. The others shouted and clapped + their hands. The sounds came faint and sharp up the hill. + </p> + <p> + In the woods beside the fence rank grass grew. Hawks floated in the sky + over the valley below. A squirrel running along the fence stopped and + chattered at them. McGregor thought he had never had so delightful a + companion. He got a feeling of complete, good fellowship and friendliness + with this woman. Without knowing how the thing had been done he felt a + certain pride in it. “Don't mind what I said about the ring,” he urged, “I + was only trying to tease you.” + </p> + <p> + The woman beside McGregor was the daughter of an undertaker who lived + upstairs over his shop near the bakery. He had seen her in the evening + standing in the stairway by the shop door. After the story told him by the + black-haired boy he had been embarrassed about her. When he passed her + standing in the stairway he went hurriedly along and looked into the + gutter. + </p> + <p> + They went down the hill and sat on the log upon the hillside. A clump of + elders had grown about the log since his visits there with Cracked + McGregor so that the place was closed and shaded like a room. The woman + took off her hat and laid it beside her on the log. A faint colour mounted + to her pale cheeks and a flash of anger gleamed in her eyes. “He probably + lied to you about me,” she said, “I didn't give him that ring to wear. I + don't know why I gave it to him. He wanted it. He asked me for it time and + again. He said he wanted to show it to his mother. And now he has shown it + to you and I suppose told lies about me.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut was annoyed and wished he had not mentioned the ring. He felt that + an unnecessary fuss was being made about it. He did not believe that the + black-haired boy had lied but he did not think it mattered. + </p> + <p> + He began talking of his father, boasting of him. His hatred of the town + blazed up. “They thought they knew him down there,” he said, “they laughed + at him and called him 'Cracked.' They thought his running into the mine + just a crazy notion like a horse that runs into a burning stable. He was + the best man in town. He was braver than any of them. He went in there and + died when he had almost enough money saved to buy a farm over here.” He + pointed down the valley. + </p> + <p> + Beaut began to tell her of the visits to the hillside with his father and + described the effect of the scene on himself when he was a child. “I + thought it was paradise,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on his arm and seemed to be soothing him like a careful + groom quieting an excitable horse. “Don't mind them,” she said, “you will + go away after a time and make a place for yourself out in the world.” + </p> + <p> + He wondered how she knew. A profound respect for her came over him. “She + is keen to guess that,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He began to talk of himself, boasting and throwing out his chest. “I'd + like to have the chance to show what I can do,” he declared. A thought + that had been in his mind on the winter day when Uncle Charlie Wheeler put + the name of Beaut upon him came back and he walked up and down before the + woman making grotesque motions with his hands as Cracked McGregor had + walked up and down before him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what,” he began and his voice was harsh. He had forgotten + the presence of the woman and half forgotten what had been in his mind. He + sputtered and glared over his shoulder up the hillside as he struggled for + words. “Oh to Hell with men!” he burst forth. “They are cattle, stupid + cattle.” A fire blazed up in his eyes and a confident ring came into his + voice. “I'd like to get them together, all of them,” he said, “I'd like to + make them——” Words failed him and again he sat down on the log + beside the woman. “Well I'd like to lead them to an old mine shaft and + push them in,” he concluded resentfully. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the eminence Beaut and the tall woman sat and looked down into the + valley. “I wonder why we don't go there, mother and I,” he said. “When I + see it I'm filled with the notion. I think I want to be a farmer and work + in the fields. Instead of that mother and I sit and plan of the city. I'm + going to be a lawyer. That's all we talk about. Then I come up here and it + seems as though this is the place for me.” + </p> + <p> + The tall woman laughed. “I can see you coming home at night from the + fields,” she said. “It might be to that white house there with the + windmill, You would be a big man and would have dust in your red hair and + perhaps a red beard growing on your chin. And a woman with a baby in her + arms would come out of the kitchen door to stand leaning on the fence + waiting for you. When you came up she would put her arm around your neck + and kiss you on the lips. The beard would tickle her cheek. You should + have a beard when you grow older. Your mouth is so big.” + </p> + <p> + A strange new feeling shot through Beaut. He wondered why she had said + that and wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss her then and there. He + got up and looked at the sun going down behind the hill far away at the + other end of the valley. “We'd better be getting along back,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The woman remained seated on the log. “Sit down,” she said, “I'll tell you + something—something it's good for you to hear. You're so big and red + you tempt a girl to bother you. First though you tell me why you go along + the street looking into the gutter when I stand in the stairway in the + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut sat down again upon the log, and thought of what the black-haired + boy had told him of her. “Then it was true—what he said about you?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No! No!” she cried, jumping up in her turn and beginning to pin on her + hat. “Let's be going.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut sat stolidly on the log. “What's the use bothering each other,” he + said. “Let's sit here until the sun goes down. We can get home before + dark.” + </p> + <p> + They sat down and she began talking, boasting of herself as he had boasted + of his father. + </p> + <p> + “I'm too old for that boy,” she said; “I'm older than you by a good many + years. I know what boys talk about and what they say about women. I do + pretty well. I don't have any one to talk to except father and he sits all + evening reading a paper and going to sleep in his chair. If I let boys + come and sit with me in the evening or stand talking with me in the + stairway it is because I'm lonesome. There isn't a man in town I'd marry—not + one.” + </p> + <p> + The speech sounded discordant and harsh to Beaut. He wished his father + were there rubbing his hands together and muttering rather than this pale + woman who stirred him up and then talked harshly like the women at the + back doors in Coal Creek. He thought again as he had thought before that + he preferred the black-faced miners drunk and silent to their pale talking + wives. On an impulse he told her that, saying it crudely so that it hurt. + </p> + <p> + Their companionship was spoiled. They got up and began to climb the hill, + going toward home. Again she put her hand to her side and again he wished + to put his hand at her back and push her up the hill. Instead he walked + beside her in silence, again hating the town. + </p> + <p> + Halfway down the hill the tall woman stopped by the road-side. Darkness + was coming on and the glow of the coke ovens lighted the sky. “One living + up here and never going down there might think it rather grand and big,” + he said. Again the hatred came. “They might think the men who live down + there knew something instead of being just a lot of cattle.” + </p> + <p> + A smile came into the face of the tall woman and a gentler look stole into + her eyes. “We get at one another,” she said, “we can't let one another + alone. I wish we hadn't quarrelled. We might be friends if we tried. You + have got something in you. You attract women. I've heard others say that. + Your father was that way. Most of the women here would rather have been + the wife of Cracked McGregor ugly as he was than to have stayed with their + own husbands. I heard my mother say that to father when they lay + quarrelling in bed at night and I lay listening.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was overcome with the thought of a woman talking to him so + frankly. He looked at her and said what was in his mind. “I don't like the + women,” he said, “but I liked you, seeing you standing in the stairway and + thinking you had been doing as you pleased. I thought maybe you amounted + to something. I don't know why you should be bothered by what I think. I + don't know why any woman should be bothered by what any man thinks. I + should think you would go right on doing what you want to do like mother + and me about my being a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + He sat on a log beside the road near where he had met her and watched her + go down the hill. “I'm quite a fellow to have talked to her all afternoon + like that,” he thought and pride in his growing manhood crept over him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The town of Coal Creek was hideous. People from prosperous towns and + cities of the middle west, from Ohio, Illinois, and Iowa, going east to + New York or Philadelphia, looked out of the car windows and seeing the + poor little houses scattered along the hillside thought of books they had + read of life in hovels in the old world. In chair-cars men and women + leaned back and closed their eyes. They yawned and wished the journey + would come to an end. If they thought of the town at all they regretted it + mildly and passed it off as a necessity of modern life. + </p> + <p> + The houses on the hillside and the stores along Main Street belonged to + the mining company. In its turn the mining company belonged to the + officials of the railroad. The manager of the mine had a brother who was + division superintendent. It was the mine manager who had stood by the door + of the mine when Cracked McGregor went to his death. He lived in a city + some thirty miles away, and went there in the evening on the train. With + him went the clerks and even the stenographers from the offices of the + mine. After five o'clock in the afternoon no white collars were to be seen + upon the streets of Coal Creek. + </p> + <p> + In the town men lived like brutes. Dumb with toil they drank greedily in + the saloon on Main Street and went home to beat their wives. Among them a + constant low muttering went on. They felt the injustice of their lot but + could not voice it logically and when they thought of the men who owned + the mine they swore dumbly, using vile oaths even in their thoughts. + Occasionally a strike broke out and Barney Butterlips, a thin little man + with a cork leg, stood on a box and made speeches regarding the coming + brotherhood of man. Once a troop of cavalry was unloaded from the cars and + with a battery paraded the main street. The battery was made up of several + men in brown uniforms. They set up a Gatling gun at the end of the street + and the strike subsided. + </p> + <p> + An Italian who lived in a house on the hillside cultivated a garden. His + place was the one beauty spot in the valley. With a wheelbarrow he brought + earth from the woods at the top of the hill and on Sunday he could be seen + going back and forth and whistling merrily. In the winter he sat in his + house making a drawing on a bit of paper. In the spring he took the + drawing, and by it planted his garden, utilising every inch of his ground. + When a strike came on he was told by the mine manager to go on back to + work or move out of his house. He thought of the garden and the work he + had done and went back to his routine of work in the mine. While he worked + the miners marched up the hill and destroyed the garden. The next day the + Italian also joined the striking miners. + </p> + <p> + In a little one-room shack on the hill lived an old woman. She lived alone + and was vilely dirty. In her house she had old broken chairs and tables + picked up about town and piled in such profusion that she could scarcely + move about. On warm days she sat in the sun before the shack chewing on a + stick that had been dipped in tobacco. Miners coming up the hill dumped + bits of bread and meat-ends out of their dinner-pails into a box nailed to + a tree by the road. These the old woman collected and ate. When the + soldiers came to town she walked along the street jeering at them. “Pretty + boys! Scabs! Dudes! Dry-goods clerks!” she called after them as she walked + by the tails of their horses. A young man with glasses on his nose, who + was mounted on a grey horse turned and called to his comrades, “Let her + alone—it's old Mother Misery herself.” + </p> + <p> + When the tall red-haired boy looked at the workers and at the old woman + who followed the soldiers he did not sympathise with them. He hated them. + In a way he sympathised with the soldiers. His blood was stirred by the + sight of them marching shoulder to shoulder. He thought there was order + and decency in the rank of uniformed men moving silently and quickly along + and he half wished they would destroy the town. When the strikers made a + wreck of the garden of the Italian he was deeply touched and walked up and + down in the room before his mother, proclaiming himself. “I would have + killed them had it been my garden,” he said. “I would not have left one of + them alive.” In his heart he like Cracked McGregor nursed his hatred of + the miners and of the town. “The place is one to get out of,” he said. “If + a man doesn't like it here let him get up and leave.” He remembered his + father working and saving for the farm in the valley. “They thought him + cracked but he knew more than they. They would not have dared touch a + garden he had planted.” + </p> + <p> + In the heart of the miner's son strange half-formed thoughts began to find + lodgings. Remembering in his dreams at night the moving columns of men in + their uniforms he read new meaning into the scraps of history picked up in + the school and the movements of men in old history began to have + significance for him. On a summer afternoon as he loitered before the + town's hotel, beneath which was the saloon and billiard room where the + black-haired boy worked, he overheard two men talking of the significance + of men. + </p> + <p> + One of the men was an itinerant oculist who came to the mining town once a + month to fit and sell spectacles. When the oculist had sold several pairs + of spectacles he got drunk, sometimes staying drunk for a week. When he + was drunk he spoke French and Italian and sometimes stood in the barroom + before the miners, quoting the poems of Dante. His clothes were greasy + from long wear and he had a huge nose streaked with red and purple veins. + Because of his learning in the languages and his quoting of poems the + miners thought the oculist infinitely wise. To them it seemed that one + with such a mind must have almost unearthly knowledge concerning the eyes + and the fitting of glasses and they wore with pride the cheap ill-fitting + things he thrust upon them. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally, as though making a concession to his patrons, the oculist + spent an evening among them. Once after reciting one of the sonnets of + Shakespeare he put a hand on the bar and rocking gently back and forth + sang in a drink-broken voice a ballad beginning “The harp that once + through Tara's halls the soul of music shed.” After the song he put his + head down upon the bar and wept while the miners looked on touched with + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + On the summer afternoon when Beaut McGregor listened, the oculist was + engaged in a violent quarrel with another man, drunk like himself. The + second man was a slender dandified fellow of middle age who sold shoes for + a Philadelphia jobbing-house. He sat in a chair tilted against the hotel + and tried to read aloud from a book. When he was fairly launched in a long + paragraph the oculist interrupted. Staggering up and down the narrow board + walk before the hotel the old drunkard raved and swore. He seemed beside + himself with wrath. + </p> + <p> + “I am sick of such slobbering philosophy,” he declared. “Even the reading + of it makes you drool at the mouth. You do not say the words sharply, and + they can't be said sharply. I'm a strong man myself.” + </p> + <p> + Spreading his legs wide apart and blowing up his cheeks, the oculist beat + upon his breast. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the man in the + chair. + </p> + <p> + “You but slobber and make a foul noise,” he declared. “I know your kind. I + spit upon you. The Congress at Washington is full of such fellows as is + also the House of Commons in England. In France they were once in charge. + They ran things in France until the coming of a man such as myself. They + were lost in the shadow of the great Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + The oculist as though dismissing the dandified man from his mind turned to + address Beaut. He talked in French and the man in the chair fell into a + troubled sleep. “I am like Napoleon,” the drunkard declared, breaking + again into English. Tears began to show in his eyes. “I take the money of + these miners and I give them nothing. The spectacles I sell to their wives + for five dollars cost me but fifteen cents. I ride over these brutes as + Napoleon rode over Europe. There would be order and purpose in me were I + not a fool. I am like Napoleon in that I have utter contempt for men.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Again and again the words of the drunkard came back into the mind of the + McGregor boy influencing his thoughts. Grasping nothing of the philosophy + back of the man's words his imagination was yet touched by the drunkard's + tale of the great Frenchman, babbled into his ears, and it in some way + seemed to give point to his hatred of the disorganised ineffectiveness of + the life about him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + After Nance McGregor opened the bakery another strike came to disturb the + prosperity of the business. Again the miners walked idly through the + streets. Into the bakery they came to get bread and told Nance to write + the debt down against them. Beaut McGregor was disturbed. He saw his + father's money being spent for flour which when baked into loaves went out + of the shop under the arms of the miners who shuffled as they walked. One + night a man whose name appeared on their books followed by a long record + of charged loaves came reeling past the bakery. McGregor went to his + mother and protested. “They have money to get drunk,” he said, “let them + pay for their loaves.” + </p> + <p> + Nance McGregor went on trusting the miners. She thought of the women and + children in the houses on the hill and when she heard of the plans of the + mining company to evict the miners from their houses she shuddered. “I was + the wife of a miner and I will stick to them,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + One day the mine manager came into the bakery. He leaned over the showcase + and talked to Nance. The son went and stood by his mother's side to + listen. “It has got to be stopped,” the manager was saying. “I will not + see you ruin yourself for these cattle. I want you to close this place + till the strike is over. If you won't close it I will. The building + belongs to us. They did not appreciate what your husband did and why + should you ruin yourself for them?” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at him and answered in a low tone full of resolution. + “They thought he was crazy and he was,” she said; “but what made him so—the + rotten timbers in the mine that broke and crushed him. You and not they + are responsible for my man and what he was.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut McGregor interrupted. “Well I think he is right,” he declared, + leaning over the counter beside his mother and looking into her face. “The + miners don't want better things for their families, they want more money + to get drunk. We will close the doors here. We will put no more money into + bread to go into their gullets. They hated father and he hated them and + now I hate them also.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut walked around the end of the counter and went with the mine manager + to the door. He locked it and put the key into his pocket. Then he walked + to the rear of the bake shop where his mother sat on a box weeping. “It is + time a man took charge here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Nance McGregor and her son sat in the bakery and looked at each other. + Miners came along the street, tried the door and went away grumbling. Word + ran from lip to lip up the hillside. “The mine manager has closed Nance + McGregor's shop,” said the women leaning over back fences. Children + sprawling on the floors of the houses put up their heads and howled. Their + lives were a succession of new terrors. When a day passed that a new + terror did not shake them they went to bed happy. When the miner and his + woman stood by the door talking in low tones they cried, expecting to be + put to bed hungry. When guarded talk did not go on by the door the miner + came home drunk and beat the mother and the children lay in beds along the + wall trembling with fright. + </p> + <p> + Late that night a party of miners came to the door of the bakery and beat + upon it with their fists. “Open up here!” they shouted. Beaut came out of + the rooms above the bakery and stood in the empty shop. His mother sat in + a chair in her room and trembled. He went to the door and unlocking it + stepped out. The miners stood in groups on the wooden sidewalk and in the + mud of the road. Among them stood the old crone who had walked beside the + horses and shouted at the soldiers. A miner with a black beard came and + stood before the boy. Waving his hand at the crowd he said, “We have come + to open the bakery. Some of us have no ovens in our stoves. You give us + the key and we will open the place. We will break in the door if you don't + want to do that. The company can't blame you if we do it by force. You can + keep account of what we take. Then when the strike is settled we will pay + you.” + </p> + <p> + A flame shot into the eyes of the boy. He walked down the steps and stood + among the miners. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he peered into + their faces. When he spoke his voice resounded through the street, “You + jeered at my father, Cracked McGregor, when he went into the mine for you. + You laughed at him because he saved his money and did not spend it buying + you drinks. Now you come here to get bread his money bought and you do not + pay. Then you get drunk and go reeling past this very door. Now let me + tell you something.” He thrust his hands into the air and shouted. “The + mine manager did not close this place. I closed it. You jeered at Cracked + McGregor, a better man than any of you. You have had fun with me—laughing + at me. Now I jeer at you.” He ran up the steps and unlocking the door + stood in the doorway. “Pay the money you owe this bakery and there will be + bread for sale here,” he called, and went in and locked the door. + </p> + <p> + The miners walked off up the street. The boy stood within the bakery, his + hands trembling. “I've told them something,” he thought, “I've shown them + they can't make a fool of me.” He went up the stairway to the rooms above. + By the window his mother sat, her head in her hands, looking down into the + street. He sat in a chair and thought of the situation. “They will be back + here and smash the place like they tore up that garden,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The next evening Beaut sat in the darkness on the steps before the bakery. + In his hands he held a hammer. A dull hatred of the town and of the miners + burned in his brain. “I will make it hot for some of them if they come + here,” he thought. He hoped they would come. As he looked at the hammer in + his hand a phrase from the lips of the drunken old oculist babbling of + Napoleon came into his mind. He began to think that he also must be like + the figure of which the drunkard had talked. He remembered a story the + oculist had told of a fight in the streets of a European city and muttered + and waved the hammer about. Upstairs his mother sat by the window with her + head in her hands. From the saloon down the street a light gleamed out on + the wet sidewalk. The tall pale woman who had gone with him to the + eminence overlooking the valley came down the stairway from above the + undertaker's shop. She ran along the sidewalk. On her head she wore a + shawl and as she ran she clutched it with her hand. The other hand she + held against her side. + </p> + <p> + When the women reached the boy who sat in silence before the bakery she + put her hands on his shoulders and plead with him. “Come away,” she said. + “Get your mother and come to our place. They're going to smash you up + here. You'll get hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut arose and pushed her away. Her coming had given him new courage. His + heart jumped at the thought of her interest in him and he wished that the + miners might come so that he could fight them before her. “I wish I could + live among people as decent as she,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + A train stopped at the station down the street. There came the sound of + tramping of men and quick sharp commands. A stream of men poured out of + the saloon onto the sidewalk. Down the street came a file of soldiers with + guns swung across their shoulders. Again Beaut was thrilled by the sight + of trained orderly men moving along shoulder to shoulder. In the presence + of these men the disorganized miners seemed pitifully weak and + insignificant. The girl pulled the shawl about her head and ran up the + street to disappear into the stairway. The boy unlocked the door and went + upstairs and to bed. + </p> + <p> + After the strike Nance McGregor who owned nothing but unpaid accounts was + unable to open the bakery. A small man with a white moustache, who chewed + tobacco, came from the mill and took the unused flour and shipped it away. + The boy and his mother continued living above the bakery store room. Again + she went in the morning to wash the windows and scrub the floors in the + offices of the mine and her red-haired son stood upon the street or sat in + the pool room and talked to the black-haired boy. “Next week I'll be going + to the city and will begin making something of myself,” he said. When the + time came to go he waited and idled in the streets. Once when a miner + jeered at him for his idleness he knocked him into the gutter. The miners + who hated him for his speech on the steps, admired him for his strength + and brute courage. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + In a cellar-like house driven like a stake into the hillside above Coal + Creek lived Kate Hartnet with her son Mike. Her man had died with the + others during the fire in the mine. Her son like Beaut McGregor did not + work in the mine. He hurried through Main Street or went half running + among the trees on the hills. Miners seeing him hurrying along with white + intense face shook their heads. “He's cracked,” they said. “He'll hurt + some one yet.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut saw Mike hurrying about the streets. Once encountering him in the + pine woods above the town he walked with him and tried to get him to talk. + In his pockets Mike carried books and pamphlets. He set traps in the woods + and brought home rabbits and squirrels. He got together collections of + birds' eggs which he sold to women in the trains that stopped at Coal + Creek and when he caught birds he stuffed them, put beads in their + eyesockets and sold them also. He proclaimed himself an anarchist and like + Cracked McGregor muttered to himself as he hurried along. + </p> + <p> + One day Beaut came upon Mike Hartnet reading a book as he sat on a log + overlooking the town. A shock ran through McGregor when he looked over the + shoulder of the man and saw what book he read. “It is strange,” he + thought, “that this fellow should stick to the same book that fat old + Weeks makes his living by.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut sat on the log beside Hartnet and watched him. The reading man + looked up and nodded nervously then slid along the log to the farther end. + Beaut laughed. He looked down at the town and then at the frightened + nervous book-reading man on the log. An inspiration came to him. + </p> + <p> + “If you had the power, Mike, what would you do to Coal Creek?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The nervous man jumped and tears came into his eyes. He stood before the + log and spread out his hands. “I would go among men like Christ,” he + cried, pitching his voice forward like one addressing an audience. “Poor + and humble, I would go teaching them of love.” Spreading out his hands + like one pronouncing a benediction he shouted, “Oh men of Coal Creek, I + would teach you love and the destruction of evil.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut jumped up from the log and strode before the trembling figure. He + was strangely moved. Grasping the man he thrust him back upon the log. His + own voice rolled down the hillside in a great roaring laugh. “Men of Coal + Creek,” he shouted, mimicking the earnestness of Hartnet, “listen to the + voice of McGregor. I hate you. I hate you because you jeered at my father + and at me and because you cheated my mother, Nance McGregor. I hate you + because you are weak and disorganised like cattle. I would like to come + among you teaching the power of force. I would like to slay you one by + one, not with weapons but with my naked fists. If they have made you work + like rats buried in a hole they are right. It is man's right to do what he + can. Get up and fight. Fight and I'll get on the other side and you can + fight me. I'll help drive you back into your holes.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut ceased speaking and jumping over the logs ran down the road. Among + the first of the miner's houses he stopped and laughed awkwardly. “I am + cracked also,” he thought, “shouting at emptiness on a hillside.” He went + on in a reflective mood, wondering what power had taken hold of him. “I + would like a fight—a fight against odds,” he thought. “I will stir + things up when I am a lawyer in the city.” + </p> + <p> + Mike Hartnet came running down the road at the heels of McGregor. “Don't + tell,” he plead trembling. “Don't tell about me in the town. They will + laugh and call names after me. I want to be let alone.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut shook himself loose from the detaining hand and went on down the + hill. When he had passed out of sight of Hartnet he sat down on the + ground. For an hour he looked at the town in the valley and thought of + himself. He was half proud, half ashamed of the thing that had happened. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the blue eyes of McGregor anger flashed quick and sudden. Upon the + streets of Coal Creek he walked, swinging along, his great body inspiring + fear. His mother grown grave and silent worked in the offices of the + mines. Again she had a habit of silence in her own home and looked at her + son, half fearing him. All day she worked in the mine offices and in the + evening sat silently in a chair on the porch before her house and looked + down into Main Street. + </p> + <p> + Beaut McGregor did nothing. He sat in the dingy little pool room and + talked with the black-haired boy or walked over the hills swinging a stick + in his hand and thinking of the city to which he would presently go to + start his career. As he walked in the streets women stopped to look at + him, thinking of the beauty and strength of his maturing body. The miners + passed him in silence hating him and dreading his wrath. Walking among the + hills he thought much of himself. “I am capable of anything,” he thought, + lifting his head and looking at the towering hills, “I wonder why I stay + on here.” + </p> + <p> + When he was eighteen Beaut's mother fell ill. All day she lay on her back + in bed in the room above the empty bakery. Beaut shook himself out of his + waking stupor and went about seeking work. He had not felt that he was + indolent. He had been waiting. Now he bestirred himself. “I'll not go into + the mines,” he said, “nothing shall get me down there.” + </p> + <p> + He got work in a livery stable cleaning and feeding the horses. His mother + got out of bed and began going again to the mine offices. Having started + to work Beaut stayed on, thinking it but a way station to the position he + would one day achieve in the city. + </p> + <p> + In the stable worked two young boys, sons of coal miners. They drove + travelling men from the trains to farming towns in valleys back among the + hills and in the evening with Beaut McGregor they sat on a bench before + the barn and shouted at people going past the stable up the hill. + </p> + <p> + The livery stable in Coal Creek was owned by a hunchback named Weller who + lived in the city and went home at night. During the day he sat about the + stable talking to red-haired McGregor. “You're a big beast,” he said + laughing. “You talk about going away to the city and making something of + yourself and still you stay on here doing nothing. You want to quit this + talking about being a lawyer and become a prize fighter. Law is a place + for brains not muscles.” He walked through the stables leaning his head to + one side and looking up at the big fellow who brushed the horses. McGregor + watched him and grinned. “I'll show you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The hunchback was pleased when he strutted before McGregor. He had heard + men talk of the strength and the evil temper of his stableman and it + pleased him to have so fierce a fellow cleaning the horses. At night in + the city he sat under the lamp with his wife and boasted. “I make him step + about,” he said. + </p> + <p> + In the stable the hunchback kept at the heels of McGregor. “And there's + something else,” he said, putting his hand in his pockets and raising + himself on his toes. “You look out for that undertaker's daughter. She + wants you. If she gets you there will be no law study but a place in the + mines for you. You let her alone and begin taking care of your mother.” + </p> + <p> + Beaut went on cleaning the horses and thinking of what the hunchback had + said. He thought there was sense to it. He also was afraid of the tall + pale girl. Sometimes when he looked at her a pain shot through him and a + combination of fear and desire gripped him. He walked away from it and + went free as he went free from the life in the darkness down in the mine. + “He has a kind of genius for keeping away from the things he don't like,” + said the liveryman, talking to Uncle Charlie Wheeler in the sun before the + door of the post office. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon the two boys who worked in the livery stable with McGregor + got him drunk. The affair was a rude joke, elaborately planned. The + hunchback had stayed in the city for the day and no travelling men got off + the trains to be driven over the hills. In the afternoon hay brought over + the hill from the fruitful valley was being put into the loft of the barn + and between loads McGregor and the two boys sat on the bench by the stable + door. The two boys went to the saloon and brought back beer, paying for it + from a fund kept for that purpose. The fund was the result of a system + worked out by the two drivers. When a passenger gave one of them a coin at + the end of a day of driving he put it into the common fund. When the fund + had grown to some size the two went to the saloon and stood before the bar + drinking until it was spent and then came back to sleep off their stupor + on the hay in the barn. After a prosperous week the hunchback occasionally + gave them a dollar for the fund. + </p> + <p> + Of the beer McGregor drank but one foaming glass. For all his idling about + Coal Creek he had never before tasted beer and it was strong and bitter in + his mouth. He threw up his head and gulped it then turned and walked + toward the rear of the stable to conceal the tears that the taste of the + stuff had forced into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The two drivers sat on the bench and laughed. The drink they had given + Beaut was a horrible mess concocted by the laughing bartender at their + suggestion. “We will get the big fellow drunk and hear him roar,” the + bartender had said. + </p> + <p> + As he walked toward the back of the stable a convulsive nausea seized + Beaut. He stumbled and pitched forward, cutting his face on the floor. + Then he rolled over on his back and groaned and a little stream of blood + ran down his cheek. + </p> + <p> + The two boys jumped up from the bench and ran toward him. They stood + looking at his pale lips. Fear seized them. They tried to lift him but he + fell from their arms and lay again on the stable floor, white and + motionless. Filled with fright they ran from the stable and through Main + Street. “We must get a doctor,” they said as they hurried along, “He is + mighty sick—that fellow.” + </p> + <p> + In the doorway leading to the rooms over the undertaker's shop stood the + tall pale girl. One of the running boys stopped and addressed her, “Your + red-head,” he shouted, “is blind drunk lying on the stable floor. He has + cut his head and is bleeding.” + </p> + <p> + The tall girl ran down the street to the offices of the mine. With Nance + McGregor she hurried to the stable. The store keepers along Main Street + looked out of their doors and saw the two women pale and with set faces + half-carrying the huge form of Beaut McGregor along the street and in at + the door of the bakery. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + At eight o'clock that evening Beaut McGregor, his legs still unsteady, his + face white, climbed aboard a passenger train and passed out of the life of + Coal Creek. On the seat beside him a bag contained all his clothes. In his + pocket lay a ticket to Chicago and eighty-five dollars, the last of + Cracked McGregor's savings. He looked out of the car window at the little + woman thin and worn standing alone on the station platform and a great + wave of anger passed through him. “I'll show them,” he muttered. The woman + looked at him and forced a smile to her lips. The train began to move into + the west. Beaut looked at his mother and at the deserted streets of Coal + Creek and put his head down upon his hands and in the crowded car before + the gaping people wept with joy that he had seen the last of youth. He + looked back at Coal Creek, full of hate. Like Nero he might have wished + that all of the people of the town had but one head so that he might have + cut it off with a sweep of a sword or knocked it into the gutter with one + swinging blow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + It was late in the summer of 1893 when McGregor came to Chicago, an ill + time for boy or man in that city. The big exposition of the year before + had brought multiplied thousands of restless labourers into the city and + its leading citizens, who had clamoured for the exposition and had loudly + talked of the great growth that was to come, did not know what to do with + the growth now that it had come. The depression that followed on the heels + of the great show and the financial panic that ran over the country in + that year had set thousands of hungry men to wait dumbly on park benches + poring over want advertisements in the daily papers and looking vacantly + at the lake or had driven them to tramp aimlessly through the streets, + filled with forebodings. + </p> + <p> + In time of plenty a great American city like Chicago goes on showing a + more or less cheerful face to the world while in nooks and crannies down + side-streets and alleys poverty and misery sit hunched up in little + ill-smelling rooms breeding vice. In times of depression these creatures + crawl forth and joined by thousands of the unemployed tramp the streets + through the long nights or sleep upon benches in the parks. In the + alleyways off Madison Street on the West Side and off State Street, on the + South Side, eager women driven by want sold their bodies to passersby for + twenty-five cents. An advertisement in the newspapers of one unfilled job + brought a thousand men to block the streets at daylight before a factory + door. In the crowds men swore and knocked each other about. Working-men + driven to desperation went forth into quiet streets and knocking over + citizens took their money and watches and ran trembling into the darkness. + A girl of Twenty-fourth Street was kicked and knocked into the gutter + because when attacked by thieves she had but thirty-five cents in her + purse. A professor of the University of Chicago addressing his class said + that, having looked into the hungry distorted faces of five hundred men + clamouring for a position as dishwasher in a cheap restaurant, he was + ready to pronounce all claims to social advancement in America a figment + in the brains of optimistic fools. A tall awkward man walking up State + Street threw a stone through the window of a store. A policeman hustled + him through the crowd. “You'll get a workhouse sentence for this,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “You fool that's what I want. I want to make property that won't employ me + feed me,” said the tall gaunt man who, trained in the cleaner and more + wholesome poverty of the frontier, might have been a Lincoln suffering for + mankind. + </p> + <p> + Into this maelstrom of misery and grim desperate want walked Beaut + McGregor of Coal Creek—huge, graceless of body, indolent of mind, + untrained, uneducated, hating the world. Within two days he had snatched + before the very eyes of that hungry marching army three prizes, three + places where a man might by working all day get clothes to wear upon his + back and food to put into his stomach. + </p> + <p> + In a way McGregor had already sensed something the realisation of which + will go far toward making any man a strong figure in the world. He was not + to be bullied with words. Orators might have preached to him all day about + the progress of mankind in America, flags might have been flapped and + newspapers might have dinned the wonders of his country into his brain. He + would only have shaken his big head. He did not yet know the whole story + of how men, coming out of Europe and given millions of square miles of + black fertile land mines and forests, have failed in the challenge given + them by fate and have produced out of the stately order of nature only the + sordid disorder of man. McGregor did not know the fullness of the tragic + story of his race. He only knew that the men he had seen were for the most + part pigmies. On the train coming to Chicago a change had come over him. + The hatred of Coal Creek that burned in him had set fire to something + else. He sat looking out of the car window at the stations running past + during the night and the following day at the cornfields of Indiana, + making his plans. In Chicago he meant to do something. Coming from a + community where no man arose above a condition of silent brute labour he + meant to step up into the light of power. Filled with hatred and contempt + of mankind he meant that mankind should serve him. Raised among men who + were but men he meant to be a master. + </p> + <p> + And his equipment was better than he knew. In a disorderly haphazard world + hatred is as effective an impulse to drive men forward to success as love + and high hope. It is a world-old impulse sleeping in the heart of man + since the day of Cain. In a way it rings true and strong above the hideous + jangle of modern life. Inspiring fear it usurps power. + </p> + <p> + McGregor was without fear. He had not yet met his master and looked with + contempt upon the men and women he had known. Without knowing it he had, + besides a huge body hard as adamant, a clear and lucid brain. The fact + that he hated Coal Creek and thought it horrible proved his keenness. It + was horrible. Well might Chicago have trembled and rich men strolling in + the evening along Michigan Boulevard have looked fearfully about as this + huge red fellow, carrying the cheap handbag and staring with his blue eyes + at the restless moving mobs of people, walked for the first time through + its streets. In his very frame there was the possibility of something, a + blow, a shock, a thrust out of the lean soul of strength into the + jelly-like fleshiness of weakness. + </p> + <p> + In the world of men nothing is so rare as a knowledge of men. Christ + himself found the merchants hawking their wares even on the floor of the + temple and in his naive youth was stirred to wrath and drove them through + the door like flies. And history has represented him in turn as a man of + peace so that after these centuries the temples are again supported by the + hawking of wares and his fine boyish wrath is forgotten. In France after + the great revolution and the babbling of many voices talking of the + brotherhood of man it wanted but a short and very determined man with an + instinctive knowledge of drums, of cannons and of stirring words to send + the same babblers screaming across open spaces, stumbling through ditches + and pitching headlong into the arms of death. In the interest of one who + believed not at all in the brotherhood of man they who had wept at the + mention of the word brotherhood died fighting brothers. + </p> + <p> + In the heart of all men lies sleeping the love of order. How to achieve + order out of our strange jumble of forms, out of democracies and + monarchies, dreams and endeavours is the riddle of the Universe and the + thing that in the artist is called the passion for form and for which he + also will laugh in the face of death is in all men. By grasping that fact + Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon and our own Grant have made heroes of the + dullest clods that walk and not a man of all the thousands who marched + with Sherman to the sea but lived the rest of his life with a something + sweeter, braver and finer sleeping in his soul than will ever be produced + by the reformer scolding of brotherhood from a soap-box. The long march, + the burning of the throat and the stinging of the dust in the nostrils, + the touch of shoulder against shoulder, the quick bond of a common, + unquestioned, instinctive passion that bursts in the orgasm of battle, the + forgetting of words and the doing of the thing, be it winning battles or + destroying ugliness, the passionate massing of men for accomplishment—these + are the signs, if they ever awake in our land, by which you may know you + have come to the days of the making of men. + </p> + <p> + In Chicago in 1893 and in the men who went aimlessly seeking work in the + streets of Chicago in that year there were none of these signs. Like the + coal mining town from which Beaut McGregor had come, the city lay + sprawling and ineffective before him, a tawdry disorderly dwelling for + millions of men, built not for the making of men but for the making of + millions by a few odd meat-packers and drygoods merchants. + </p> + <p> + With a slight lifting of his great shoulders McGregor sensed these things + although he could not have expressed his sense of them and the hatred and + contempt of men, born of his youth in the mining town, was rekindled by + the sight of city men wandering afraid and bewildered through the streets + of their own city. + </p> + <p> + Knowing nothing of the customs of the unemployed McGregor did not walk the + streets looking for signs marked “Men Wanted.” He did not sit on park + benches studying want advertisements, the want advertisements that so + often proved but bait put out by suave men up dirty stairways to glean the + last few pennies from pockets of the needy. Going along the street he + swung his great body through the doorways leading to the offices of + factories. When some pert young man tried to stop him he did not say words + but drew back his fist threateningly and, glowering, walked in. The young + men at the doors of factories looked at his blue eyes and let him pass + unchallenged. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon of his first day of seeking Beaut got a place in an apple + warehouse on the North Side, the third place offered him during the day + and the one that he accepted. The chance came to him through an exhibition + of strength. Two men, old and bent, struggled to get a barrel of apples + from the sidewalk up to a platform that ran waist high along the front of + the warehouse. The barrel had rolled to the sidewalk from a truck standing + in the gutter. The driver of the truck stood with his hands on his hips, + laughing. A German with blond hair stood upon the platform swearing in + broken English. McGregor stood upon the sidewalk and looked at the two men + who were struggling with the barrel. A feeling of immense contempt for + their feebleness shone in his eyes. Pushing them aside he grasped the + barrel and with a great heave sent it up onto the platform and spinning + through an open doorway into the receiving room of the warehouse. The two + workmen stood on the sidewalk smiling sheepishly. Across the street a + group of city firemen who lounged in the sun before an engine house + clapped their hands. The truck driver turned and prepared to send another + barrel along the plank extending from the truck across the sidewalk to the + warehouse platform. At a window in the upper part of the warehouse a grey + head protruded and a sharp voice called down to the tall German. “Hey + Frank, hire that 'husky' and let about six of the dead ones you've got + around here go home.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor jumped upon the platform and walked in at the warehouse door. The + German followed, inventorying the size of the red-haired giant with + something like disapproval. His look seemed to say, “I like strong fellows + but you're too strong.” He took the discomfiture of the two feeble workmen + on the sidewalk as in some way reflecting upon himself. The two men stood + in the receiving room and looked at each other. A bystander might have + thought them preparing to fight. + </p> + <p> + And then a freight elevator came slowly down from the upper part of the + warehouse and from it jumped a small grey-haired man with a yard stick in + his hand. He had a sharp restless eye and a short stubby grey beard. + Striking the floor with a bound he began to talk. “We pay two dollars for + nine hours' work here—begin at seven, quit at five. Will you come?” + Without waiting for an answer he turned to the German. “Tell those two old + 'rummies' to get their time and get out of here,” he said, turning again + and looking expectantly at McGregor. + </p> + <p> + McGregor liked the quick little man and grinned with approval of his + decisiveness. He nodded his assent to the proposal and, looking at the + German, laughed. The little man disappeared through a door leading to an + office and McGregor walked out into the street. At a corner he turned and + saw the German standing on the platform before the warehouse looking after + him. “He is wondering whether or not he can whip me,” thought McGregor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the apple warehouse McGregor worked for three years, rising during his + second year to be foreman and replacing the tall German. The German + expected trouble with McGregor and was determined to make short work of + him. He had been offended by the action of the gray-haired superintendent + in hiring the man and felt that a prerogative belonging to himself had + been ignored. All day he followed McGregor with his eyes, trying to + calculate the strength and courage in the huge body. He knew that hundreds + of hungry men walked the streets and in the end decided that the need of + work if not the spirit of the man would make him submissive. During the + second week he put the question that burned in his brain to the test. He + followed McGregor into a dimly-lighted upper room where barrels of apples, + piled to the ceiling, left only narrow ways for passage. Standing in the + semi-darkness he shouted, calling the man who worked among the apple + barrels a foul name, “I won't have you loafing in there, you red-haired + bastard,” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + McGregor said nothing. He was not offended by the vileness of the name the + German had called him and took it merely as a challenge that he had been + expecting and that he meant to accept. With a grim smile on his lips he + walked toward the German and when but one apple barrel lay between them + reached across and dragged the foreman sputtering and swearing down the + passageway to a window at the end of the room. By the window he stopped + and putting his hand to the throat of the struggling man began to choke + him into submission. Blows fell on his face and body. Struggling terribly + the German kicked McGregor's legs with desperate energy. Although his ears + rang with the hammer-like blows that fell about his neck and cheeks + McGregor stool silent under the storm. His blue eyes gleamed with hatred + and the muscles of his great arms danced in the light from the window. As + he looked into the protruding eyes of the writhing German he thought of + fat Reverend Minot Weeks of Coal Creek and added an extra twitch to the + flesh between his fingers. When a gesture of submission came from the man + against the wall he stepped back and let go his grip. The German dropped + to the floor. Standing over him McGregor delivered his ultimatum. “You + report this or try to get me fired and I'll kill you outright,” he said. + “I'm going to stay here on this job until I get ready to leave it. You can + tell me what to do and how to do it but when you speak to me again say + 'McGregor'—Mr. McGregor, that's my name.” + </p> + <p> + The German got to his feet and began walking down the passageway between + the rows of piled barrels. As he went he helped himself along with his + hands. McGregor went back to work. After the retreating form of the German + he shouted, “Get a new place when you can Dutch, I'll be taking this job + away from you when I'm ready for it.” + </p> + <p> + That evening as McGregor walked to the car he saw the little grey-haired + superintendent standing waiting for him before a saloon. The man made a + sign and McGregor walked across and stood beside him. They went together + into the saloon and stood leaning against the bar and looked at each + other. A smile played about the lips of the little man. “What have you + been doing to Frank?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor turned to the bartender who stood waiting before him. He thought + that the superintendent intended to try to patronise him by buying him a + drink and he did not like the thought. “What will you have? I'll take a + cigar for mine,” he said quickly, defeating the superintendent's plan by + being the first to speak. When the bartender brought the cigars McGregor + paid for them and walked out at the door. He felt like one playing a game. + “If Frank meant to bully me into submission this man also means + something.” + </p> + <p> + On the sidewalk before the saloon McGregor stopped. “Look here,” he said, + turning and facing the superintendent, “I'm after Frank's place. I'm going + to learn the business as fast as I can. I won't put it up to you to fire + him. When I get ready for the place he won't be there.” + </p> + <p> + A light flashed into the eyes of the little man. He held the cigar + McGregor had paid for as though about to throw it into the street. “How + far do you think you can go with your big fists?” he asked, his voice + rising. + </p> + <p> + McGregor smiled. He thought he had earned another victory and lighting his + cigar held the burning match before the little man. “Brains are intended + to help fists,” he said, “I've got both.” + </p> + <p> + The superintendent looked at the burning match and at the cigar between + his fingers. “If I don't which will you use on me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor threw the match into the street. “Aw! don't bother asking,” he + said, holding out another match. + </p> + <p> + McGregor and the superintendent walked along the street. “I would like to + fire you but I won't. Some day you'll run that warehouse like a clock,” + said the superintendent. + </p> + <p> + McGregor sat in the street-car and thought of his day. It had been he felt + a day of two battles. First the direct brutal battle of fists in the + passageway and then this other battle with the superintendent. He thought + he had won both fights. Of the fight with the tall German he thought + little. He had expected to win that. The other was different. The + superintendent he felt had wanted to patronise him, patting him on the + back and buying him drinks. Instead he had patronised the superintendent. + A battle had gone on in the brains of the two men and he had won. He had + met a new kind of man, one who did not live by the raw strength of his + muscles and he had given a good account of himself. The conviction that he + had, besides a good pair of fists, a good brain swept in on him glorifying + him. He thought of the sentence, “Brains are intended to help fists,” and + wondered how he had happened to think of it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The street in which McGregor lived in Chicago was called Wycliff Place, + after a family of that name that had once owned the land thereabout. The + street was complete in its hideousness. Nothing more unlovely could be + imagined. Given a free hand an indiscriminate lot of badly trained + carpenters and bricklayers had builded houses beside the cobblestone road + that touched the fantastic in their unsightliness and inconvenience. + </p> + <p> + The great west side of Chicago has hundreds of such streets and the coal + mining town out of which McGregor had come was more inspiring as a place + in which to live. As an unemployed young man, not much given to chance + companionships, Beaut had spent many long evenings wandering alone on the + hillsides above his home town. There was a kind of dreadful loveliness + about the place at night. The long black valley with its dense shroud of + smoke that rose and fell and formed itself into fantastic shapes in the + moonlight, the poor little houses clinging to the hillside, the occasional + cry of a woman being beaten by a drunken husband, the glare of the coke + fires and the rumble of coal cars being pushed along the railroad tracks, + all of these made a grim and rather inspiring impression on the young + man's mind so that although he hated the mines and the miners he sometimes + paused in his night wanderings and stood with his great shoulders lifted, + breathing deeply and feeling things he had no words in him to express. + </p> + <p> + In Wycliff Place McGregor got no such reactions. Foul dust filled the air. + All day the street rumbled and roared under the wheels of trucks and light + hurrying delivery wagons. Soot from the factory chimneys was caught up by + the wind and having been mixed with powdered horse manure from the roadway + flew into the eyes and the nostrils of pedestrians. Always a babble of + voices went on. At a corner saloon teamsters stopped to have their + drinking cans filled with beer and stood about swearing and shouting. In + the evening women and children went back and forth from their houses + carrying beer in pitchers from the same saloon. Dogs howled and fought, + drunken men reeled along the sidewalk and the women of the town appeared + in their cheap finery and paraded before the idlers about the saloon door. + </p> + <p> + The woman who rented the room to McGregor boasted to him of Wycliff blood. + It was that she told him that had brought her to Chicago from her home at + Cairo, Illinois. “The place was left to me and not knowing what else to do + with it I came here to live,” she said. She explained to him that the + Wycliffs had been people of note in the early history of Chicago. The huge + old house with the cracked stone steps and the ROOMS TO RENT sign in the + window had once been their family seat. + </p> + <p> + The history of this woman was characteristic of the miss-fire quality of + much of American life. She was at bottom a wholesome creature who should + have lived in a neat frame house in a village and tended a garden. On + Sunday she should have dressed herself with care and gone off to sit in a + country church with her hands crossed and her soul at rest. + </p> + <p> + The thought of owning a house in the city had however paralysed her brain. + The house itself was worth a certain number of thousands of dollars and + her mind could not rise above that fact, so her good broad face had become + grimy with city dirt and her body weary from the endless toil of caring + for roomers. On summer evenings she sat on the steps before her house clad + in some bit of Wycliff finery taken from a trunk in the attic and when a + lodger came out at the door she looked at him wistfully and said, “On such + a night as this you could hear the whistles on the river steamers in + Cairo.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor lived in a small room at the end of a tall on the second floor of + the Wycliff house. The windows of the room looked down into a dirty little + court almost surrounded by brick warehouses. The room was furnished with a + bed, a chair that was always threatening to come to pieces and a desk with + weak carved legs. + </p> + <p> + In this room sat McGregor night after night striving to realise his Coal + Creek dream of training his mind and making himself of some account in the + world. From seven-thirty until nine-thirty he sat at a desk in a night + school. From ten until midnight he read in his room. He did not think of + his surroundings, of the vast disorder of life about him, but tried with + all his strength to bring something like order and purpose into his own + mind and his own life. + </p> + <p> + In the little court under the window lay heaps of discarded newspaper + tossed about by the wind. There in the heart of the city, walled in by the + brick warehouse and half concealed under piles of chair legs cans and + broken bottles, lay two logs in their time no doubt, a part of the grove + that once lay about the house. The neighbourhood had passed so rapidly + from country estate to homes and from homes to rented lodgings and huge + brick warehouses that the marks of the lumberman's axe still showed in the + butts of the logs. + </p> + <p> + McGregor seldom saw the little court except when its ugliness was refined + and glossed over by darkness or by the moonlight. On hot evenings he laid + down his book and leaning far out of the window rubbed his eyes and + watched the discarded newspapers, worried by the whirlpools of wind in the + court, run here and there, dashing against the warehouse walls and vainly + trying to escape over the roof. The sight fascinated him and brought a + thought into his mind. He began to think that the lives of most of the + people about him were much like the dirty newspaper harried by adverse + winds and surrounded by ugly walls of facts. The thought drove him from + the window to renewed effort among his books. “I'll do something here + anyway. I'll show them,” he growled. + </p> + <p> + One living in the house with McGregor during those first years in the city + might have thought his life stupid and commonplace but to him it did not + seem so. It was for the miner's son a time of sudden and tremendous + growth. Filled with confidence in the strength and quickness of his body + he was beginning to have also confidence in the vigour and clearness of + his brain. In the warehouse he went about with eyes and ears open, + devising in his mind new methods of moving goods, watching the men at + work, marking the shirkers, preparing to pounce upon the tall German's + place as foreman. + </p> + <p> + The superintendent of the warehouse, not understanding the turn of the + talk with McGregor on the sidewalk before the saloon, decided to like him + and laughed when they met in the warehouse. The tall German maintained a + policy of sullen silence and went to laborious lengths to avoid addressing + him. + </p> + <p> + In his room at night McGregor began to read law, reading each page over + and over and thinking of what he had read through the next day as he + rolled and piled apple barrels in the passages in the warehouse. + </p> + <p> + McGregor had an aptitude and an appetite for facts. He read law as another + and gentler nature might have read poetry or old legends. What he read at + night he remembered and thought about during the day. He had no dream of + the glories of the law. The fact that these rules laid down by men to + govern their social organisation were the result of ages of striving + toward perfection did not greatly interest him and he only thought of them + as weapons with which to attack and defend in the battle of brains he + meant presently to fight. His mind gloated in anticipation of the battle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + And then a new element asserted itself in the life of McGregor. One of the + hundreds of disintegrating forces that attack strong natures, striving to + scatter their force in the back currents of life, attacked him. His big + body began to feel with enervating persistency the call of sex. + </p> + <p> + In the house in Wycliff Place McGregor passed as a mystery. By keeping + silence he won a reputation for wisdom. The clerks in the hall bedrooms + thought him a scientist. The woman from Cairo thought him a theological + student. Down the hall a pretty girl with large black eyes who worked in a + department store down town dreamed of him at night. When in the evening he + banged the door to his room and strode down the hallway going to the night + school she sat in a chair by the open door of her room. As he passed she + raised her eyes and looked at him boldly. When he returned she was again + by the door and again she looked boldly at him. + </p> + <p> + In his room, after the meetings with the black-eyed girl McGregor found + difficulty in keeping his mind on the reading. He felt as he had felt with + the pale girl on the hillside beyond Coal Creek. With her as with the pale + girl he felt the need of defending himself. He began to make it a practice + to hurry along past her door. + </p> + <p> + The girl in the hall bedroom thought constantly of McGregor. When he had + gone to night school another young man of the house who wore a Panama hat + came from the floor above and, putting his hands on the door frames of her + room, stood looking at her and talking. In his lips he held a cigarette, + which when he talked hung limply from the corner of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + This young man and the black-eyed girl kept up a continuous stream of + comments on the doings of red-haired McGregor. Begun by the young man, who + hated him because of his silence, the subject was kept alive by the girl + who wanted to talk of McGregor. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday nights the young man and the girl sometimes went together to + the theatre. One night in the summer when they had returned to the front + of the house the girl stopped. “Let's see what the big red-head is doing,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + Going around the block they stole in the darkness down an alleyway and + stood in the little dirty court looking up at McGregor who, with his feet + in the window and a lamp burning at his shoulder, sat in his room reading. + </p> + <p> + When they returned to the front of the house the black-eyed girl kissed + the young man, closing her eyes and thinking of McGregor. In her room + later she lay abed dreaming. She imagined herself assaulted by the young + man who had crept into her room and that McGregor had come roaring down + the hall to snatch him away and fling him outside the door. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the hallway near the stairway leading to the street lived a + barber. He had deserted a wife and four children in a town in Ohio and to + prevent recognition had grown a black beard. Between this man and McGregor + a companionship had sprung up and they went together on Sunday mornings to + walk in the park. The black bearded man called himself Frank Turner. + </p> + <p> + Frank Turner had a passion. Through the evenings and on Sunday afternoons + he sat in his room making violins. He worked with a knife, glue, pieces of + glass and sand paper and spent his earnings for ingredients for the making + of varnishes. When he got hold of a piece of wood that seemed an answer to + his prayers he took it to McGregor's room and holding it up to the light + talked of what he would do with it. Sometimes he brought a violin and + sitting in the open window tested the quality of its tone. One evening he + took an hour of McGregor's time to talk of the varnish of Cremona and to + read to him from a worn little book concerning the old Italian masters of + violin making. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On a bench in the park sat Turner, the maker of violins, the man who + dreamed of the rediscovery of the varnish of Cremona, talking to McGregor, + son of the Pennsylvania miner. + </p> + <p> + It was a Sunday afternoon and the park was vibrant with life. All day the + street cars had been unloading Chicagoans at the park entrance. They came + in pairs and in parties, young men with their sweethearts and fathers with + families at their heels. Now at the end of the day they continued to come, + a steady stream of humanity flowing along the gravel walk past the bench + where the two men sat in talk. Through the stream and crossing it went + another stream homeward bound. Babies cried. Fathers called to the + children at play on the grass. Cars coming to the park filled went away + filled. + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked about him and thought of himself and of the restless + moving people. In him there was none of that vague fear of the multitude + common to many solitary souls. His contempt of men and of the lives lived + by men reinforced his native boldness. The odd little rounding of the + shoulders of even the athletic young men made him straighten with pride + his own shoulders and fat and lean, tall and short, he thought of all men + as counters in some vast games at which he was presently to be a master + player. + </p> + <p> + The passion for form, that strange intuitive power that many men have felt + and none but the masters of human life have understood, had begun to + awaken in him. Already he had begun to sense out the fact that for him law + was but an incident in some vast design and he was altogether untouched by + the desire for getting on in the world, by the greedy little snatching at + trifles that was the whole purpose of the lives of so many of the people + about him. When somewhere in the park a band began to play he nodded his + head up and down and ran his hand nervously up and down the legs of his + trousers. Into his mind came the desire to boast to the barber, telling of + the things he meant to do in the world, but he put the desire away. + Instead he sat silently blinking his eyes and wondering at the persistent + air of ineffectiveness in the people who passed. When a band went by + playing march music and followed by some fifty men wearing white plumes in + their hats and walking with self-conscious awkwardness, he was startled. + Among the people he thought there was a change. Something like a running + shadow passed over them. The babbling of voices ceased and like himself + the people began to nod their heads. A thought, gigantic in its + simplicity, began to come into his mind but was wiped out immediately by + his impatience with the marchers. A madness to spring up and run among + them knocking them about and making them march with the power that comes + of abandonment almost lifted him from the bench. His mouth twitched and + his fingers ached for action. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In and out among the trees and on the green spaces moved the people. Along + the shores of a pond sat men and women eating the evening meal from + baskets or from white cloths spread on the grass. They laughed and shouted + at each other and at the children, calling them back from the gravel + driveways filled with moving carriages. Beaut saw a girl throw an egg + shell and hit a young fellow between the eyes, and then run laughing away + along the shore of the pond. Under a tree a woman nursed a babe, covering + her breasts with a shawl so that just the black head of the babe showed. + Its tiny hand clutched at the mouth of the woman. In an open space in the + shadow of a building young men played baseball, the shouts of the + spectators rising above the murmur of the voices of people on the gravel + walk. + </p> + <p> + A thought came into McGregor's mind that he wanted to discuss with the + older man. He was moved by the sight of women about and shook himself like + one awakening from a dream. Then he began looking at the ground and + kicking up the gravel with his foot. “Look here,” he said, turning to the + barber, “what is a man to do about women, about getting what he wants from + the women?” + </p> + <p> + The barber seemed to understand. “It has come to that then?” he asked and + looked quickly up. He lighted a pipe and sat looking at the people. It was + then he told McGregor of the wife and four children in the Ohio town, + describing the little brick house and the garden and the coop for chickens + at the back like one who lingers over a place dear to his fancy. Something + old and weary was in his voice as he finished. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't a matter for me to decide,” he said. “I came away because I + couldn't do anything else. I'm not excusing myself, I'm just telling you. + There was something messy and disorderly about it all, about my life with + her and with them. I couldn't stand it. I felt myself being submerged by + something. I wanted to be orderly and to work, you see. I couldn't let + violin making alone. Lord, how I tried—tried bluffing myself about + it—calling it a fad.” + </p> + <p> + The barber looked nervously at McGregor to reassure himself of his + interest. “I owned a shop on the main street of our town. Back of it was a + blacksmith shop. During the day I stood by the chair in my shop talking to + men being shaved about the love of women and a man's duty to his family. + Summer afternoons I went and sat on a keg in the blacksmith shop and + talked of the same thing with the smith but all that did me no good. + </p> + <p> + “When I let myself go I dreamed not of my duty to my family but of working + undisturbed as I do now here in the city in my room in the evenings and on + Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + A sharpness came into the voice of the speaker. He turned to McGregor and + talked vigorously like one making a defence. “My woman was a good enough + sort,” he said. “I suppose loving is an art like writing a book or drawing + pictures or making violins. People try to do it and don't succeed. In the + end we threw the job up and just lived together like most people do. Our + lives got mussy and meaningless. That's how it was. + </p> + <p> + “Before she married me my wife had been a stenographer in a factory that + made tin cans. She liked that work. She could make her fingers dance along + the keys. When she read a book at home she didn't think the writer + amounted to much if he made mistakes about punctuation. Her boss was so + proud of her that he would brag of her work to visitors and sometimes + would go off fishing leaving the running of the business in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why she married me. She was happier there and she is happier + back there now. We got to walking together on Sunday evenings and standing + under the trees on side streets, kissing and looking at each other. We + talked about a lot of things. We seemed to need each other. Then we got + married and started living together. + </p> + <p> + “It didn't work out. After we had been married a few years things changed. + I don't know why. I thought I was the same as I had been and I think she + was. We used to sit around quarrelling about it, each blaming the other. + Anyway we didn't get along. + </p> + <p> + “We would sit on the little front porch of our house in the evening, she + bragging of the work she had done in the can factory and I dreaming of + quietude and a chance to work on the violins. I thought I knew a way to + increase the quality and beauty of tone and I had that idea about varnish + I have talked to you about. I even dreamed of doing things those old + fellows of Cremona didn't do. + </p> + <p> + “When she had been talking of her work in the office for maybe a half hour + she would look up and find that I hadn't been listening. We would quarrel. + We even quarrelled before the children after they came. Once she said that + she didn't see how it would matter if no violins had ever been made and + that night I dreamed of choking her in bed. I woke up and lay there beside + her thinking of it with something like real satisfaction in just the + thought that one long hard grip of my fingers would get her out of my way + for good. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't always feel that way. Every little while a change would come + over both of us and we would begin to take an interest in each other. I + would be proud of the work she had done in the factory and would brag of + it to men coming into the shop. In the evening she would be sympathetic + about the violins and put the baby to bed to let me alone at my work in + the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Then we would begin to sit in the darkness in the house and hold each + other's hands. We would forgive things that had been said and play a sort + of game, chasing each other about the room in the darkness and knocking + against the chairs and laughing. Then we would begin to look at each other + and kiss. Presently there would be another baby.” + </p> + <p> + The barber threw up his hands with a gesture of impatience. His voice lost + its softer, reminiscent quality. “Such times didn't last,” he said. “On + the whole it was no life to live. I came away. The children are in a state + institution and she has gone back to her work in the office. The town + hates me. They have made a heroine of her. I'm here talking to you with + these whiskers on my face so that people from my town wouldn't know me if + they came along. I'm a barber and I would shave them off fast enough if it + wasn't for that.” + </p> + <p> + A woman walking past looked back at McGregor. In her eyes lurked an + invitation. It reminded him of something in the eyes of the pale daughter + of the undertaker of Coal Creek. An uneasy tremor ran through him. “What + do you do about women now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the smaller man arose harsh and excited in the evening air. + “I get the feeling taken out of me as a man would have a tooth fixed,” he + said. “I pay money for the service and keep my mind on what I want to do. + There are plenty of women for that, women who are good for that only. When + I first came here I used to wander about at night, wanting to go to my + room and work but with my mind and my will paralysed by that feeling. I + don't do that now and I won't again. What I do many men do—good men—men + who do good work. What's the use thinking about it when you only run + against a stone wall and get hurt?” + </p> + <p> + The black bearded man arose, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets + and looked about him. Then he sat down again. He seemed to be filled with + suppressed excitement. “There is a big hidden something going on in modern + life,” he said, talking rapidly and excitedly. “It used to touch only the + men higher up, now it reaches down to men like me—barbers and + workingmen. Men know about it but don't talk and don't dare think. Their + women have changed. Women used to be willing to do anything for men, just + be slaves to them. The best men don't ask that now and don't want that.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped to his feet and stood over McGregor. “Men don't understand + what's going on and don't care,” he said. “They are too busy getting + things done or going to ball games or quarrelling about politics. + </p> + <p> + “And what do they know about it if they are fools enough to think? They + get thrown into false notions. They see about them a lot of fine + purposeful women maybe caring for their children and they blame themselves + for their vices and are ashamed. Then they turn to the other women anyway, + shutting their eyes and going ahead. They pay for what they want as they + would pay for a dinner, thinking no more of the women who serve them than + they do of the waitresses who serve them in the restaurants. They refuse + to think of the new kind of woman that is growing up. They know that if + they get sentimental about her they'll get into trouble or get new tests + put to them, be disturbed you see, and spoil their work or their peace of + mind. They don't want to get into trouble or be disturbed. They want to + get a better job or enjoy a ball game or build a bridge or write a book. + They think that a man who gets sentimental about any woman is a fool and + of course he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that all of them do that?” asked McGregor. He wasn't upset by + what had been said. It struck him as being true. For himself he was afraid + of women. It seemed to him that a road was being built by his companion + along which he might travel with safety. He wanted the man to go on + talking. Into his brain flashed the thought that if he had the thing to do + over there would have been a different ending to the afternoon spent with + the pale girl on the hillside. + </p> + <p> + The barber sat down upon the bench. The flush out of his cheeks. “Well I + have done pretty well myself,” he said, “but then you know I make violins + and don't think of women. I've been in Chicago two years and I've spent + just eleven dollars. I would like to know what the average man spends. I + wish some fellow would get the facts and publish them. It would make + people sit up. There must be millions spent here every year.” + </p> + <p> + “You see I'm not very strong and I stand all day on my feet in the barber + shop.” He looked at McGregor and laughed. “The black-eyed girl in the hall + is after you,” he said. “You'd better look out. You let her alone. Stick + to your law books. You are not like me. You are big and red and strong. + Eleven dollars won't pay your way here in Chicago for no two years.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked again at the people moving toward the park entrance in the + gathering darkness. He thought it wonderful that a brain could think a + thing out so clearly and words express thoughts so lucidly. His eagerness + to follow the passing girls with his eyes was gone. He was interested in + the older man's viewpoint. “And what about children?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The older man sat sideways on the bench. There was a troubled look in his + eyes and a suppressed eager quality in his voice. “I'm going to tell you + about that,” he said. “I don't want to keep anything back. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he demanded, sliding along the bench toward McGregor and + emphasising his points by slapping one hand down upon the other. “Ain't + all children my children?” He paused, trying to gather his scattered + thoughts into words. When McGregor started to speak he put his hand up as + though to ward off a new thought or another question. “I'm not trying to + dodge,” he said. “I'm trying to get thoughts that have been in my head day + after day in shape to tell. I haven't tried to express them before. I know + men and women cling to their children. It's the only thing they have left + of the dream they had before they married. I felt that way. It held me for + a long time. It would be holding me now only that the violins pulled so + hard at me.” + </p> + <p> + He threw up his hand impatiently. “You see I had to find an answer. I + couldn't think of being a skunk—running away—and I couldn't + stay. I wasn't intended to stay. Some men are intended to work and take + care of children and serve women perhaps but others have to keep trying + for a vague something all their lives—like me trying for a tone on a + violin. If they don't get it it doesn't matter, they have to keep trying. + </p> + <p> + “My wife used to say I'd get tired of it. No woman ever really understands + a man caring for anything except herself. I knocked that out of her.” + </p> + <p> + The little man looked up at McGregor. “Do you think I'm a skunk?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked at him gravely. “I don't know,” he said. “Go on and tell + me about the children.” + </p> + <p> + “I said they were the last things to cling to. They are. We used to have + religion. But that's pretty well gone now—the old kind. Now men + think about children, I mean a certain kind of men—the ones that + have work they want to get on with. Children and work are the only things + that kind care about. If they have a sentiment about women it's only about + their own—the one they have in the house with them. They want to + keep that one finer than they are themselves. So they work the other + feeling out on the paid women. + </p> + <p> + “Women fuss about men loving children. Much they care. It's only a plan + for demanding adulation for themselves that they don't earn. Once, when I + first came to the city, I took a place as servant in a wealthy family. I + wanted to stay under cover until my beard grew. Women used to come there + to receptions and to meetings in the afternoon to talk about reforms they + were interested in——Bah! They work and scheme trying to get at + men. They are at it all their lives, flattering, diverting us, giving us + false ideas, pretending to be weak and uncertain when they are strong and + determined. They have no mercy. They wage war on us trying to make us + slaves. They want to take us captive home to their houses as Caesar took + captives home to Rome. + </p> + <p> + “You look here!” He jumped to his feet again and shook his fingers at + McGregor. “You just try something. You try being open and frank and square + with a woman—any woman—as you would with a man. Let her live + her own life and ask her to let you live yours. You try it. She won't. She + will die first.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again upon the bench and shook his head back and forth. “Lord + how I wish I could talk!” he said. “I'm making a muddle of this and I + wanted to tell you. Oh, how I wanted to tell you! It's part of my idea + that a man should tell a boy all he knows. We've got to quit lying to + them.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked at the ground. He was profoundly and deeply moved and + interested as he had never before been moved by anything but hate. + </p> + <p> + Two women coming along the gravel walk stopped under a tree and looked + back. The barber smiled and raised his hat. When they smiled back at him + he rose and started toward them. “Come on boy,” he whispered behind his + hand to McGregor. “Let's get them.” + </p> + <p> + When McGregor looked up the scene before his eyes infuriated him. The + smiling barber with his hat in his hand, the two women waiting under the + tree, the look of half-guilty innocence on the faces of all of them, + stirred a blind fury in his brain. He sprang forward, clutching the + shoulder of Turner with his hand. Whirling him about he threw him to his + hands and knees. “Get out of here you females!” he roared at the women who + ran off in terror down the walk. + </p> + <p> + The barber sat again upon the bench beside McGregor. He rubbed his hands + together to brush the bits of gravel out of the flesh. “What's got wrong + with you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor hesitated. He wondered how he should tell what was in his mind. + “Everything in its place,” he said finally. “I wanted to go on with our + talk.” + </p> + <p> + Lights flashed out of the darkness of the park. The two men sat on the + bench thinking each his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I want to take some work out of the clamps to-night,” the barber said, + looking at his watch. Together the two men walked along the street. “Look + here,” said McGregor. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Those two women that + came up and interfered with what we were working out made me furious.” + </p> + <p> + “Women always interfere,” said the barber. “They raise hell with men.” His + mind ran out and began to play with the world-old problem of the sexes. + “If a lot of women fall in the fight with us men and become our slaves—serving + us as the paid women do—need they fuss about it? Let them be game + and try to help work it out as men have been game and have worked and + thought through ages of perplexity and defeat.” + </p> + <p> + The barber stopped on the street corner to fill and light his pipe. “Women + can change everything when they want to,” he said, looking at McGregor and + letting the match burn out in his fingers. “They can have motherhood + pensions and room to work out their own problem in the world or anything + else that they really want. They can stand up face to face with men. They + don't want to. They want to enslave us with their faces and their bodies. + They want to carry on the old, old weary fight.” He tapped McGregor on the + arm. “If a few of us—wanting with all our might to get something + done—beat them at their own game, don't we deserve the victory?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “But sometimes I think I would like a woman to live with, you know, just + to sit and talk with me,” said McGregor. + </p> + <p> + The barber laughed. Puffing at his pipe he walked down the street. “To be + sure! To be sure!” he said. “I would. Any man would. I like to sit in the + room for a spell in the evening talking to you but I would hate to give up + violin making and be bound all my life to serve you and your purposes just + the same.” + </p> + <p> + In the hallway of their own house the barber spoke to McGregor as he + looked down the hallway to where the door of the black eyed girl's room + had just crept open. “You let women alone,” he said; “when you feel you + can't stay away from them any longer you come and talk it over with me.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor nodded and went along the hallway to his own room. In the + darkness he stood by the window and looked down into the court. The + feeling of hidden power, the ability to rise above the mess into which + modern life had sunk that had come to him in the park, returned and he + walked nervously about. When finally he sat down upon a chair and leaning + forward put his head in his hands he felt like one who has started on a + long journey through a strange and dangerous country and who has + unexpectedly come upon a friend going the same way. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + The people of Chicago go home from their work at evening—drifting + they go in droves, hurrying along. It is a startling thing to look closely + at them. The people have bad mouths. Their mouths are slack and the jaws + do not hang right. The mouths are like the shoes they wear. The shoes have + become run down at the corners from too much pounding on the hard + pavements and the mouths have become crooked from too much weariness of + soul. + </p> + <p> + Something is wrong with modern American life and we Americans do not want + to look at it. We much prefer to call ourselves a great people and let it + go at that. + </p> + <p> + It is evening and the people of Chicago go home from work. Clatter, + clatter, clatter, go the heels on the hard pavements, jaws wag, the wind + blows and dirt drifts and sifts through the masses of the people. Every + one has dirty ears. The stench in the street cars is horrible. The + antiquated bridges over the rivers are packed with people. The suburban + trains going away south and west are cheaply constructed and dangerous. A + people calling itself great and living in a city also called great go to + their houses a mere disorderly mass of humans cheaply equipped. Everything + is cheap. When the people get home to their houses they sit on cheap + chairs before cheap tables and eat cheap food. They have given their lives + for cheap things. The poorest peasant of one of the old countries is + surrounded by more beauty. His very equipment for living has more + solidity. + </p> + <p> + The modern man is satisfied with what is cheap and unlovely because he + expects to rise in the world. He has given his life to that dreary dream + and he is teaching his children to follow the same dream. McGregor was + touched by it. Being confused by the matter of sex he had listened to the + advice of the barber and meant to settle things in the cheap way. One + evening a month after the talk in the park he hurried along Lake Street on + the West Side with that end in view. It was near eight o'clock and growing + dark and McGregor should have been at the night school. Instead he walked + along the street looking at the ill-kept frame houses. A fever burned in + his blood. An impulse, for the moment stronger than the impulse that kept + him at work over books night after night there in the big disorderly city + and as yet stronger than any new impulse toward a vigorous compelling + march through life, had hold of him. His eyes stared into the windows. He + hurried along filled with a lust that stultified his brain and will. A + woman sitting at the window of a little frame house smiled and beckoned to + him. + </p> + <p> + McGregor walked along the path leading to the little frame house. The path + ran through a squalid yard. It was a foul place like the court under his + window behind the house in Wycliff Place. Here also discoloured papers + worried by the wind ran about in crazy circles. McGregor's heart pounded + and his mouth felt dry and unpleasant. He wondered what he should say and + how he should say it when he came into the presence of the woman. He + wished there were some one to be hit with his fist. He didn't want to make + love, he wanted relief. He would have much preferred a fight. + </p> + <p> + The veins in McGregor's neck began to swell and as he stood in the + darkness before the door of the house he swore. He stared up and down the + street but the sky, the sight of which might have helped him, was hidden + from view by the structure of an elevated railroad. Pushing open the door + of the house he stepped in. In the dim light he could see nothing but a + form sprang out of the darkness and a pair of powerful arms pinned his + hands to his sides. McGregor looked quickly about A man huge as himself + held him tightly against the door. He had one glass eye and a stubby black + beard and in the half light looked sinister and dangerous. The hand of the + woman who had beckoned to him from the window fumbled in McGregor's + pockets and came out clutching a little roll of money. Her face, set now + and ugly like the man's, looked up at him from under the arms of her ally. + </p> + <p> + In a moment McGregor's heart stopped pounding and the dry unpleasant taste + went out of his mouth. He felt relieved and glad at this sudden turn to + the affair. + </p> + <p> + With a quick upward snap of his knees into the stomach of the man who had + held him McGregor freed himself. A swinging blow to the neck sent his + assailant groaning to the floor. McGregor sprang across the room. In the + corner by the bed he caught the woman. Clutching her by the hair he + whirled her about. “Hand over that money,” he said fiercely. + </p> + <p> + The woman put up her hands and plead with him. The grip of his hands in + her hair brought the tears to her eyes. She thrust the roll of bills into + his hands and waited, trembling, thinking he intended to kill her. + </p> + <p> + A new feeling swept over McGregor. The thought of having come into the + house at the invitation of this woman was revolting to him. He wondered + how he could have been such a beast. As he stood in the dim light thinking + of this and looking at the woman he became lost in thought and wondered + why the idea given him by the barber, that had seemed so clear and + sensible, now seemed so foolish. His eyes stared at the woman as his mind + returned to the black-bearded barber talking on the park bench and he was + seized with a blind fury, a fury not directed at the people in the foul + little room but at himself and his own blindness. Again a great hatred of + the disorder of life took hold of him and as though all of the disorderly + people of the world were personified in her he swore and shook the woman + as a dog might have shaken a foul rag. + </p> + <p> + “Sneak. Dodger. Mussy fool,” he muttered, thinking of himself as a giant + attacked by some nauseous beast. The woman screamed with terror. Seeing + the look on her assailant's face and mistaking the meaning of his words + she trembled and thought again of death. Reaching under the pillow on the + bed she got another roll of bills and thrust that also into McGregor's + hands. “Please go,” she plead. “We were mistaken. We thought you were some + one else.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor strode to the door past the man on the floor who groaned and + rolled about. He walked around the corner to Madison Street and boarded a + car for the night school. Sitting in the car he counted the money in the + roll thrust into his hand by the kneeling woman and laughed so that the + people in the car looked at him in amazement. “Turner has spent eleven + dollars among them in two years and I have got twenty-seven dollars in one + night,” he thought. He jumped off the car and walked along under the + street lights striving to think things out. “I can't depend on any one,” + he muttered. “I have to make my own way. The barber is as confused as the + rest of them and he doesn't know it. There is a way out of the confusion + and I'm going to find it, but I'll have to do it alone. I can't take any + one's word for anything.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The matter of McGregor's attitude toward women and the call of sex was not + of course settled by the fight in the house in Lake Street. He was a man + who, even in the days of his great crudeness, appealed strongly to the + mating instinct in women and more than once his purpose was to be shaken + and his mind disturbed by the forms, the faces and the eyes of women. + </p> + <p> + McGregor thought he had settled the matter. He forgot the black-eyed girl + in the hallway and thought only of advancement in the warehouse and of + study in his room at night. Now and then he took an evening off and went + for a walk through the streets or in one of the parks. + </p> + <p> + In the streets of Chicago, under the night lights, among the restless + moving people he was a figure to be remembered. Sometimes he did not see + the people at all but went swinging along in the same spirit in which he + had walked in the Pennsylvania hills. He was striving to get a hold of + some elusive quality in life that seemed to be forever out of reach. He + did not want to be a lawyer or a warehouseman. What did he want? Along the + street he went trying to make up his mind and because his was not a gentle + nature his perplexity drove him to anger and he swore. + </p> + <p> + Up and down Madison Street he went striding along, his lips muttering + words. In a corner saloon some one played a piano. Groups of girls passed + laughing and talking. He came to the bridge that led over the river into + the loop district and then turned restlessly back. On the sidewalks along + Canal Street he saw strong-bodied men loitering before cheap lodging + houses. Their clothing was filthy with long wear and there was no light of + determination in their faces. In the little fine interstices of the cloth + of which their clothes were made was gathered the filth of the city in + which they lived and in the stuff of their natures the filth and disorder + of modern civilisation had also found lodging. + </p> + <p> + On walked McGregor looking at man-made things and the flame of anger + within burned stronger and stronger. He saw the drifting clouds of people + of all nations that wander at night in Halstead Street and turning into a + side street saw also the Italians, Poles and Russians that at evening + gather on the sidewalks before tenements in that district. + </p> + <p> + The desire in McGregor for some kind of activity became a madness. His + body shook with the strength of his desire to end the vast disorder of + life. With all the ardour of youth he wanted to see if with the strength + of his arm he could shake mankind out of its sloth. A drunken man passed + and following him came a large man with a pipe in his mouth. The large man + did not walk with any suggestion of power in his legs. He shambled along. + He was like a huge child with fat cheeks and great untrained body, a child + without muscles and hardness, clinging to the skirts of life. + </p> + <p> + McGregor could not bear the sight of the big ungainly figure. The man + seemed to personify all of the things against which his soul was in revolt + and he stopped and stood crouched, a ferocious light burning in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Into the gutter rolled the man stunned by the force of the blow dealt him + by the miner's son. He crawled on his hands and knees and cried for help. + His pipe had rolled away into the darkness. McGregor stood on the sidewalk + and waited. A crowd of men standing before a tenement house started to run + toward him. Again he crouched. He prayed that they would come on and let + him fight them also. In anticipation of a great struggle joy shone in his + eyes and his muscles twitched. + </p> + <p> + And then the man in the gutter got to his feet and ran away. The men who + had started to run toward him stopped and turned back. McGregor walked on, + his heart heavy with the sense of defeat. He was a little sorry for the + man he had struck and who had made so ridiculous a figure crawling about + on his hands and knees and he was more perplexed than ever. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + McGregor tried again to solve the problem of women. He had been much + pleased by the outcome of the affair in the little frame house and the + next day bought law books with the twenty-seven dollars thrust into his + hand by the frightened woman. Later he stood in his room stretching his + great body like a lion returned from the kill and thought of the little + black-bearded barber in the room at the end of the hall stooping over his + violin, his mind busy with the attempt to justify himself because he would + not face one of life's problems. The feeling of resentment against the man + had gone. He thought of the course laid out for himself by that + philosopher and laughed. “There is something about it to avoid, like + giving yourself up to digging in the dirt under the ground,” he told + himself. + </p> + <p> + McGregor's second adventure began on a Saturday night and again he let + himself be led into it by the barber. The night was hot and the younger + man sat in his room filled with a desire to go forth and explore the city. + The quiet of the house, the distant rumble of street cars, the sound of a + band playing far down the street disturbed and diverted his mind. He + wished that he might take a stick in his hands and go forth to prowl among + the hills as he had gone on such nights in his youth in the Pennsylvania + town. + </p> + <p> + The door to his room opened and the barber came in. In his hand he held + two tickets. He sat on the window sill to explain. + </p> + <p> + “There is a dance in a hall on Monroe Street,” said the barber excitedly. + “I have two tickets here. A politician sold them to the boss in the shop + where I work.” The barber threw back his head and laughed. To his mind + there was something delicious in the thought of the boss barber being + forced by the politicians to buy dance tickets. “They cost two dollars + each,” he cried and shook with laughter “You should have seen my boss + squirm. He didn't want the tickets but was afraid not to take them. The + politician could make trouble for him and he knew it. You see we make a + hand-book on the races in the shop and that is against the law. The + politician could make trouble for us. The boss paid out the four dollars + swearing under his breath and when the politician had gone out he threw + them at me. 'There, take them,' he shouted, 'I don't want the rotten + things. Is a man a horse trough at which every beast can stop to drink?'” + </p> + <p> + McGregor and the barber sat in the room laughing at the boss barber who + had smilingly bought the tickets while consumed with inward wrath. The + barber urged McGregor to go with him to the dance. “We will make a night + of it,” he said. “We will see women there—two that I know. They live + upstairs over a grocery store. I have been with them. They will open your + eyes. They are a kind of women you haven't known, bold and clever and good + fellows too.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor got up and pulled his shirt over his head. A wave of feverish + excitement ran over his body. “We shall see about this,” he said, “we + shall see if this is another wrong trail you are starting me on. You go to + your room and get ready. I am going to fix myself up.” + </p> + <p> + In the dance hall McGregor sat on a seat by the wall with one of the two + women lauded by the barber and a third one who was frail and bloodless. To + him the adventure had been a failure. The swing of the dance music struck + no answering chord in him. He saw the couples on the floor clasped in each + other's arms, writhing and turning, swaying back and forth, looking into + each other's eyes and turned aside wishing himself back in his room among + the law books. + </p> + <p> + The barber talked to two of the women, bantering them. McGregor thought + the conversation inane and trivial. It skirted the edge of things and ran + off into vague references to other times and adventures of which he knew + nothing. + </p> + <p> + The barber danced away with one of the women. She was tall and the head of + the barber barely Passed her shoulder. His black beard shone against her + white dress. The two women sat beside him and talked. McGregor gathered + that the frail woman was a maker of hats. Something about her attracted + him and he leaned against the wall and looked at her, not hearing the + talk. + </p> + <p> + A youth came up and took the other woman away. From across the hall the + barber beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + A thought flashed into his mind. This woman beside him was frail and thin + and bloodless like the women of Coal Creek. A feeling of intimacy with her + came over him. He felt as he had felt concerning the tall pale girl of + Coal Creek when they together had climbed the hill to the eminence + that looked down into the valley of farms. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Edith Carson the milliner, whom fate had thrown into the company of + McGregor, was a frail woman of thirty-four and lived alone in two rooms at + the back of her millinery store. Her life was almost devoid of colour. On + Sunday morning she wrote a long letter to her family on an Indiana farm + and then put on a hat from among the samples in the show case along the + wall and went to church, sitting by herself in the same seat Sunday after + Sunday and afterward remembering nothing of the sermon. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday afternoon Edith went by street-car to a park and walked alone + under the trees. If it threatened rain she sat in the larger of the two + rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself or for a sister + who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and who had four + children. + </p> + <p> + Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brown spots on + the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about her body under her + dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had a sweetheart—a fat + round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Once they had gone together + to the fair at the county seat and coming home in the buggy at night he + had put his arm about her and kissed her. “You ain't very big,” he had + said. + </p> + <p> + Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the padding which + she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed on herself. + The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with great respect as a + wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places on her side against + which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain with grim stoicism, + remembering what the fat boy had said. + </p> + <p> + After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had a letter + from her former admirer. “It pleases me to think that the same wind that + blows over me blows also over you,” it said. After that one letter she did + not hear from him again. He had the phrase out of a book he had read and + had written the letter to Edith that he might use it. After the letter had + gone he thought of her frail figure and repented of the impulse that had + tricked him into writing. Half in alarm he began courting and soon married + another girl. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes on her rare visits home Edith had seen her former lover driving + along the road. The sister who had married the blacksmith said that he was + stingy, that his wife had nothing to wear but a cheap calico dress and + that on Saturday he drove off to town alone, leaving her to milk the cows + and feed the pigs and horses. Once he encountered Edith on the road and + tried to get her into the wagon to ride with him. Although she had walked + along the road ignoring him she took the letter about the wind that blew + over them both out of a drawer on spring evenings or after a walk in the + park and read it over. After she had read it she sat in the darkness at + the front of the store looking through the screen door at people in the + street and wondered what life would mean to her if she had a man on whom + she could bestow her love. In her heart she believed that, unlike the wife + of the fat youth, she would have borne children. + </p> + <p> + In Chicago Edith Carson had made money. She had a genius for economy in + the management of her business. In six years she had cleared a large debt + from the shop and had a comfortable balance in the bank. Girls who worked + in factories or in stores came and left most of their meagre surplus in + her shop and other girls who didn't work came in, throwing dollars about + and talking about “gentlemen friends.” Edith hated the bargaining but + attended to it with shrewdness and with a quiet disarming little smile on + her face. What she liked was to sit quietly in the room and trim hats. + When the business grew she had a woman to tend the shop and a girl to sit + beside her and help with the hats. She had a friend, the wife of a + motorman on the street-car line, who sometimes came to see her in the + evening. The friend was a plump little woman, dissatisfied with her + marriage, and she got Edith to make her several new hats a year for which + she paid nothing. + </p> + <p> + Edith went to the dance at which she met McGregor with the motorman's wife + and a girl who lived upstairs over a bakery next door to the shop, The + dance was held in a hall over a saloon and was given for the benefit of a + political organisation in which the baker was a leader. The wife of the + baker came in and sold Edith two tickets, one for herself and one for the + wife of the motorman who happened to be sitting with her at the time. + </p> + <p> + That evening after the motorman's wife had gone home Edith decided to go + to the dance and the decision was something like an adventure in itself. + The night was hot and sultry, lightning flashed in the sky and clouds of + dust swept down the street. Edith sat in the darkness behind the bolted + screen door and looked at the people who hurried homeward down the street. + A wave of revolt at the narrowness and emptiness of her life ran through + her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed the shop door and going into the + room at the back lighted the gas and stood looking at herself in the + mirror. “I'll go to the dance,” she thought. “Perhaps I shall get a man. + If he won't marry me he can have what he wants of me anyway.” + </p> + <p> + In the dance hall Edith sat demurely by the wall near a window and watched + the couples whirl about on the floor. Through an open door she could see + couples sitting in another room around tables and drinking beer. A tall + young man in white trousers and white slippers went about on the dance + floor. He smiled and bowed to the women. Once he started across the floor + toward Edith and her heart beat rapidly, but just when she thought he + intended to speak to her and to the motorman's wife he turned and went to + another part of the room. Edith followed him with her eyes, admiring his + white trousers and his shining white teeth. + </p> + <p> + The wife of the motorman went away with a small straight man with a grey + moustache whom Edith thought had unpleasant eyes and two girls came and + sat beside her. They were customers of her store and lived together in a + flat over a grocery on Monroe Street. Edith had heard the girl who sat in + the workroom with her speak slightingly of them. The three sat together + along the wall and talked of hats. + </p> + <p> + And then across the floor of the dance hall came two men, a huge + red-haired fellow and a little man with a black beard. The two women + hailed them and the five sat together making a party by the wall, the + little man keeping up a running stream of comments about the people on the + floor with Edith's two companions. A dance struck up and taking one of the + women the black-bearded man danced away. Edith and the other woman again + talked of hats. The huge fellow beside her said nothing but followed the + women about the dance hall with his eyes. Edith thought she had never seen + so homely a fellow. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the dance the black-bearded man went through the door into + the room filled with little tables and made a sign to the red-haired man + to follow. A boyish looking fellow appeared and went away with the other + woman and Edith sat alone on the bench by the wall beside McGregor. + </p> + <p> + “This place doesn't interest me,” said McGregor quickly. “I don't like to + sit watching people hop about on their toes. If you want to come with me + we'll get out of here and go to some place where we can talk and get + acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The little milliner walked across the floor on the arm of McGregor, her + heart jumping with excitement. “I've got a man,” she thought, exulting. + That the man had deliberately chosen her she knew. She had heard the + introductions and the bantering talk of the black-bearded man and had + noted the indifference of the big man to the other women. + </p> + <p> + Edith looked at her companion's huge frame and forgot his homeliness. Into + her mind came a picture of the fat boy, grown into a man, driving down the + road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride with him. A flood of + anger at the memory of the look of greedy assurance in his eyes came over + her. “This one could knock him over a six-rail fence,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked down at her. “To some place where we can talk,” he said. + “I was sick of this place. You ought to know where we're going. I'm going + with you. You aren't going with me.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt he would like to take this + woman over the hill and sit on the log to talk of his father. + </p> + <p> + As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of the resolution she had + made as she stood before the mirror in her room at the back of the shop on + the evening when she had decided to come to the dance. She wondered if the + great adventure was about to come to her and her hand trembled on + McGregor's arm. A hot wave of hope and fear shot through her. + </p> + <p> + At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with uncertain hands as she + unlocked the door. A delicious feeling shook her. She felt like a bride, + glad and yet ashamed and afraid. + </p> + <p> + In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted the gas and pulling + off his overcoat threw it on the couch at the side of the room. He was not + in the least excited and with a steady hand lighted the fire in the little + stove and then looking up he asked Edith if he might smoke. He had the air + of a man come home to his own house and the woman sat on the edge of her + chair to unpin her hat and waited hopefully to see what course the night's + adventure would take. + </p> + <p> + For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in Edith Carson's room and + talked of Coal Creek and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely, letting + himself go as a man might in talking to one of his own people after a long + absence. His attitude and the quiet ring in his voice confused and puzzled + Edith. She had expected something quite different. + </p> + <p> + Going to the little room at the side she brought forth a teakettle and + prepared to make tea. The big man still sat in her chair smoking and + talking. A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over her. She + thought her room beautiful but mingled with her satisfaction was a faint + grey streak of fear. “Of course he won't come back again,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + In the year following the beginning of his acquaintanceship with Edith + Carson McGregor continued to work hard and steadily in the warehouse and + with his books at night. He was promoted to be foreman, replacing the + German, and he thought he had made progress with his studies. When he did + not go to the night school he went to Edith Carson's place and sat reading + a book and smoking his pipe by a little table in the back room. + </p> + <p> + About the room and in and out of her shop moved Edith, going softly and + quietly. A light began to come into her eyes and colour into her cheeks. + She did not talk but new and daring thoughts visited her mind and a thrill + of reawakened life ran through her body. With gentle insistence she did + not let her dreams express themselves in words and almost hoped that she + might be able to go on forever thus, having this strong man come into her + presence and sit absorbed in his own affairs within the walls of her + house. Sometimes she wanted him to talk and wished that she had the power + to lead him into the telling of little facts of his life. She wanted to be + told of his mother and father, of his boyhood in the Pennsylvania town, of + his dreams and his desires but for the most part she was content to wait + and only hoped that nothing would happen to bring an end to her waiting. + </p> + <p> + McGregor began to read books of history and became absorbed in the figures + of certain men, all soldiers and leaders of soldiers who stalked across + the pages wherein was written the story of man's life. The figures of + Sherman, Grant, Lee, Jackson, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, and Wellington + seemed to him to stand starkly up among the other figures in the books and + going to the Public Library at the noon hour he got books concerning these + men and for a time lost interest in the study of law and devoted himself + to contemplation of the breakers of laws. + </p> + <p> + There was something beautiful about McGregor in those days. He was as + virginal and pure as a chunk of the hard black coal out of the hills of + his own state and like the coal ready to burn himself out into power. + Nature had been kind to him. He had the gift of silence and of isolation. + All about him were other men, perhaps as strong physically as himself and + with better trained minds who were being destroyed and he was not being + destroyed. For the others life let itself run out in the endless doing of + little tasks, the thinking of little thoughts and the saying of groups of + words over and over endlessly like parrots that sit in cages and earn + their bread by screaming two or three sentences to passers by. + </p> + <p> + It is a terrible thing to speculate on how man has been defeated by his + ability to say words. The brown bear in the forest has no such power and + the lack of it has enabled him to retain a kind of nobility of bearing + sadly lacking in us. On and on through life we go, socialists, dreamers, + makers of laws, sellers of goods and believers in suffrage for women and + we continuously say words, worn-out words, crooked words, words without + power or pregnancy in them. + </p> + <p> + The matter is one to be thought of seriously by youths and maidens + inclined to garrulousness. Those who have the habit of it will never + change. The gods who lean over the rim of the world to laugh at us have + marked them for their barrenness. + </p> + <p> + And yet the word must run on. McGregor, the silent, wanted his word. He + wanted his true note as an individual to ring out above the hubbub of + voices and then he wanted to use the strength and the virility within + himself to carry his word far. What he did not want was that his mouth + become foul and his brain become numb with the saying of the words and the + thinking of the thoughts of other men and that he in his turn become a + mere toiling food-consuming chattering puppet to the gods. + </p> + <p> + For a long time the miner's son wondered what power lay in the men whose + figures stood up so boldly in the pages of the books he read. He tried to + think the matter out as he sat in Edith's room or walked by himself + through the streets. In the warehouse he looked with new curiosity at the + men who worked in the great rooms piling and unpiling apple barrels and + the boxes of eggs and fruit When he came into one of the rooms the men who + had been standing in groups idly talking of their own affairs began to run + busily about. They no longer chattered but as long as he remained worked + desperately, furtively watching as he stood staring at them. + </p> + <p> + McGregor wondered. He tried to fathom the mystery of the power that made + them willing to work until their bodies were bent and stooped, that made + them unashamed to be afraid and that left them in the end mere slaves to + words and formulas. + </p> + <p> + The perplexed young man who watched the men in the warehouse began to + think that the passion for reproduction might have something to do with + the matter. Perhaps his constant association with Edith awakened the + thought. His own loins were heavy with the seeds of children and only his + absorption in the thought of finding himself kept him from devoting + himself to the feeding of his lusts. One day he had a talk concerning the + matter at the warehouse. The talk came about in this way. + </p> + <p> + In the warehouse the men came in at the door in the morning, drifting in + like flies that wander in at the open windows on a summer day. With + downcast eyes they shuffled across the long floor, white with lime. + Morning after morning they came in at the door and went silently to their + places looking at the floor and scowling. A slender bright-eyed young man + who acted as shipping clerk during the day sat in a little coop and to him + the men as they passed called out their numbers. From time to time the + shipping clerk who was an Irishman tried to joke with one of them, tapping + sharply upon his desk with a pencil as though to compel attention. “They + are no good,” he said to himself, when in response to his sallies they + only smiled vaguely. “Although they get but a dollar and a half a day they + are overpaid!” Like McGregor he had nothing but contempt for the men whose + numbers he put in the book. Their stupidity he took as a compliment to + himself. “We are the kind who get things done,” he thought as he put the + pencil back of his ear and closed the book. In his mind the futile pride + of the middle class man flamed up. In his contempt for the workers he + forgot also to have contempt for himself. + </p> + <p> + One morning McGregor and the shipping clerk stood upon a board platform + facing the street and the shipping clerk talked of parentage. “The wives + of the workers here have children as cattle have calves,” said the + Irishman. Moved by some hidden sentiment within himself he added heartily. + “Oh well, what's a man for? It's nice to see kids around the house. I've + got four kids myself. You should see them play about in the garden at my + place in Oak Park when I come home in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor thought of Edith Carson and a faint hunger began to grow within + him. A desire that was later to come near to upsetting the purpose of his + life began to make itself felt. With a growl he fought against the desire + and confused the Irishman by making an attack upon him. “Well how are you + any better?” he asked bluntly. “Do you think your children any more + important than theirs? You may have a better mind but their bodies are + better and your mind hasn't made you a very striking figure as far as I + can see.” + </p> + <p> + Turning away from the Irishman who had begun to sputter with wrath + McGregor went up an elevator to a distant part of the building to think of + the Irishman's words. From time to time he spoke sharply to a workman who + loitered in one of the passages between the piles of boxes and barrels. + Under his hand the work in the warehouse had begun to take on order and + the little grey-haired superintendent who had employed him rubbed his + hands with delight. + </p> + <p> + In a corner by a window stood McGregor wondering why he also did not want + to devote his life to being the father of children. In the dim light + across the face of the window a fat old spider crawled slowly. In the + hideous body of the insect there was something that suggested to the mind + of the struggling thinker the sloth of the world. Vaguely his mind groped + about trying to get hold of words and ideas to express what was in his + brain. “Ugly crawling things that look at the floor,” he muttered. “If + they have children it is without order or orderly purpose. It is an + accident like the accident of the fly that falls into the net built by the + insect here. The coming of the children is like the coming of the flies, + it feeds a kind of cowardice in men. In the children men hope vainly to + see done what they have not the courage to try to do.” + </p> + <p> + With an oath McGregor smashed with his heavy leather glove the fat thing + wandering aimlessly across the light. “I must not be confused by little + things. There is still going on the attempt to force me into the hole in + the ground. There is a hole here in which men live and work just as there + is in the mining town from which I came.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Hurrying out of his room that evening McGregor went to see Edith. He + wanted to look at her and to think. In the little room at the back he sat + for an hour trying to read a book and then for the first time shared his + thoughts with her. “I am trying to discover why men are of so little + importance,” he said suddenly. “Are they mere tools for women? Tell me + that. Tell me what women think and what they want?” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for an answer he turned again to the reading of the book. + “Oh well,” he added “it doesn't need to bother me. I won't let any women + lead me into being a reproductive tool for her.” + </p> + <p> + Edith was alarmed. She took McGregor's outburst as a declaration of war + against herself and her influence and her hands began to tremble. Then a + new thought came to her. “He needs money to get on in the world,” she told + herself and a little thrill of joy ran through her as she thought of her + own carefully guarded hoard. She wondered how she could offer it to him so + that there would be no danger of a refusal. + </p> + <p> + “You're all right,” said McGregor, preparing to depart. “You do not + interfere with a man's thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + Edith blushed and like the workmen in the warehouse looked at the floor. + Something in his words startled her and when he was gone she went to her + desk and taking out her bankbook turned its pages with new pleasure. + Without hesitation she who indulged herself in nothing would have given + all to McGregor. + </p> + <p> + And out into the street went the man, thinking of his own affairs. He + dismissed from his mind the thoughts of women and children and began again + to think of the stirring figures of history that had made so strong an + appeal to him. As he passed over one of the bridges he stopped and stood + leaning over the rail to look at the black water below. “Why has thought + never succeeded in replacing action?” he asked himself. “Why are the men + who write books in some way less full of meaning than the men who do + things?” + </p> + <p> + McGregor was staggered by the thought that had come to him and wondered if + he had started on a wrong trail by coming to the city and trying to + educate himself. For an hour he stood in the darkness and tried to think + things out. It began to rain but he did not mind. Into his brain began to + creep a dream of a vast order coming out of disorder. He was like one + standing in the presence of some gigantic machine with many intricate + parts that had begun to run crazily, each part without regard to the + purpose of the whole. “There is danger in thinking too,” he muttered + vaguely. “Everywhere there is danger, in labour, in love and in thinking. + What shall I do with myself?” + </p> + <p> + McGregor turned about and threw up his hands. A new thought swept like a + broad path of light across the darkness of his mind. He began to see that + the soldiers who had led thousands of men into battle had appealed to him + because in the working out of their purposes they had used human lives + with the recklessness of gods. They had found the courage to do that and + their courage was magnificent. Away down deep in the hearts of men lay + sleeping a love of order and they had taken hold of that love. If they had + used it badly did that matter? Had they not pointed the way? + </p> + <p> + Back into McGregor's mind came a night scene in his home town. Vividly he + saw in fancy the poor unkempt little street facing the railroad tracks and + the groups of striking miners huddled in the light before the door of a + saloon while in the road a body of soldiers marched past, their uniforms + looking grey and their faces grim in the uncertain light. “They marched,” + whispered McGregor. “That's what made them seem so powerful. They were + just ordinary men but they went swinging along, all as one man. Something + in that fact ennobled them. That's what Grant knew and what Caesar knew. + That's what made Grant and Caesar seem so big. They knew and they were not + afraid to use their knowledge. Perhaps they did not bother to think how it + would all come out. They hoped for another kind of man to do the thinking. + Perhaps they did not think of anything at all but just went ahead and + tried to do each his own part. + </p> + <p> + “I will do my part here,” shouted McGregor. “I will find the way.” His + body shook and his voice roared along the footpath of the bridge. Men + stopped to look back at the big shouting figure. Two women walking past + screamed and ran into the roadway. McGregor walked rapidly away toward his + own room and his books. He did not know how he would be able to use the + new impulse that had come to him but as he swung along through dark + streets and past rows of dark buildings he thought again of the great + machine running crazily and without purpose and was glad he was not a part + of it. “I will keep myself to myself and be ready for what happens,” he + said, burning with new courage. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + When McGregor had secured the place in the apple-warehouse and went home + to the house in Wycliff Place with his first week's pay, twelve dollars, + in his pocket he thought of his mother, Nance McGregor, working in the + mine offices in the Pennsylvania town and folding a five dollar bill sent + it to her in a letter. “I will begin to take care of her now,” he thought + and with the rough sense of equity in such matters, common to labouring + people, had no intention of giving himself airs. “She has fed me and now I + will begin to feed her,” he told himself. + </p> + <p> + The five dollars came back. “Keep it. I don't want your money,” the mother + wrote. “If you have money left after your expenses are paid begin to fix + yourself up. Better get a new pair of shoes or a hat. Don't try to take + care of me. I won't have it. I want you to look out for yourself. Dress + well and hold up your head, that's all I ask. In the city clothes mean a + good deal. In the long run it will mean more to me to see you be a real + man than to be a good son.” + </p> + <p> + Sitting in her rooms over the vacant bake-shop in Coal Creek Nance began + to get new satisfaction out of the contemplation of herself as a woman + with a son in the city. In the evening she thought of him moving along the + crowded thoroughfares among men and women and her bent little old figure + straightened with pride. When a letter came telling of his work in the + night school her heart jumped and she wrote a long letter filled with talk + of Garfield and Grant and of Lincoln lying by the burning pine knot + reading his books. It seemed to her unbelievably romantic that her son + should some day be a lawyer and stand up in a crowded court room speaking + thoughts out of his brain to other men. She thought that if this great + red-haired boy, who at home had been so unmanageable and so quick with his + fists, was to end by being a man of books and of brains then she and her + man, Cracked McGregor, had not lived in vain. A sweet new sense of peace + came to her. She forgot her own years of toil and gradually her mind went + back to the silent boy sitting on the steps with her before her house in + the year after her husband's death while she talked to him of the world, + and thus she thought of him, a quiet eager boy, going about bravely there + in the distant city. + </p> + <p> + Death caught Nance McGregor off her guard. After one of her long days of + toil in the mine office she awoke to find him sitting grim and expectant + beside her bed. For years she in common with most of the women of the coal + town had been afflicted with what is called “trouble with the heart.” Now + and then she had “bad spells.” On this spring evening she got into bed and + sitting propped among the pillows fought out her fight alone like a + worn-out animal that has crept into a hole in the woods. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night the conviction came to her that she would die. + Death seemed moving about in the room and waiting for her. In the street + two drunken men stood talking, their voices concerned with their own human + affairs coming in through the window and making life seem very near and + dear to the dying woman. “I've been everywhere,” said one of the men. + “I've been in towns and cities I don't even remember the names of. You ask + Alex Fielder who keeps a saloon in Denver. Ask him if Gus Lamont has been + there.” + </p> + <p> + The other man laughed. “You've been in Jake's drinking too much beer,” he + jeered. + </p> + <p> + Nance heard the two men stumble off down the street, the traveller + protesting against the unbelief of his friend. It seemed to her that life + with all of its colour sound and meaning was running away from her + presence. The exhaust of the engine over at the mine rang in her ears. She + thought of the mine as a great monster lying asleep below the ground, its + huge nose stuck into the air, its mouth open to eat men. In the darkness + of the room her coat, flung over the back of a chair, took the shape and + outline of a face, huge and grotesque, staring silently past her into the + sky. + </p> + <p> + Nance McGregor gasped and struggled for breath. She clutched the + bedclothes with her hands and fought grimly and silently. She did not + think of the place to which she might go after death. She was trying hard + not to go there. It had been her habit of life to fight not to dream + dreams. + </p> + <p> + Nance thought of her father, drunk and throwing his money about in the old + days before her marriage, of the walks she as a young girl had taken with + her lover on Sunday afternoons and of the times when they had gone + together to sit on the hillside overlooking the farming country. As in a + vision the dying woman saw the broad fertile land spread out before her + and blamed herself that she had not done more toward helping her man in + the fulfilment of the plans she and he had made to go there and live. Then + she thought of the night when her boy came and of how, when they went to + bring her man from the mine, they found him apparently dead under the + fallen timbers so that she thought life and death had visited her hand in + hand in one night. + </p> + <p> + Nance sat stiffly up in bed. She thought she heard the sound of heavy feet + on the stairs. “That will be Beaut coming up from the shop,” she muttered + and fell back upon the pillow dead. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Beaut McGregor went home to Pennsylvania to bury his mother and on a + summer afternoon walked again on the streets of his native town. From the + station he went at once to the empty bake-shop, above which he had lived + with his mother but he did not stay there. For a moment he stood bag in + hand listening to the voices of the miners' wives in the room above and + then put the bag behind an empty box and hurried away. The voices of women + broke the stillness of the room in which he stood. Their thin sharpness + hurt something within him and he could not bear the thought of the equally + thin sharp silence he knew would fall upon the women who were attending + his mother's body in the room above when he came into the presence of the + dead. + </p> + <p> + Along Main Street he went to a hardware store and from there went to the + mine office. Then with a pick and shovel on his shoulder he began to climb + the hill up which he had walked with his father when he was a lad. On the + train homeward bound an idea had come to him. “I will her among the bushes + on the hillside that looks down into the fruitful valley,” he told + himself. The details of a religious discussion between two labourers that + had gone on one day during the noon hour at the warehouse had come into + his mind and as the train ran eastward he for the first time found himself + speculating on the possibility of a life after death. Then he brushed the + thoughts aside. “Anyway if Cracked McGregor does come back it is there you + will find him, sitting on the log on the hillside,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + With the tools on his shoulder McGregor climbed the long hillside road, + now deep with black dust. He was going to dig the grave for the burial of + Nance McGregor. He did not glare at the miners who passed swinging their + dinner-pails as they had done in the old days but looked at the ground and + thought of the dead woman and a little wondered what place a woman would + yet come to occupy in his own life. On the hillside the wind blew sharply + and the great boy just emerging into manhood worked vigorously making the + dirt fly. When the hole had grown deep he stopped and looked to where in + the valley below a man who was hoeing corn shouted to a woman who stood on + the porch of a farm house. Two cows that stood by a fence in a field + lifted up their heads and bawled lustily. “It is the place for the dead to + lie,” whispered McGregor. “When my own time comes I shall be brought up + here.” An idea came to him. “I will have father's body moved,” he told + himself. “When I have made some money I will have that done. Here we shall + all lie in the end, all of us McGregors.” + </p> + <p> + The thought that had come to McGregor pleased him and he was pleased also + with himself for thinking the thought. The male in him made him throw back + his shoulders. “We are two of a feather, father and me,” he muttered, “two + of a feather and mother has not understood either of us. Perhaps no woman + was ever intended to understand us.” + </p> + <p> + Jumping out of the hole he strode over the crest of the hill and began the + descent toward the town. It was late afternoon and the sun had gone down + behind clouds. “I wonder if I understand myself, if any one understands,” + he thought as he went swiftly along with the tools clanking on his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + McGregor did not want to go back to the town and to the dead woman in the + little room. He thought of the miners' wives, attendants to the dead, who + would sit with crossed hands looking at him and turned out of the road to + sit on the fallen log where once on a Sunday afternoon he had sat with the + black-haired boy who worked in the poolroom and where the daughter of the + undertaker had come to sit beside him. + </p> + <p> + And then up the long hill came the woman herself. As she drew near he + recognised her tall figure and for some reason a lump came into his throat + She had seen him depart from the town with the pick and shovel on his + shoulder and after waiting what she thought an interval long enough to + still the tongues of gossip had followed. “I wanted to talk with you,” she + said, climbing over logs and coming to sit beside him. + </p> + <p> + For a long time the man and woman sat in silence and stared at the town in + the valley below. McGregor thought she had grown more pale than ever and + looked at her sharply. His mind, more accustomed to look critically at + women than had been the mind of the boy who had once sat talking to her on + the same log, began to inventory her body. “She is already becoming + stooped,” he thought. “I would not want to make love to her now.” + </p> + <p> + Along the log toward him moved the undertaker's daughter and with a swift + impulse toward boldness slipped a thin hand into his. She began to talk of + the dead woman lying in the upstairs room in the town. “We have been + friends since you went away,” she explained. “She liked to talk of you and + I liked that too.” + </p> + <p> + Made bold by her own boldness the woman hurried on. “I do not want you to + misunderstand me,” she said. “I know I can't get you. I'm not thinking of + that.” + </p> + <p> + She began to talk of her own affairs and of the dreariness of life with + her father but McGregor's mind could not centre itself on her talk. When + they started down the hill he had the impulse to take her in his arms and + carry her as Cracked McGregor had once carried him but was so embarrassed + that he did not offer to help her. He thought that for the first time some + one from his native town had come close to him and he watched her stooped + figure with an odd new feeling of tenderness. “I won't be alive long, + maybe not a year. I've got the consumption,” she whispered softly as he + left her at the entrance to the hallway leading up to her home, and + McGregor was so stirred by her words that he turned back and spent another + hour wandering alone on the hillside before he went to see the body of his + mother. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the room above the bakery McGregor sat at an open window and looked + down into the dimly lighted street. In a corner of the room lay his mother + in a coffin and two miners' wives sat in the darkness behind him. All were + silent and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + McGregor leaned out of the window and watched a group of miners who + gathered at a corner. He thought of the undertaker's daughter, now nearing + death, and wondered why she had suddenly come so close to him. “It is not + because she is a woman, I know that,” he told himself and tried to dismiss + the matter from his mind by watching the people in the street below. + </p> + <p> + In the mining town a meeting was being held. A box lay at the edge of the + sidewalk and upon it climbed that same young Hartnet who had once talked + to McGregor and who made his living by gathering birds' eggs and trapping + squirrels in the hills. He was frightened and talked rapidly. Presently he + introduced a large man with a flat nose who, when he had in turn climbed + upon the box, began to tell stories and anecdotes designed to make the + miners laugh. + </p> + <p> + McGregor listened. He wished the undertaker's daughter were there to sit + in the darkened room beside him. He thought he would like to tell her of + his life in the city and of how disorganised and ineffective all modern + life seemed to him. Sadness invaded his mind and he thought of his dead + mother and of how this other woman would presently die. “It's just as + well. Perhaps there is no other way, no orderly march toward an orderly + end. Perhaps one has to die and return to nature to achieve that,” he + whispered to himself. + </p> + <p> + In the street below the man upon the box, who was a travelling socialist + orator, began to talk of the coming social revolution. As he talked it + seemed to McGregor that his jaw had become loose from much wagging and + that his whole body was loosely put together and without force. The + speaker danced up and down on the box and his arms flapped about and these + also seemed loose, not a part of the body. + </p> + <p> + “Vote with us and the thing is done,” he shouted. “Are you going to let a + few men run things forever? Here you live like beasts paying tribute to + your masters. Arouse yourselves. Join us in the struggle. You yourselves + can be masters if you will only think so.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to do something more than think,” roared McGregor, as he + leaned far out at the window. Again as always when he had heard men saying + words he was blind with anger. Sharply he remembered the walks he had + sometimes taken at night in the city streets and the air of disorderly + ineffectiveness all about him. And here in the mining town it was the + same. On every side of him appeared blank empty faces and loose badly knit + bodies. + </p> + <p> + “Mankind should be like a great fist ready to smash and to strike. It + should be ready to knock down what stands in its way,” he cried, + astonishing the crowd in the street and frightening into something like + hysterics the two women who sat with him beside the dead woman in the + darkened room. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The funeral of Nance McGregor was an event in Coal Creek. In the minds of + the miners she stood for something. Fearing and hating the husband and the + tall big-fisted son they had yet a tenderness for the mother and wife. + “She lost her money handing us out bread,” they said as they pounded on + the bar in the saloon. Word ran about among them and they returned again + and again to the subject. The fact that she had lost her man twice—once + in the mine when the timber fell and clouded his brain, and then later + when his body lay black and distorted near the door to the McCrary cut + after the dreadful time of the fire in the mine—was perhaps + forgotten but the fact that she had once kept a store and that she had + lost her money serving them was not forgotten. + </p> + <p> + On the day of the funeral the miners came up out of the mine and stood in + groups in the open street and in the vacant bake shop. The men of the + night shift had their faces washed and had put white paper collars about + their necks. The man who owned the saloon locked the front door and + putting the keys into his pocket stood on the side-walk looking silently + at the windows of Nance McGregor's rooms. Out along the runway from the + mines came other miners—men of the day shift. Setting their dinner + pails on the stone along the front of the saloon and crossing the railroad + they kneeled and washed their blackened faces in the red stream that + flowed at the foot of the embankment The voice of the preacher, a slender + wasp-like young man with black hair and dark shadows under his eyes, + floated out to the listening men. A train of loaded coke cars rumbled past + along the back of the stores. + </p> + <p> + McGregor sat at the head of the coffin dressed in a new black suit. He + stared at the wall back of the head of the preacher, not hearing, thinking + his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Back of McGregor sat the undertaker's pale daughter. She leaned forward + until she touched the back of the chair in front and sat with her face + buried in a white handkerchief. Her weeping cut across the voice of the + preacher in the closely crowded little room filled with miners' wives and + in the midst of his prayer for the dead she was taken with a violent fit + of coughing and had to get up and hurry out of the room. + </p> + <p> + After the services in the rooms above the bake shop a procession formed on + Main Street. Like awkward boys the miners fell into groups and walked + along behind the black hearse and the carriage in which sat the dead + woman's son with the minister. The men kept looking at each other and + smiling sheepishly. There had been no arrangement to follow the body to + its grave and when they thought of the son and the attitude he had always + maintained toward them they wondered whether or not he wanted them to + follow. + </p> + <p> + And McGregor was unconscious of all this. He sat in the carriage beside + the minister and with unseeing eyes stared over the heads of the horses. + He was thinking of his life in the city and of what he should do there in + the future, of Edith Carson, sitting in the cheap dance hall and of the + evenings he had spent with her, of the barber on the park bench talking of + women and of his life with his mother when he was a boy in the mining + town. + </p> + <p> + As the carriage climbed slowly up the hill followed by the miners McGregor + began to love his mother. For the first time he realised that her life was + full of meaning and that in her woman's way she had been quite as heroic + in her years of patient toil as had been her man Cracked McGregor when he + ran to his death in the burning mine. McGregor's hands began to tremble + and his shoulders straightened. He became conscious of the men, the dumb + blackened children of toil dragging their weary legs up the hill. + </p> + <p> + For what? McGregor stood up in the carriage and turning about looked at + the men. Then he fell upon his knees on the carriage seat and watched them + eagerly, his soul crying out to something he thought must be hidden away + among the black mass of them, something that was the keynote of their + lives, something for which he had not looked and in which he had not + believed. + </p> + <p> + McGregor, kneeling in the open carriage at the top of the hill and + watching the marching men slowly toiling upward, had of a sudden one of + those strange awakenings that are the reward of stoutness in stout souls. + A strong wind lifted the smoke from the coke ovens and blew it up the face + of the hill on the farther side of the valley and the wind seemed to have + lifted also some of the haze that had covered his eyes. At the foot of the + hill along the railroad he could see the little stream, one of the blood + red streams of the mine country, and the dull red houses of the miners. + The red of the coke ovens, the red sun setting behind the hills to the + west and last of all the red stream flowing like a river of blood down + through the valley made a scene that burned itself into the brain of the + miner's son. A lump came into his throat and for a moment he tried vainly + to get back his old satisfying hate of the town and the miners but it + would not come. Long he looked down the hill to where the miners of the + night shift marched up the hill after the carriage and the slowly moving + hearse. It seemed to him that they like himself were marching up out of + the smoke and the little squalid houses away from the shores of the blood + red river into something new. What? McGregor shook his head slowly like an + animal in pain. He wanted something for himself, for all these men. It + seemed to him that he would gladly lie dead like Nance McGregor to know + the secret of that want. + </p> + <p> + And then as though in answer to the cry out of his heart the file of + marching men fell into step. An instantaneous impulse seemed to run + through the ranks of stooped toiling figures. Perhaps they also looking + backward had caught the magnificence of the picture scrawled across the + landscape in black and red and had been moved by it so that their + shoulders straightened and the long subdued song of life began to sing in + their bodies. With a swing the marching men fell into step. Into the mind + of McGregor flashed a thought of another day when he had stood upon this + same hill with the half crazed man who stuffed birds and sat upon a log by + the roadside reading the Bible and how he had hated these men because they + did not march with orderly precision like the soldiers who came to subdue + them. In a flash he knew that he who had hated the miners hated them no + more. With Napoleonic insight he read a lesson into the accident of the + men's falling into step behind his carriage. A big grim thought flashed + into his brain. “Some day a man will come who will swing all of the + workers of the world into step like that,” he thought. “He will make them + conquer, not one another but the terrifying disorder of life. If their + lives have been wrecked by disorder it is not their fault. They have been + betrayed by the ambitions of their leaders, all men have betrayed them.” + McGregor thought that his mind swept down over the men, that the impulses + of his mind like living things ran among them, crying to them, touching + them, caressing them. Love invaded his spirit and made his body tingle. He + thought of the workers in the Chicago warehouse and of the millions of + others workers who in that great city, in all cities, everywhere, went at + the end of the day shuffling off along the streets to their houses + carrying with them no song, no hope, nothing but a few paltry dollars with + which to buy food and keep the endless hurtful scheme of things alive. + “There is a curse on my country,” he cried. “Everyone has come here for + gain, to grow rich, to achieve. Suppose they should begin to want to live + here. Suppose they should quit thinking of gain, leaders and followers of + leaders. They are children. Suppose like children they should begin to + play a bigger game. Suppose they could just learn to march, nothing else. + Suppose they should begin to do with their bodies what their minds are not + strong enough to do—to just learn the one simple thing, to march, + whenever two or four or a thousand of them get together, to march.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor's thoughts moved him so that he wanted to yell. Instead his face + grew stern and he tried to command himself. “No, wait,” he whispered. + “Train yourself. Here is something to give point to your life. Be patient + and wait.” Again his thoughts swept away, running down to the advancing + men. Tears came into his eyes. “Men have taught them that big lesson only + when they wanted to kill. This must be different. Some one must teach them + the big lesson just for their own sakes, that they also may know. They + must march fear and disorder and purposelessness away. That must come + first.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor turned and compelled himself to sit quietly beside the minister + in the carriage. He became bitter against the leaders of men, the figures + in old history that had once loomed so big in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “They have half taught them the secret only to betray them,” he muttered. + “The men of books and of brains have done the same. That loose-jawed + fellow in the street last night—there must be thousands of such, + talking until their jaws hang loose like worn-out gates. Words mean + nothing but when a man marches with a thousand other men and is not doing + it for the glory of some king, then it will mean something. He will know + then that he is a part of something real and he will catch the rhythm of + the mass and glory in the fact that he is a part of the mass and that the + mass has meaning. He will begin to feel great and powerful.” McGregor + smiled grimly. “That is what the great leaders of armies have known,” he + whispered. “And they have sold men out. They have used that knowledge to + subdue men, to make them serve their own little ends.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor continued to look back at the men and in an odd sort of way to + wonder at himself and the thought that had come to him. “It can be done,” + he presently said aloud. “It will be done by some one, sometime. Why not + by me?” + </p> + <p> + They buried Nance McGregor in the deep hole dug by her son before the log + on the hillside. On the morning of his arrival he had secured permission + of the mining company who owned the land to make this the burial place of + the McGregors. + </p> + <p> + When the service over the grave was finished he looked about him at the + miners, standing uncovered along the hill and in the road leading down + into the valley, and felt that he should like to tell them what was in his + mind. He had an impulse to jump upon the log beside the grave and in the + presence of the green fields his father loved and across the grave of + Nance McGregor shout to them saying, “Your cause shall be my cause. My + brain and strength shall be yours. Your enemies I shall smite with my + naked fist.” Instead he walked rapidly past them and topping the hill went + down toward the town into the gathering night. + </p> + <p> + McGregor could not sleep on that last night he was ever to spend in Coal + Creek. When darkness came he went along the street and stood at the foot + of the stairs leading to the home of the undertaker's daughter. The + emotions that had swept over him during the afternoon had subdued his + spirit and he wanted to be with some one who would also be subdued and + quiet. When the woman did not come down the stairs to stand in the hallway + as she had done in his boyhood he went up and knocked at her door. + Together they went along Main Street and climbed the hill. + </p> + <p> + The undertaker's daughter walked with difficulty and was compelled to stop + and sit upon a stone by the roadside. When she attempted to rise McGregor + gathered her into his arms and when she protested patted her thin shoulder + with his big hand and whispered to her. “Be quiet,” he said. “Do not talk + about anything. Just be quiet.” + </p> + <p> + The nights in the hills above mining towns are magnificent. The long + valleys, cut and slashed by the railroads and made ugly by the squalid + little houses of the miners are half lost in the soft blackness. Out of + the darkness sounds emerge. Coal cars creak and protest as they are pushed + along rails. Voices cry out. With a long reverberating rattle one of the + mine cars dumps its load down a metal chute into a car standing on the + railroad tracks. In the winter little fires are started along the tracks + by the workmen who are employed about the tipple and on summer nights the + moon comes out and touches with wild beauty the banks of black smoke that + drift upward from the long rows of coke ovens. + </p> + <p> + With the sick woman in his arms McGregor sat in silence on the hillside + above Coal Creek and let new thoughts and new impulses play with his + spirit. The love for the figure of his mother that had come to him during + the afternoon returned and he took the woman of the mine country into his + arms and held her closely against his breast. + </p> + <p> + The struggling man in the hills of his own country, who was trying to + clear his soul of the hatred of men bred in him by the disorder of life, + lifted his head and pressed the body of the undertaker's daughter hard + against his own body. The woman, understanding his mood, picked with her + thin fingers at his coat and wished she might die there in the darkness in + the arms of the man she loved. When he became conscious of her presence + and relaxed the grip of his arms about her shoulders she lay still and + waited for him to forget again and again to press her tightly and let her + feel in her worn-out body his massive strength and virility. + </p> + <p> + “It is a job. It is something big I can try to do,” he whispered to + himself and in fancy saw the great disorderly city on the western plains + rocked by the swing and rhythm of men, aroused and awakening with their + bodies a song of new life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Chicago is a vast city and millions of people live within the limits of + its influence. It stands at the heart of America almost within sound of + the creaking green leaves of the corn in the vast corn fields of the + Mississippi Valley. It is inhabited by hordes of men of all nations who + have come across the seas or out of western corn—shipping towns to + make their fortunes. On all sides men are busy making fortunes. + </p> + <p> + In little Polish villages the word has been whispered about, “In America + one gets much money,” and adventurous souls have set forth only to land at + last, a little perplexed and disconcerted, in narrow ill—smelling + rooms in Halstead Street in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + In American villages the tale has been told. Here it has not been + whispered but shouted. Magazines and newspapers have done the job. The + word regarding the making of money runs over the land like a wind among + the corn. The young men listen and run away to Chicago. They have vigour + and youth but in them has been builded no dream no tradition of devotion + to anything but gain. + </p> + <p> + Chicago is one vast gulf of disorder. Here is the passion for gain, the + very spirit of the bourgeoise gone drunk with desire. The result is + something terrible. Chicago is leaderless, purposeless, slovenly, down at + the heels. + </p> + <p> + And back of Chicago lie the long corn fields that are not disorderly. + There is hope in the corn. Spring comes and the corn is green. It shoots + up out of the black land and stands up in orderly rows. The corn grows and + thinks of nothing but growth. Fruition comes to the corn and it is cut + down and disappears. Barns are filled to bursting with the yellow fruit of + the corn. + </p> + <p> + And Chicago has forgotten the lesson of the corn. All men have forgotten. + It has never been told to the young men who come out of the corn fields to + live in the city. + </p> + <p> + Once and once only in modern times the soul of America was stirred. The + Civil War swept like a purifying fire through the land. Men marched + together and knew the feel of shoulder to shoulder action. Brown stout + bearded figures returned after the war to the villages. The beginning of a + literature of strength and virility arose. + </p> + <p> + And then the time of sorrow and of stirring effort passed and prosperity + returned. Only the aged are now cemented together by the sorrow of that + time and there has been no new national sorrow. + </p> + <p> + It is a summer evening in America and the citizens sit in their houses + after the effort of the day. They talk of the children in school or of the + new difficulty of meeting the high prices of food stuff. In cities the + bands play in the parks. In villages the lights go out and one hears the + sound of hurrying horses on distant roads. + </p> + <p> + A thoughtful man walking in the streets of Chicago on such an evening sees + women in white shirt waists and men with cigars in their mouths who sit on + the porches of the houses. The man is from Ohio. He owns a factory in one + of the large industrial towns there and has come to the city to sell his + product. He is a man of the better sort, quiet, efficient, kindly. In his + own community every one respects him and he respects himself. Now he walks + and gives himself over to thoughts. He passes a house set among trees + where a man cuts grass by the streaming light from a window. The song of + the lawn mower stirs the walker. He idles along the street and looks in + through the windows at Prints upon the walls. A white—clad woman + sits playing on a piano. “Life is good,” he says, lighting a cigar; “it + climbs on and up toward a kind of universal fairness.” + </p> + <p> + And then in the light from a street lamp the walker sees a man staggering + along the sidewalk, muttering and helping himself with his hands upon a + wall. The sight does not greatly disturb the pleasant satisfying thoughts + that stir in his mind. He has eaten a good dinner at the hotel, he knows + that drunken men are often but gay money-spending dogs who to-morrow + morning will settle down to their work feeling secretly better for the + night of wine and song. + </p> + <p> + My thoughtful man is an American with the disease of comfort and + prosperity in his blood. He strolls along and turns a corner. He is + satisfied with the cigar he smokes and, he decides, satisfied with the age + in which he lives. “Agitators may howl,” he says, “but on the whole life + is good, and as for me I am going to spend my life attending to the + business in hand.” + </p> + <p> + The walker has turned a corner into a side street. Two men emerge from the + door of a saloon and stand upon the sidewalk under a light. They wave + their arms up and down. Suddenly one of them springs forward and with a + quick forward thrust of his body and the flash of a clenched fist in the + lamp light knocks his companion into the gutter. Down the street he sees + rows of tall smoke-begrimed brick buildings hanging black and ominous + against the sky. At the end of a street a huge mechanical apparatus lifts + cars of coal and dumps them roaring and rattling into the bowels of a ship + that lies tied in the river. + </p> + <p> + The walker throws his cigar away and looks about. A man walks before him + in the silent street. He sees the man raise his fist to the sky and notes + with a shock the movement of the lips and the hugeness and ugliness of the + face in the lamplight. + </p> + <p> + Again he goes on, hurrying now, around another corner into a street filled + with pawn shops, clothing stores and the clamour of voices. In his mind + floats a picture. He sees two boys, clad in white rompers, feeding clover + to a tame rabbit in a suburban back lawn and wishes he were at home in his + own place. In his fancy the two sons are walking under apple trees and + laughing and tusseling for a great bundle of newly pulled sweet smelling + clover. The strange looking red man with the huge face he has seen in the + street is looking at the two children over a garden wall. There is a + threat in the look and the threat alarms him. Into his mind comes the + notion that the man who looks over the wall wants to destroy the future of + his children. + </p> + <p> + The night advances. Down a stairway beside a clothing store comes a woman + with gleaming white teeth who is clad in a black dress. She makes a + Peculiar little jerking movement with her head to the walker. A patrol + wagon with clanging bells rushes through the street, two blue clad + policemen sitting stiffly in the seat. A boy—he can't be above six—runs + along the street pushing soiled newspapers under the noses of idlers on + the corners, his shrill childish voice rises above the din of the trolley + cars and the clanging notes of the patrol wagon. + </p> + <p> + The walker throws his cigar into the gutter and climbing the steps of a + street car goes back to his hotel. His fine reflective mood is gone. He + half wishes that something lovely might come into American life but the + wish does not persist. He is only irritated and feels that a pleasant + evening has been in some way spoiled. He is wondering if he will be + successful in the business that brought him to the city. As he turns out + the light in his room and putting his head upon the pillow listens to the + noises of the city merged now into a quiet droning roar he thinks of the + brick factory on the banks of the river in Ohio and as he falls into sleep + the face of the red-haired man lowers at him from the factory door. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + When McGregor returned to the city after the burial of his mother he began + at once to try to put his idea of the marching men into form. For a long + time he did not know how to begin. The idea was vague and shadowy. It + belonged to the nights in the hills of his own country and seemed a little + absurd when he tried to think of it in the daylight of North State Street + in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + McGregor felt that he had to prepare himself. He believed that he could + study books and learn much from men's ideas expressed in books without + being overwhelmed by their thoughts. He became a student and quit the + place in the apple-warehouse to the secret relief of the little + bright-eyed superintendent who had never been able to get himself up to + the point of raging at this big red fellow as he had raged at the German + before McGregor's time. The warehouse man felt that during the meeting on + the corner before the saloon on the day McGregor began to work for him + something had happened. The miner's son had unmanned him. “A man ought to + be boss in his own place,” he sometimes muttered to himself, as he walked + in the passageways among rows of piled apple barrels in the upper part of + the warehouse wondering why the presence of McGregor irritated him. + </p> + <p> + From six o'clock in the evening until two in the morning McGregor now + worked as night-cashier in a restaurant on South State Street below Van + Buren and from two until seven in the morning he slept in a room whose + windows looked down into Michigan Boulevard. On Thursday he was free, his + place being taken for the evening by the man who owned the restaurant, a + small excitable Irishman by the name of Tom O'Toole. + </p> + <p> + McGregor got his chance to become a student through the bank account + belonging to Edith Carson. The opportunity arose in this way. On a summer + evening after his return from Pennsylvania he sat with her in the darkened + store back of the closed screen door. McGregor was morose and silent. On + the evening before he had tried to talk to several men at the warehouse + about the Marching Men and they had not understood. He blamed his + inability with words and sat in the half darkness with his face in his + hands and looked up the street saying nothing and thinking bitter + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The idea that had come to him made him half drunk with its possibilities + and he knew that he must not let it make him drunk. He wanted to begin + forcing men to do the simple thing full of meaning rather than the + disorganised ineffective things and he had an ever-present inclination to + arise, to stretch himself, to run into the streets and with his great arms + see if he could not sweep the people before him, starting them on the long + purposeful march that was to be the beginning of the rebirth of the world + and that was to fill with meaning the lives of men. Then when he had + walked the fever out of his blood and had frightened the people in the + streets by the grim look in his face he tried to school himself to sit + quietly waiting. + </p> + <p> + The woman sitting beside him in a low rocking chair began trying to tell + him of something that had been in her mind. Her heart jumped and she + talked slowly, pausing between sentences to conceal the trembling of her + voice. “Would it help you in what you want to do if you could quit at the + warehouse and spend your days in study?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked at her and nodded his head absent-mindedly. He thought of + the nights in his room when the hard heavy work of the day in the + warehouse seemed to have benumbed his brain. + </p> + <p> + “Besides the business here I have seventeen hundred dollars in the savings + bank,” said Edith, turning aside to conceal the eager hopeful look in her + eyes. “I want to invest it. I do not want it lying there doing nothing. I + want you to take it and make a lawyer of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Edith sat rigid in her chair waiting for his answer. She felt that she had + put him to a test. In her mind was a new hope. “If he takes it he will not + be walking out at the door some night and never coming back.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor tried to think. He had not tried to explain to her his new notion + of life and did not know how to begin. + </p> + <p> + “After all why not stick to my plan and be a lawyer?” he asked himself. + “That might open the door. I'll do that,” he said aloud to the woman. + “Both you and mother have talked of it so I'll give it a trial. Yes, I'll + take the money.” + </p> + <p> + Again he looked at her as she sat before him flushed and eager and was + touched by her devotion as he had been touched by the devotion of the + undertaker's daughter in Coal Creek. “I don't mind being under obligations + to you,” he said; “I don't know any one else I would take it from.” + </p> + <p> + In the street later the troubled man walked about trying to make new plans + for the accomplishment of his purpose. He was annoyed by what he thought + to be the dulness of his own brain and he thrust his fist up into the air + to look at it in the lamplight. “I'll get ready to use that + intelligently,” he thought; “a man wants trained brains backed up by a big + fist in the struggle I'm going into.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that the man from Ohio walked past with his hands in his + pockets and attracted his attention. To McGregor's nostrils came the odour + of rich fragrant tobacco. He turned and stood staring at the intruder on + his thoughts. “That's what I am going to fight,” he growled; “the + comfortable well-to-do acceptance of a disorderly world, the smug men who + see nothing wrong with a world like this. I would like to frighten them so + that they throw their cigars away and run about like ants when you kick + over ant hills in the field.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + McGregor began to attend some classes at Chicago University and walked + about among the massive buildings, erected for the most part through the + bounty of one of his country's leading business men, wondering why the + great centre of learning seemed so little a part of the city. To him the + University seemed something entirely apart, not in tune with its + surrounding. It was like an expensive ornament worn on the soiled hand of + a street urchin. He did not stay there long. + </p> + <p> + One day he got into disfavour with the professor in one of the classes. He + sat in a room among other students, his mind busy with thoughts of the + future and of how he might get his movement of the marching men under way. + In a chair beside him sat a large girl with blue eyes and hair like yellow + wheat. She like McGregor was unconscious of what was going on about her + and sat with half-closed eyes watching him. In the corners of her eyes + lurked a gleam of amusement. She drew sketches of his huge mouth and nose + on a pad of Paper. + </p> + <p> + At McGregor's left with his legs sprawled into the aisle sat a youth who + was thinking of the yellow-haired girl and planning a campaign against + her. His father was a manufacturer of berry boxes in a brick building on + the West Side and he wished he were in school in another city so that it + would not be necessary to live at home. All day he thought of the evening + meal and of the coming of his father, nervous and tired, to quarrel with + his mother about the management of the servants. Now he was trying to + evolve a plan for getting money from his mother with which to enjoy a + dinner at a downtown restaurant. With delight he contemplated such an + evening with a box of cigarettes on the table and the yellow-haired girl + sitting opposite him under red lights. He was a typical American youth of + the upper middle class and was in the University only because he was in no + hurry to begin his life in the commercial world. + </p> + <p> + In front of McGregor sat another typical student, a pale nervous young man + who drummed with his fingers on the back of a book. He was very serious + about acquiring learning and when the professor paused in his talk he + threw up his hands and asked a question. When the professor smiled he + laughed loudly. He was like an instrument on which the professor struck + chords. + </p> + <p> + The professor, a short man with a bushy black beard, heavy shoulders and + large powerful eye-glasses, spoke in a shrill voice surcharged with + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “The world is full of unrest,” he said; “men are struggling like chicks in + the shell. In the hinterland of every man's mind uneasy thoughts stir. I + call your attention to what is going on in the Universities of Germany.” + </p> + <p> + The professor paused and glared about. McGregor was so irritated by what + he took to be the wordiness of the man that he could not restrain himself. + He felt as he had felt when the socialist orator talked on the streets of + Coal Creek. With an oath he arose and kicked out his foot to push his + chair away. The pad of paper fell out of the large girl's lap and + scattered its leaves about the floor. A light burned in McGregor's blue + eyes. As he stood in the classroom before the startled class his head, big + and red, had something of nobility about it like the head of a fine beast. + His voice rumbled out of his throat and the girl looked at him, her mouth + standing open. + </p> + <p> + “We go from room to room hearing talk,” began McGregor. “On the street + corners downtown in the evenings and in towns and villages men talk and + talk. Books are written, jaws wag. The jaws of men are loose. They wabble + about—saying nothing.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor's excitement grew. “If there is all this unrest why does it not + come to something?” he demanded. “Why do not you who have trained brains + strive to find the secret of order in the midst of this disorder? Why is + something not done?” + </p> + <p> + The professor ran up and down on the platform. “I do not know what you + mean,” he cried nervously. McGregor turned slowly and stared at the class. + He tried to explain. “Why do not men lead their lives like men?” he asked. + “They must be taught to march, hundreds of thousands of men. Do you not + think so?” + </p> + <p> + McGregor's voice rose and his great fist was raised. “The world should + become a great camp,” he cried. “The brains of the world should be at the + organisation of mankind. Everywhere there is disorder and men chatter like + monkeys in a cage. Why should some man not begin the organisation of a new + army? If there are men who do not understand what is meant let them be + knocked down.” + </p> + <p> + The professor leaned forward and peered through his spectacles at + McGregor. “I understand your kind,” he said, and his voice trembled. “The + class is dismissed. We deprecate violence here.” + </p> + <p> + The professor hurried through a door and down a long hallway with the + class chattering at his heels. McGregor sat in his chair in the empty + class room and stared at the wall. As the professor hurried away he + muttered to himself: “What's getting in here? What's getting into our + schools?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Late on the following afternoon McGregor sat in his room thinking of what + had happened in the class. He had decided that he would not spend any more + time at the University but would devote himself entirely to the study of + law. Several young men came in. + </p> + <p> + Among the students at the University McGregor had seemed very old. + Secretly he was much admired and had often been the subject of talk. Those + who had now come to see him wanted him to join a Greek Letter Fraternity. + They sat about his room, on the window sill and on a trunk by the wall. + They smoked pipes and were boyishly eager and enthusiastic. A glow shone + in the cheeks of the spokesman—a clean-looking youth with black + curly hair and round pink—and—white cheeks, the son of a + Presbyterian minister from Iowa. + </p> + <p> + “You have been picked by our fellows to be one of us,” said the spokesman. + “We want you to become an Alpha Beta Pi. It is a grand fraternity with + chapters in the best schools in the country. Let me tell you.” + </p> + <p> + He began reeling off a list of names of statesmen, college professors, + business men and well known athletes who belonged to the order. + </p> + <p> + McGregor sat by the wall looking at his guests and wondering what he would + say. He was a little amused and half hurt and felt like a man who has had + a Sunday School scholar stop him on the street to ask him about the + welfare of his soul. He thought of Edith Carson waiting for him in her + store on Monroe Street, of the angry miners standing in the saloon in Coal + Creek plotting to break into the restaurant while he sat with the hammer + in his hands waiting for battle, of old Mother Misery walking at the heels + of the soldiers' horses through the streets of the mining village, and + last of all of the terrible certainty that these bright-eyed boys would be + destroyed, swallowed up by the huge commercial city in which they were to + live. + </p> + <p> + “It means a lot to be one of us when a chap gets out into the world,” the + curly-haired youth said. “It helps you get on, get in with the right + people. You can't go on without men you know. You ought to get in with the + best fellows.” He hesitated and looked at the floor. “I don't mind telling + you,” he said with an outburst of frankness, “that one of our stronger men—Whiteside, + the mathematician—wanted us to have you. He said you were worth + while. He thought you ought to see us and get to know us and that we ought + to see and get to know you.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor got up and took his hat from a nail on the wall. He felt the + utter futility of trying to express what was in his mind and walked down + the stairs to the street with the file of boys following in embarrassed + silence and stumbling in the darkness of the hallway at his heels. At the + street door he stopped and faced them, struggling to put his thoughts into + words. + </p> + <p> + “I can't do what you ask,” he said. “I like you and like your asking me to + come in with you, but I'm going to quit the University.” His voice + softened. “I would like to have you for friends,” he added. “You say a man + needs to know people after awhile. Well, I would like to know you while + you are what you are now. I don't want to know you after you become what + you will become.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalk and + went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face and he knew + he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened. “I hate + hitting boys,” he thought as he hurried away to his evening's work at the + restaurant. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + When McGregor was admitted to the bar and ready to take his place among + the thousands of young lawyers scattered over the Chicago loop district he + half drew back from beginning the practice of his profession. To spend his + life quibbling over trifles with other lawyers was not what he wanted. To + have his place in life fixed by his ability in quibbling seemed to him + hideous. + </p> + <p> + Night after night he walked alone in the streets thinking of the matter. + He grew angry and swore. Sometimes he was so stirred by the + meaninglessness of whatever way of life offered itself that he was tempted + to leave the city and become a tramp, one of the hordes of adventurous + dissatisfied souls who spend their lives drifting back and forth along the + American railroads. + </p> + <p> + He continued to work in the South State Street restaurant that got its + patronage from the underworld. In the evenings from six until twelve trade + was quiet and he sat reading books and watching the restless thrashing + crowds that passed the window. Sometimes he became so absorbed that one of + the guests sidled past and escaped through the door without paying his + bill. In State Street the people moved up and down nervously, wandering + here and there, going without purpose like cattle confined in a corral. + Women in cheap imitations of the gowns worn by their sisters two blocks + away in Michigan Avenue and with painted faces leered at the men. In + gaudily lighted store-rooms that housed cheap suggestive shows pianos kept + up a constant din. + </p> + <p> + In the eyes of the people who idled away the evenings in South State + Street was the vacant purposeless stare of modern life accentuated and + made horrible. With the stare went the shuffling walk, the wagging jaw, + the saying of words meaning nothing. On the wall of a building opposite + the door of the restaurant hung a banner marked “Socialist Headquarters.” + There where modern life had found well-nigh perfect expression, where + there was no discipline and no order, where men did not move, but drifted + like sticks on a sea-washed beach, hung the socialist banner with its + promise of the co-operative commonwealth. + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked at the banner and at the moving people and was lost in + meditation. Walking from behind the cashier's desk he stood in the street + by the door and stared about. A fire began to burn in his eyes and the + fists that were thrust into his coat pockets were clenched. Again as when + he was a boy in Coal Creek he hated the people. The fine love of mankind + that had its basis in a dream of mankind galvanised by some great passion + into order and meaning was lost. + </p> + <p> + In the restaurant after midnight trade briskened Waiters and bartenders + from fashionable restaurants of the loop district began to drop in to meet + friends from among the women of the town. When a woman came in she walked + up to one of these young men. “What kind of a night have you had?” they + asked each other. + </p> + <p> + The visiting waiters stood about and talked in low tones. As they talked + they absentmindedly practised the art of withholding money from customers, + a source of income to them. They played with coins, pitched them into the + air, palmed them, made them appear and disappear with marvellous rapidity. + Some of them sat on stools along the counter eating pie and drinking cups + of hot coffee. + </p> + <p> + A cook clad in a long dirty apron came into the room from the kitchen and + putting a dish on the counter stood eating its contents. He tried to win + the admiration of the idlers by boasting. In a blustering voice he called + familiarly to women seated at tables along the wall. At some time in his + life the cook had worked for a travelling circus and he talked continually + of his adventures on the road, striving to make himself a hero in the eyes + of his audience. + </p> + <p> + McGregor read the book that lay before him on the counter and tried to + forget the squalid disorder of his surroundings. Again he read of the + great figures of history, the soldiers and statesmen who have been leaders + of men. When the cook asked him a question or made some remark intended + for his ears he looked up, nodded and read again. When a disturbance + started in the room he growled out a command and the disturbance subsided. + From time to time well dressed middle-aged men, half gone in drink, came + and leaned over the counter to whisper to him. He made a motion with his + hand to one of the women sitting at the tables along the wall and idly + playing with toothpicks. When she came to him he pointed to the man and + said, “He wants to buy you a dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The women of the underworld sat at the tables and talked of McGregor, each + secretly wishing he might become her lover. They gossiped like suburban + wives, filling their talk with vague reference to things he had said. They + commented upon his clothes and his reading. When he looked at them they + smiled and stirred uneasily about like timid children. + </p> + <p> + One of the women of the underworld, a thin woman with hollow red cheeks, + sat at a table talking with the other women of the raising of white + leghorn chickens. She and her husband, a fat old roan, a waiter in a loop + restaurant, had bought a ten-acre farm in the country and she was helping + to pay for it with the money made in the streets in the evening. A small + black-eyed woman who sat beside the chicken raiser reached up to a + raincoat hanging on the wall and taking a piece of white cloth from the + pocket began to work out a design in pale blue flowers for the front of a + shirtwaist. A youth with unhealthy looking skin sat on a stool by the + counter talking to a waiter. + </p> + <p> + “The reformers have raised hell with business,” the youth boasted as he + looked about to be sure of listeners. “I used to have four women working + for me here in State Street in World's Fair year and now I have only one + and she crying and sick half the time.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor stopped reading the book. “In every city there is a vice spot, a + place from which diseases go out to poison the people. The best + legislative brains in the world have made no progress against this evil,” + it said. + </p> + <p> + He closed the book, threw it away from him and looked at his big fist + lying on the counter and at the youth talking boastfully to the waiter. A + smile played about the corners of his mouth. He opened and closed his fist + reflectively. Then taking a law book from a shelf below the counter he + began reading again, moving his lips and resting his head upon his hands. + </p> + <p> + McGregor's law office was upstairs over a secondhand clothing store in Van + Buren Street. There he sat at his desk reading and waiting and at night he + returned to the State Street restaurant. Now and then he went to the + Harrison Street police station to hear a police court trial and through + the influence of O'Toole was occasionally given a case that netted him a + few dollars. He tried to think that the years spent in Chicago were years + of training. In his own mind he knew what he wanted to do but did not know + how to begin. Instinctively he waited. He saw the march and countermarch + of events in the lives of the people tramping on the sidewalks below his + office window, saw in his mind the miners of the Pennsylvania village + coming down from the hills to disappear below the ground, looked at the + girls hurrying through the swinging doors of department stores in the + early morning, wondering which of them would presently sit idling with + toothpicks in O'Toole's and waited for the word or the stir on the surface + of that sea of humanity that would be a sign to him. To an onlooker he + might have seemed but another of the wasted men of modern life, a drifter + on the sea of things—but it was not so. The people plunging through + the streets afire with earnestness concerning nothing had not succeeded in + sucking him into the whirlpool of commercialism in which they struggled + and into which year after year the best of America's youth was drawn. + </p> + <p> + The idea that had come into his mind as he sat on the hill above the + mining town grew and grew. Day and night he dreamed of the actual physical + phenomena of the men of labour marching their way into power and of the + thunder of a million feet rocking the world and driving the great song of + order purpose and discipline into the soul of Americans. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes it seemed to him that the dream would never be more than a + dream. In the dusty little office he sat and tears came into his eyes. At + such times he was convinced that mankind would go on forever along the old + road, that youth would continue always to grow into manhood, become fat, + decay and die with the great swing and rhythm of life a meaningless + mystery to them. “They will see the seasons and the planets marching + through space but they will not march,” he muttered, and went to stand by + the window and stare down into the dirt and disorder of the street below. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + In the office McGregor occupied in Van Buren Street there was another desk + besides his own. The desk was owned by a small man with an extraordinary + long moustache and with grease spots on the lapel of his coat. In the + morning he came in and sat in his chair with his feet on his desk. He + smoked long black stogies and read the morning papers. On the glass panel + of the door was the inscription, “Henry Hunt, Real Estate Broker.” When he + had finished with the morning papers he disappeared, returning tired and + dejected late in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The real estate business of Henry Hunt was a myth. Although he bought and + sold no property he insisted on the title and had in his desk a pile of + letterheads setting forth the kind of property in which he specialised. He + had a picture of his daughter, a graduate of the Hyde Park High School, in + a glass frame on the wall. When he went out at the door in the morning he + paused to look at McGregor and said, “If any one comes in about property + tend to them for me. I'll be gone for a while.” + </p> + <p> + Henry Hunt was a collector of tithes for the political bosses of the first + ward. All day he went from place to place through the ward interviewing + women, checking their names off a little red book he carried in his + pocket, promising, demanding, making veiled threats. In the evening he sat + in his flat overlooking Jackson Park and listened to his daughter play on + the piano. With all his heart he hated his place in life and as he rode + back and forth to town on the Illinois Central trains he stared at the + lake and dreamed of owning a farm and living a free life in the country. + In his mind he could see the merchants standing gossiping on the sidewalk + before the stores in an Ohio village where he had lived as a boy and in + fancy saw himself again a boy, driving cows through the village street in + the evening and making a delightful little slap slap with his bare feet in + the deep dust. + </p> + <p> + It was Henry Hunt in his secret office as collector and lieutenant to the + “boss” of the first ward who shifted the scenes for McGregor's appearance + as a public character in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + One night a young man—son of one of the city's plunging millionaire + wheat speculators—was found dead in a little blind alley back of a + resort known as Polk Street Mary's place. He lay crumpled up against a + board fence quite dead and with a bruise on the side of his head. A + policeman found him and dragged him to the street light at the corner of + the alley. + </p> + <p> + For twenty minutes the policeman had been standing under the light + swinging his stick. He had heard nothing. A young man came up, touched him + on the arm and whispered to him. When he turned to go down the alley the + young man ran away up the street. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The powers that rule the first ward in Chicago were furious when the + identity of the dead man became known. The “boss,” a mild-looking + blue-eyed little man in a neat grey suit and with a silky moustache, stood + in his office opening and closing his fists convulsively. Then he called a + young man and sent for Henry Hunt and a well known police official. + </p> + <p> + For some weeks the newspapers of Chicago had been conducting a campaign + against vice. Swarms of reporters had over-run the ward. Daily they issued + word pictures of life in the underworld. On the front pages of the papers + with senators and governors and millionaires who had divorced their wives, + appeared also the names of Ugly Brown Chophouse Sam and Carolina Kate with + descriptions of their places, their hours of closing and the class and + quantity of their patronage. A drunken man rolled on the floor at the back + of a Twenty-second Street saloon and robbed of his pocketbook had his + picture on the front page of the morning papers. + </p> + <p> + Henry Hunt sat in his office on Van Buren Street trembling with fright. He + expected to see his name in the paper and his occupation disclosed. + </p> + <p> + The powers that ruled the First—quiet shrewd men who knew how to + make and to take profits, the very flower of commercialism—were + frightened. They saw in the prominence of the dead man a real opportunity + for their momentary enemies the press. For weeks they had been sitting + quietly, weathering the storm of public disapproval. In their minds they + thought of the ward as a kingdom in itself, something foreign and apart + from the city. Among their followers were men who had not been across the + Van Buren Street line into foreign territory for years. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly through the minds of these men floated a menace. Like the small + soft-speaking boss the ward gripped its fist conclusively. Through the + streets and alleys ran a cry, a warning. Like birds of prey disturbed in + their nesting places they fluttered, uttering cries. Throwing his stogie + into the gutter Henry Hunt ran through the ward. From house to house he + uttered his cry—“Lay low! Pull off nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The little boss in his office at the front of his saloon looked from Henry + Hunt to the police official. “It is no time for hesitation,” he said. “It + will prove a boon if we act quickly. We have got to arrest and try that + murderer and do it now. Who is our man? Quick. Let's have action.” + </p> + <p> + Henry Hunt lighted a fresh stogie. He played nervously with the ends of + his fingers and wished he were out of the ward and safely out of range of + the prying eyes of the press. In fancy he could hear his daughter + screaming with horror at the sight of his name spread in glaring letters + before the world and thought of her with a flush of abhorrence on her + young face turning from him forever. In his terror his mind darted here + and there. A name sprang to his lips. “It might have been Andy Brown,” he + said, puffing at the stogie. + </p> + <p> + The little boss whirled his chair about. He began picking up the papers + scattered about his desk. When he spoke his voice was again soft and mild. + “It was Andy Brown,” he said. “Whisper the word about. Let a <i>Tribune</i> + man locate Brown for you. Handle this right and you will save your own + scalp and get the fool papers off the back of the First.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The arrest of Brown brought respite to the ward. The prediction of the + shrewd little boss made good. The newspapers dropped the clamorous cry for + reform and began demanding instead the life of Andrew Brown. Newspaper + artists rushed into police headquarters and made hurried sketches to + appear an hour later blazoned across the face of extras on the streets. + Grave scientific men got their pictures printed at the heads of articles + on “Criminal Characteristics of the Head and Face.” + </p> + <p> + An adept and imaginative writer for an afternoon paper spoke of Brown as a + Jekyll and Hyde of the Tenderloin and hinted at other murders by the same + hand. From the comparatively quiet life of a not markedly industrious + yeggman Brown came out of the upper floor of a State Street lodging house + to stand stoically before the world of men—a storm centre about + which swirled and eddied the wrath of an aroused city. + </p> + <p> + The thought that had flashed into the mind of Henry Hunt as he sat in the + office of the soft-voiced boss was the making of an opportunity for + McGregor. For months he and Andrew Brown had been friends. The yeggman, a + strongly built slow talking man, looked like a skilled mechanic of a + locomotive engineer. Coming into O'Toole's in the quiet hours between + eight and twelve he sat eating his evening meal and talking in a half + bantering humorous vein to the young lawyer. In his eyes lurked a kind of + hard cruelty tempered by indolence. It was he who gave McGregor the name + that still clings to him in that strange savage land—“Judge Mac, the + Big 'un.” + </p> + <p> + When he was arrested Brown sent for McGregor and offered to give him + charge of his case. When the young lawyer refused he was insistent. In a + cell at the county jail they talked it over. By the door stood a guard + watching them. McGregor peered into the half darkness and said what he + thought should be said. “You are in a hole,” he began. “You don't want me, + you want a big name. They're all set to hang you over there.” He waved his + hand in the direction of the First. “They're going to hand you over as an + answer to a stirred up city. It's a job for the biggest and best criminal + lawyer in town. Name the man and I'll get him for you and help raise the + money to pay him.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew Brown got up and walked to McGregor. Looking down at him he spoke + quickly and determinedly. “You do what I say,” he growled. “You take this + case. I didn't do the job. I was asleep in my room when it was pulled off. + Now you take the case. You won't clear me. It ain't in the cards. But you + get the job just the same.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again upon the iron cot at the corner of the cell. His voice + became slow and had in it a touch of cynical humour. “Look here, Big 'un,” + he said, “the gang's picked my number out of the hat. I'm going across but + there's good advertising in the job for some one and you get it.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The trial of Andrew Brown was both an opportunity and a test for McGregor. + For a number of years he had lived a lonely life in Chicago. He had made + no friends and his mind had not been confused by the endless babble of + small talk on which most of us subsist. Evening after evening he had + walked alone through the streets and had stood at the door of the State + Street restaurant a solitary figure aloof from life. Now he was to be + drawn into the maelstrom. In the past he had been let alone by life. The + great blessing of isolation had been his and in his isolation he had + dreamed a big dream. Now the quality of the dream and the strength of its + hold upon him was to be tested. + </p> + <p> + McGregor was not to escape the influence of the life of his day. Deep + human passion lay asleep in his big body. Before the time of his Marching + Men he had yet to stand the most confusing of all the modern tests of men, + the beauty of meaningless women and the noisy clamour of success that is + equally meaningless. + </p> + <p> + On the day of his conversation with Andrew Brown in the old Cook County + jail on Chicago's North Side we are therefore to think of McGregor as + facing these tests. After the talk with Brown he walked along the street + and came to the bridge that led over the river into the loop district. In + his heart he knew that he was facing a fight and the thought thrilled him. + With a new lift to his shoulders he walked over the bridge. He looked at + the people and again let his heart be filled with contempt for them. + </p> + <p> + He wished that the fight for Brown were a fight with fists. Boarding a + west side car he sat looking out through the car window at the passing + crowd and imagined himself among them, striking right and left, gripping + throats, demanding the truth that would save Brown and set himself up + before the eyes of men. + </p> + <p> + When McGregor got to the Monroe Street millinery store it was evening and + Edith was preparing to go out to the evening meal. He stood looking at + her. In his voice rang a note of triumph. Out of his contempt for the men + and women of the underworld came boastfulness. “They have given me a job + they think I can't do,” he said. “I'm to be Brown's counsel in the big + murder case.” He put his hands on her frail shoulders and pulled her to + the light. “I'm going to knock them over and show them,” he boasted. “They + think they're going to hang Brown—the oily snakes. Well they didn't + count on me. Brown doesn't count on me. I'm going to show them.” He + laughed noisily in the empty shop. + </p> + <p> + At a little restaurant McGregor and Edith talked of the test he was to go + through. As he talked she sat in silence and looked at his red hair. + </p> + <p> + “Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart,” she said, thinking of + herself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + America is the land of murders. Day after day in cities and towns and on + lonely country roads violent death creeps upon men. Undisciplined and + disorderly in their way of life the citizens can do nothing. After each + murder they cry out for new laws which, when they are written into the + books of laws, the very lawmaker himself breaks. Harried through life by + clamouring demands, their days leave them no time for the quietude in + which thoughts grow. After days of meaningless hurry in the city they jump + upon trains or street cars and hurry through their favourite paper to the + ball game, the comic pictures and the market reports. + </p> + <p> + And then something happens. The moment arrives. A murder that might have + got a single column on an inner page of yesterday's paper today spreads + its terrible details over everything. + </p> + <p> + Through the streets hurry the restless scurrying newsboys, stirring the + crowds with their cries. The men who have passed impatiently the tales of + a city's shame snatch the papers and read eagerly and exhaustively the + story of a crime. + </p> + <p> + And into the midst of such a maelstrom of rumours, hideous impossible + stories and well-laid plans to defeat the truth, McGregor hurled himself. + Day after day he wandered through the vice district south of Van Buren + Street. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and saloon hangers-on looked at him + and smiled knowingly. As the days passed and he made no progress he became + desperate. One day an idea came to him. “I'll go to the good looking woman + at the settlement house,” he told himself. “She won't know who killed the + boy but she can find out. I'll make her find out.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In Margaret Ormsby McGregor was to know what was to him a new kind of + womanhood, something sure, reliant, hedged about and prepared as a good + soldier is prepared, to have the best of it in the struggle for existence. + Something he had not known was yet to make its cry to the man. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Ormsby like McGregor himself had not been defeated by life. She + was the daughter of David Ormsby, head of the great plough trust with + headquarters in Chicago, a man who because of a certain fine assurance in + his attitude toward life had been called “Ormsby the Prince” by his + associates. Her mother Laura Ormsby was small nervous and intense. + </p> + <p> + With a self-conscious abandonment, lacking just a shade of utter security, + Margaret Ormsby, beautiful in body and beautifully clad, went here and + there among the outcasts of the First Ward. She like all women was waiting + for an opportunity of which she did not talk even to herself. She was + something for the single-minded and primitive McGregor to approach with + caution. + </p> + <p> + Hurrying along a narrow street lined with cheap saloons McGregor went in + at the door of the settlement house and sat in a chair at a desk facing + Margaret Ormsby. He knew something of her work in the First Ward and that + she was beautiful and self-possessed. He was determined that she should + help him. Sitting in the chair and looking at her across the flat-top desk + he choked back into her throat the terse sentences with which she was wont + to greet visitors. + </p> + <p> + “It is all very well for you to sit there dressed up and telling me what + women in your position can do and can't do,” he said, “but I've come here + to tell you what you will do if you are of the kind that want to be + useful.” + </p> + <p> + The speech of McGregor was a challenge which Margaret, the modern daughter + of one of our modern great men, could not well let pass. Had she not + brazened out her timidity to go calmly among prostitutes and sordid + muttering drunkards, serene in her consciousness of business-like purpose? + “What is it you want?” she asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + “You have just two things that will help me,” said McGregor; “your beauty + and your virginity. These things are a kind of magnet, drawing the women + of the street to you. I know. I've heard them talk. + </p> + <p> + “There are women who come in here who know who it was killed that boy in + the passageway and why it was done,” McGregor went on. “You're a fetish + with these women. They are children and they come in here to look at you + as children peep around curtains at guests sitting in the parlour of their + houses. + </p> + <p> + “Well I want you to call these children into the room and let them tell + you family secrets. The whole ward here knows the story of that killing. + The air is filled with it. The men and women keep trying to tell me, but + they're afraid. The police have them scared and they half-tell me and then + run away like frightened animals. + </p> + <p> + “I want them to tell you. You don't count with the police down here. They + think you're too beautiful and too good to touch the real life of these + people. None of them—the bosses or the police—are watching + you. I'll keep kicking up dust and you get the information I want. You can + do the job if you're any good.” + </p> + <p> + After McGregor's speech the woman sat in silence and looked at him. For + the first time she had met a man who overwhelmed her and was in no way + diverted by her beauty nor her self-possession. A hot wave, half + anger, half admiration, swept over her. + </p> + <p> + McGregor stared at the woman and waited. “I've got to have facts,” he + said. “Give me the story and the names of those who know the story and + I'll make them tell. I have some facts now—got them by bullying a + girl and by choking a bartender in an alley. Now I want you in your way to + put me in the way of getting more facts. You make the women talk and tell + you and then you tell me.” + </p> + <p> + When McGregor had gone Margaret Ormsby got up from her desk in the + settlement house and walked across the city toward her father's office. + She was startled and frightened. In a moment and by the speech and manner + of this brutal young lawyer she had been made to realise that she was but + a child in the hands of the forces that played about her in the First + Ward. Her self-possession was shaken. “If they are children—these + women of the town—then I am a child, a child swimming with them in a + sea of hate and ugliness.” + </p> + <p> + A new thought came into her mind. “But he is no child—that McGregor. + He is a child of nothing. He stands on a rock unshaken.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to become indignant because of the blunt frankness of the man's + speech. “He talked to me as he would have talked to a woman of the + streets,” she thought. “He was not afraid to assume that at bottom we are + alike, just playthings in the hands of the man who dares.” + </p> + <p> + In the street she stopped and looked about. Her body trembled and she + realised that the forces about her had become living things ready to + pounce upon her. “Anyway, I will do what I can. I will help him. I will + have to do that,” she whispered to herself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The clearing of Andrew Brown made a sensation in Chicago. At the trial + McGregor was able to introduce one of those breath-taking dramatic + climaxes that catch the attention of the mob. At the tense dramatic moment + of the trial a frightened hush fell upon the court room and that evening + in their houses men turned instinctively from the reading of the papers to + look at their beloved sitting about them. A chill of fear ran over the + bodies of women. For a moment Beaut McGregor had given them a peep under + the crust of civilisation that awoke an age-old trembling in their hearts. + In his fervour and impatience McGregor had cried out, not against the + incidental enemies of Brown but against all modern society and its + formlessness. To the listeners it seemed that he shook mankind by the + throat and that by the power and purposefulness of his own solitary figure + he revealed the pitiful weakness of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + In the court room McGregor had sat, grim and silent, letting the State + build up its case. In his face was a challenge. His eyes looked out from + beneath swollen eyelids. For weeks he had been as tireless as a bloodhound + running through the First Ward and building his case. Policemen had seen + him emerge from alleyways at three in the morning, the soft spoken boss + hearing of his activities had eagerly questioned Henry Hunt, a bartender + in a dive on Polk Street had felt the grip of a hand at his throat and a + trembling girl of the town had knelt before him in a little dark room + begging protection from his wrath. In the court room he sat waiting and + watching. + </p> + <p> + When the special counsel for the State, a man of great name in the courts, + had finished his insistent persistent cry for the blood of the silent + unemotional Brown, McGregor acted. Springing to his feet he shouted + hoarsely across the silent court room to a large woman sitting among the + witnesses. “They have tricked you Mary,” he roared. “The tale about the + pardon after the excitement dies is a lie. They're stringing you. They're + going to hang Andy Brown. Get up there and tell the naked truth or his + blood be on your hands.” + </p> + <p> + A furor arose in the crowded court room. Lawyers sprang to their feet, + objecting, protesting. Above the noise arose a hoarse accusing voice. + “Keep Polk Street Mary and every woman from her place in here,” he + shouted. “They know who killed your man. Put them back there on the stand. + They'll tell. Look at them. The truth is coming out of them.” + </p> + <p> + The clamour in the room subsided. The silent red-haired attorney, the joke + of the case, had scored. Walking in the streets at night the words of + Edith Carson had come back into his brain, and with the help of Margaret + Ormsby he had been able to follow a clue given by her suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + In a moment he saw the message the women of the underworld, patrons of + O'Toole's, had been trying to convey to him. Polk Street Mary was the + sweetheart of Andy Brown. Now in the silent court room the voice of a + woman arose broken with sobs. To the listening crowd in the packed little + room came the story of the tragedy in the darkened house before which + stood the policeman idly swinging his night stick—the story of a + girl from an Illinois village procured and sold to the broker's son—of + the desperate struggle in the little room between the eager lustful man + and the frightened brave-hearted girl—of the blow with the chair in + the hands of the girl that brought death to the man—of the women of + the house trembling on the stairs and the body hastily pitched into the + passageway. + </p> + <p> + “They told me they would get Andy off when this blew over,” wailed the + woman. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + McGregor went out of the court room into the street. The glow of victory + was on him and he strode along with his heart beating high. His way led + over a bridge into the North Side and in his wanderings he passed the + apple warehouse where he had made his start in the city and where he had + fought with the German. When night came he walked in North Clark Street + and heard the newsboys shouting of his victory. Before him danced a new + vision, a vision of himself as a big figure in the city. Within himself he + felt the power to stand forth among men, to outwit them and outfight them, + to get for himself power and place in the world. + </p> + <p> + The miner's son was half drunk with the new sense of achievement that + swept in on him. Out of Clark Street he went and walked east along a + residence street to the lake. By the lake he saw a street of great houses + surrounded by gardens and the thought came that at some time he might have + such a house of his own. The disorderly clatter of modern life seemed very + far away. When he came to the lake he stood in the darkness thinking of + the useless rowdy of the mining town suddenly become a great lawyer in the + city and the blood ran swiftly through his body. “I am to be one of the + victors, one of the few who emerge,” he whispered to himself and with a + jump of the heart thought also of Margaret Ormsby looking at him with her + fine questioning eyes as he stood before the men in the court room and by + the force of his personality pushed his way through a fog of lies to + victory and truth. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Margaret Ormsby was a natural product of her age and of American social + life in our times. As an individual she was lovely. Although her father + David Ormsby the plough king had come up to his position and his wealth + out of obscurity and poverty and had known during his early life what it + was to stand face to face with defeat, he had made it his business to see + that his daughter had no such experience. The girl had been sent to + Vassar, she had been taught to catch the fine distinction between clothes + that are quietly and beautifully expensive and clothes that merely look + expensive, she knew how to enter a room and how to leave a room and had + also a strong well trained body and an active mind. Added to these things + she had, without the least knowledge of life, a vigorous and rather high + handed confidence in her ability to meet life. + </p> + <p> + During the years spent in the eastern college Margaret had made up her + mind that whatever happened she was not going to let her life be dull or + uninteresting. Once when a girl friend from Chicago came to the college to + visit her the two went for a day out of doors and sat down upon a hillside + to talk things over. “We women have been fools,” Margaret had declared. + “If Father and Mother think that I am going to come home and marry some + stick of a man they are mistaken. I have learned to smoke cigarettes and + have had my share of a bottle of wine. That may not mean anything to you. + I do not think it amounts to much either but it expresses something. It + fairly makes me ill when I think of how men have always patronised women. + They want to keep evil things away from us—Bah! I am sick of that + idea and a lot of the other girls here feel the same way. What right have + they? I suppose some day some little whiffit of a business man will set + himself up to take care of me. He had better not. I tell you there is a + new kind of women growing up and I am going to be one of them. I am going + to adventure, to taste life strongly and deeply. Father and Mother might + as well make up their minds to that.” + </p> + <p> + The excited girl had walked up and down before her companion, a mild + looking young woman with blue eyes, and had raised her hands above her + head as though to strike a blow. Her body was like the body of a fine + young animal standing alert to meet an enemy and her eyes reflected the + intoxication of her mood. “I want all of life,” she cried; “I want the + lust and the strength and the evil of it. I want to be one of the new + women, the saviours of our sex.” + </p> + <p> + Between David Ormsby and his daughter there was an unusual bond. Six foot + three, blue eyed, broad shouldered, his presence had a strength and + dignity which marked him out among men and the daughter sensed his + strength. She was right in that. In his way the man was inspired. Under + his eye the trivialities of plough-making had become the details of a fine + art. In the factory he never lost the air of command which inspires + confidence. Foremen running into the office filled with excitement because + of a break in the machinery or an accident to a workman returned to do his + bidding quietly and efficiently. Salesmen going from village to village to + sell ploughs became under his influence filled with the zeal of + missionaries carrying the gospel to the unenlightened. Stockholders of the + plough company rushing to him with rumours of coming business disaster + stayed to write checks for new assessments on their stock. He was a man + who gave men back their faith in business and their faith in men. + </p> + <p> + To David plough-making was an end in life. Like other men of his type he + had other interests but they were secondary. In secret he thought of + himself as capable of a broader culture than most of his daily associates + and without letting it interfere with his efficiency tried to keep in + touch with the thoughts and movements of the world by reading. After the + longest and hardest day in the office he sometimes spent half the night + over a book in his room. + </p> + <p> + As Margaret Ormsby grew into womanhood she was a constant source of + anxiety to her father. To him it seemed that she had passed from an + awkward and rather jolly girlhood into a peculiarly determined new kind of + womanhood over night. Her adventurous spirit worried him. One day he had + sat in his office reading a letter announcing her homecoming. The letter + seemed no more than a characteristic outburst from an impulsive girl who + had but yesterday fallen asleep at evening in his arms. It confused him to + think that an honest ploughmaker should have a letter from his little girl + talking of the kind of living that he believed could only lead a woman to + destruction. + </p> + <p> + And then the next day there sat beside him at his table a new and + commanding figure demanding his attention. David got up from the table and + hurried away to his room. He wanted to readjust his thoughts. On his desk + was a photograph brought home by the daughter from school. He had the + common experience of being told by the photograph what he had been trying + to grasp. Instead of a wife and child there were two women in the house + with him. + </p> + <p> + Margaret had come out of college a thing of beauty in face and figure. Her + tall straight well-trained body, her coal-black hair, her soft brown eyes, + the air she had of being prepared for life's challenge caught and held the + attention of men. There was in the girl something of her father's bigness + and not a little of the secret blind desires of her mother. To an + attentive household on the night of her arrival she announced her + intention of living her life fully and vividly. “I am going to know things + I can not get from books,” she said. “I am going to touch life at many + corners, getting the taste of things in my mouth. You thought me a child + when I wrote home saying that I wouldn't be cooped up in the house and + married to a tenor in the church choir or to an empty-headed young + business man but now you are going to see. I am going to pay the price if + necessary, but I am going to live.” + </p> + <p> + In Chicago Margaret set about the business of living as though nothing + were needed but strength and energy. In a characteristic American way she + tried to hustle life. When the men in her own set looked confused and + shocked by the opinions she expressed she got out of her set and made the + common mistake of supposing that those who do not work and who talk rather + glibly of art and of freedom are by that token free men and artists. + </p> + <p> + Still she loved and respected her father. The strength in him made an + appeal to the native strong-thing in her. To a young socialist writer who + lived in the settlement house where she presently went to live and who + sought her out to sit by her desk berating men of wealth and position she + showed the quality of her ideals by pointing to David Ormsby. “My father, + the leader of an industrial trust, is a better man than all of the noisy + reformers that ever lived,” she declared. “He makes ploughs anyway—makes + them well—millions of them. He does not spend his time talking and + running his fingers through his hair. He works and his work has lightened + the labours of millions while the talkers sit thinking noisy thoughts and + getting round-shouldered.” + </p> + <p> + In truth Margaret Ormsby was puzzled. Had she been allowed by a common + fellowship in living to be a real sister to all other women and to know + their common heritage of defeat, had she like her father when he was a boy + but known what it was to walk utterly broken and beaten in the face of men + and then to rise again and again to battle with life she would have been + splendid. + </p> + <p> + She did not know. To her mind any kind of defeat had in it a touch of + something like immorality. When she saw all about her only a vast mob of + defeated and confused human beings trying to make headway in the midst of + a confused social organisation she was beside herself with impatience. + </p> + <p> + The distraught girl turned to her father and tried to get hold of the + keynote of his life; “I want you to tell me things,” she said, but the + father not understanding only shook his head. It did not occur to him to + talk to her as to a fine man friend and a kind of bantering half serious + companionship sprang up between them. The ploughmaker was happy in the + thought that the jolly girl he had known before his daughter went to + college had come back to live with him. + </p> + <p> + After Margaret went to the settlement house she lunched with her father + almost every day. The hour together in the midst of the din that filled + their lives became for them both a treasured privilege. Day after day they + sat for an hour in a fashionable down-town eating place renewing and + strengthening their comradeship, laughing and talking amid the crowds, + delightful in their intimacy. With each other they playfully took on the + air of the two men of affairs, each in turn treating the work of the other + as something to be passed over lightly. Secretly neither believed as he + talked. + </p> + <p> + In her effort to get hold of and move the sordid human wrecks floating in + and out of the door of the settlement house Margaret thought of her father + at his desk directing the making of ploughs. “It is clean and important + work,” she thought. “He is a big and effective man.” + </p> + <p> + At his desk in the office of the plough trust David thought of his + daughter in the settlement house at the edge of the First Ward. “She is a + white shining thing amid dirt and ugliness,” he thought “Her whole life is + like the life of her mother during the hours when she once lay bravely + facing death for the sake of a new life.” + </p> + <p> + On the day of her meeting with McGregor, father and daughter sat as usual + in the restaurant. Men and women passed up and down the long carpeted + aisles and looked at them admiringly. A waiter stood at Ormsby's shoulder + anxious for the generous tip. Into the air that hung over them, the little + secret atmosphere of comradeship they cherished so carefully, was thrust + the sense of a new personality. Floating in Margaret's mind beside the + quiet noble face of her father, with its stamp of ability and kindliness, + was another face—the face of the man who had talked to her in the + settlement house, not as Margaret Ormsby daughter of David Ormsby of the + plough trust but as a woman who could serve his ends and whom he meant + should serve. The vision in her mind haunted her and she listened + indifferently to the talk of her father. She felt that the stern face of + the young lawyer with its strong mouth and its air of command was as + something impending and tried to get back the feeling of dislike she had + felt when first he thrust himself in at the settlement house door. She + succeeded only in recalling certain firm lines of purpose that offset and + tempered the brutality of his face. + </p> + <p> + Sitting there in the restaurant opposite her father, where day after day + they had tried so hard to build a real partnership in existence, Margaret + suddenly burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “I have met a man who has compelled me to do what I did not want to do,” + she explained to the astonished man and then smiled at him through the + tears that glistened in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + In Chicago the Ormsbys lived in a large stone house in Drexel Boulevard. + The house had a history. It was owned by a banker who was a large + stockholder and one of the directors of the plough trust. Like all men who + knew him well the banker admired and respected the ability and integrity + of David Ormsby. When the ploughmaker came to the city from a town in + Wisconsin to be the master of the plough trust he offered him the house to + use. + </p> + <p> + The house had come to the banker from his father, a grim determined old + money-making merchant of a past generation who had died hated by half + Chicago after toiling sixteen hours daily for sixty years. In his old age + the merchant had built the house to express the power wealth had given + him. It had floors and woodwork cunningly wrought of expensive woods by + workmen sent to Chicago by a firm in Brussels. In the long drawing room at + the front of the house hung a chandelier that had cost the merchant ten + thousand dollars. The stairway leading to the floor above was from the + palace of a prince in Venice and had been bought for the merchant and + brought over seas to the house in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + The banker who inherited the house did not want to live in it. Even before + the death of his father and after his own unsuccessful marriage he lived + at a down town club. In his old age the merchant, retired from business, + lived in the house with another old man, an inventor. He could not rest + although he had given up business with that end in view. Digging a trench + in the lawn at the back of the house he with his friend spent his days + trying to reduce the refuse of one of his factories to something having + commercial value. Fires burned in the trench and at night the grim old + man, hands covered with tar, sat in the house under the chandelier. After + the death of the merchant the house stood empty, staring at passers-by in + the street, its walks and paths overgrown with weeds and rank grass. + </p> + <p> + David Ormsby fitted into his house. Walking through the long halls or + sitting smoking his cigar in an easy chair on the wide lawn he looked + arrayed and environed. The house became a part of him like a well-made and + intelligently worn suit of clothes. Into the drawing room under the ten + thousand dollar chandelier he moved a billiard table and the click of + ivory balls banished the churchliness of the place. + </p> + <p> + Up and down the stairway moved American girls, friends of Margaret, their + skirts rustling and their voices running through the huge rooms. In the + evening after dinner David played billiards. The careful calculation of + the angles and the English interested him. Playing in the evening with + Margaret or with a man friend the fatigue of the day passed and his honest + voice and reverberating laugh brought a smile to the lips of people + passing in the street. In the evening David brought his friends to sit in + talk with him on the wide verandas. At times he went alone to his room at + the top of the house and buried himself in books. On Saturday evenings he + had a debauch and with a group of friends from town sat at a card table in + the long parlour playing poker and drinking highballs. + </p> + <p> + Laura Ormsby, Margaret's mother, had never seemed a real part of the life + about her. Even as a child the daughter had thought her hopelessly + romantic. Life had treated her too well and from every one about her she + expected qualities and reactions which in her own person she would not + have tried to achieve. + </p> + <p> + David had already begun to rise when he married her, the slender + brown-haired daughter of a village shoemaker, and even in those days the + little plough company with its ownership scattered among the merchants and + farmers of the vicinity had started under his hand to make progress in the + state. People already spoke of its master as a coming man and of Laura as + the wife of a coming man. + </p> + <p> + To Laura this was in some way unsatisfactory. Sitting at home and doing + nothing she had still a passionate wish to be known as a character, an + individual, a woman of action. On the street as she walked beside her + husband, she beamed upon people but when the same people spoke, calling + them a handsome couple, a flush rose to her cheeks and a flash of + indignation ran through her brain. + </p> + <p> + Laura Ormsby lay awake in her bed at night thinking of her life. She had a + world of fancies in which she at such times lived. In her dream world a + thousand stirring adventures came to her. She imagined a letter received + through the mail, telling of an intrigue in which David's name was coupled + with that of another woman and lay abed quietly hugging the thought. She + looked at the face of the sleeping David tenderly. “Poor hard-pressed + boy,” she muttered. “I shall be resigned and cheerful and lead him gently + back to his old place in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning after a night spent in this dream world Laura looked at + David, so cool and efficient, and was irritated by his efficiency. When he + playfully dropped his hand upon her shoulder she drew away and sitting + opposite him at breakfast watched him reading the morning paper all + unconscious of the rebel thoughts in her mind. + </p> + <p> + Once after she had moved to Chicago and after Margaret's return from + college Laura had the faint suggestion of an adventure. Although it turned + out tamely it lingered in her mind and in some way sweetened her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + She was alone on a sleeping car coming from New York. A young man sat in a + seat opposite her and the two fell into talk. As she talked Laura imagined + herself eloping with the young man and under her lashes looked sharply at + his weak and pleasant face. She kept the talk alive as others in the car + crawled away for the night behind the green swaying curtains. + </p> + <p> + With the young man Laura discussed ideas she had got from reading Ibsen + and Shaw. She grew bold and daring in the advancing of opinions and tried + to stir the young man to some overt speech or action that might arouse her + indignation. + </p> + <p> + The young man did not understand the middle-aged woman who sat beside him + and talked so boldly. He knew of but one prominent man named Shaw and that + man had been governor of Iowa and later a member of the cabinet of + President McKinley. It startled him to think that a prominent member of + the Republican party should have such thoughts or express such opinions. + He talked of fishing in Canada and of a comic opera he had seen in New + York and at eleven o'clock yawned and disappeared behind the green + curtains. As the young man lay in his berth he muttered to himself, “Now + what did that woman want?” A thought came into his mind and he reached up + to where his trousers swung in a little hammock above the window and + looked to see that his watch and pocket-book were still there. + </p> + <p> + At home Laura Ormsby nursed the thought of the talk with the strange man + on the train. In her mind he became something romantic and daring, a + streak of light across what she was pleased to think of as her sombre + life. + </p> + <p> + Sitting at dinner she talked of him describing his charms. “He had a + wonderful mind and we sat late into the night talking,” she said, watching + the face of David. + </p> + <p> + When she had spoken Margaret looked up and said laughingly, “Have a heart + Dad. Here is romance. Do not be blind to it. Mother is trying to scare you + about an alleged love affair.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + One evening three weeks after the great murder trial McGregor took a long + walk in the streets of Chicago and tried to plan out his life. He was + troubled and disconcerted by the event that had crowded in upon the heels + of his dramatic success in the court room and more than troubled by the + fact that his mind constantly played with the dream of having Margaret + Ormsby as his wife. In the city he had become a power and instead of the + names and the pictures of criminals and keepers of disorderly houses his + name and his picture now appeared on the front pages of newspapers. Andrew + Leffingwell, the political representative in Chicago of a rich and + successful publisher of sensational newspapers, had visited him in his + office and had proposed to make him a political figure in the city. Finley + a noted criminal lawyer had offered him a partnership. The lawyer, a small + smiling man with white teeth, had not asked McGregor for an immediate + decision. In a way he had taken the decision for granted. Smiling genially + and rolling a cigar across McGregor's desk he had spent an hour telling + stories of famous court room triumphs. + </p> + <p> + “One such triumph is enough to make a man,” he declared. “You have no idea + how far such a success will carry you. The word of it keeps running + through men's minds. A tradition is built up. The remembrance of it acts + upon the minds of jurors. Cases are won for you by the mere connection of + your name with the case.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor walked slowly and heavily through the streets without seeing the + people. In Wabash Avenue near Twenty-third Street he stopped in a saloon + and drank beer. The saloon was in a room below the level of the sidewalk + and the floor was covered with sawdust. Two half drunken labourers stood + by the bar quarrelling. One of the labourers who was a socialist + continually cursed the army and his words started McGregor to thinking of + the dream he had so long held and that now seemed fading. “I was in the + army and I know what I am talking about,” declared the socialist. “There + is nothing national about the army. It is a privately owned thing. Here it + is secretly owned by the capitalists and in Europe by the aristocracy. + Don't tell me—I know. The army is made up of bums. If I'm a bum I + became one then. You will see fast enough what fellows are in the army if + the country is ever caught and drawn into a great war.” + </p> + <p> + Becoming excited the socialist raised his voice and pounded on the bar. + “Hell, we don't know ourselves at all,” he cried. “We never have been + tested. We call ourselves a great nation because we are rich. We are like + a fat boy who has had too much pie. Yes sir—that's what we are here + in America and as far as our army goes it is a fat boy's plaything. Keep + away from it.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor sat in the corner of the saloon and looked about. Men came in and + went out at the door. A child carried a pail down the short flight of + steps from the street and ran across the sawdust floor. Her voice, thin + and sharp, pierced through the babble of men's voices. “Ten cents' worth—give + me plenty,” she pleaded, raising the pail above her head and putting it on + the bar. + </p> + <p> + The confident smiling face of Finley the lawyer came back into McGregor's + mind. Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the lawyer looked + upon men as pawns in a great game and like the ploughmaker his intentions + were honourable and his purpose clear. He was intent upon making much of + his life, being successful. If he played the game on the side of the + criminal that was but a chance. Things had fallen out so. In his mind was + something else—the expression of his own purpose. + </p> + <p> + McGregor rose and went out of the saloon. In the street men stood about in + groups. At Thirty-ninth Street a crowd of youths scuffling on the sidewalk + pushed against the tall muttering man who passed with his hat in his hand. + He began to feel that he was in the midst of something too vast to be + moved by the efforts of any one man. The pitiful insignificance of the + individual was apparent. As in a long procession the figures of the + individuals who had tried to rise out of the ruck of American life passed + before him. With a shudder he realised that for the most part the men + whose names filled the pages of American history meant nothing. The + children who read of their deeds were unmoved. Perhaps they had only + increased the disorder. Like the men passing in the street they went + across the face of things and disappeared into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Finley and Ormsby are right,” he whispered. “They get what they + can, they have the good sense to know that life runs quickly like a flying + bird passing an open window. They know that if a man thinks of anything + else he is likely to become another sentimentalist and spend his life + being hypnotised by the wagging of his own jaw.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In his wanderings McGregor came to an out-of-door restaurant and garden + far out on the south side. The garden had been built for the amusement of + the rich and successful. Upon a little platform a band played. Although + the garden was walled about it was open to the sky and above the laughing + people seated at the tables shone the stars. + </p> + <p> + McGregor sat alone at a little table on a balcony beneath a shaded light. + Below him along a terrace were other tables occupied by men and women. On + a platform in the centre of the garden dancers appeared. + </p> + <p> + McGregor who had ordered a dinner left it untouched. A tall graceful girl, + strongly suggestive of Margaret Ormsby, danced upon the platform. With + infinite grace her body gave expression to the movements of the dance and + like a thing blown by the wind she moved here and there in the arms of her + partner, a slender youth with long black hair. In the figure of the + dancing woman there was expressed much of the idealism man has sought to + materialise in women and McGregor was thrilled by it. A sensualism so + delicate that it did not appear to be sensualism began to invade him. With + a new hunger he looked forward to the time when he would again see + Margaret. + </p> + <p> + Upon the platform in the garden appeared other dancers. The lights at the + tables were turned low. From the darkness laughter arose. McGregor stared + about. The people seated at the tables on the terrace caught and held his + attention and he began looking sharply at the faces of the men. How + cunning they were, these men who had been successful in life. Were they + not after all the wise men? Behind the flesh that had grown so thick upon + their bones what cunning eyes. There was a game of life and they had + played it. The garden was a part of the game. It was beautiful and did not + all that was beautiful in the world end by serving them? The arts of men, + the thoughts of men, the impulses toward loveliness that came into the + minds of men and women, did not all these things work solely to lighten + the hours of the successful? The eyes of the men at the tables as they + looked at the women who danced were not too greedy. They were filled with + assurance. Was it not for them that the dancers turned here and there + revealing their grace? If life was a struggle had they not been successful + in the struggle? + </p> + <p> + McGregor arose from the table and left his food untouched. Near the + entrance to the gardens he stopped and leaning against a pillar looked + again at the scene before him. Upon the platform appeared a whole troupe + of women-dancers. They were dressed in many-coloured garments and danced a + folk dance. As McGregor watched a light began to creep back into his eyes. + The women who now danced were unlike her who had reminded him of Margaret + Ormsby. They were short of stature and there was something rugged in their + faces. Back and forth across the platform they moved in masses. By their + dancing they were striving to convey a message. A thought came to + McGregor. “It is the dance of labour,” he muttered. “Here in this garden + it is corrupted but the note of labour is not lost. There is a hint of it + left in these figures who toil even as they dance.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor moved away from the shadows of the pillar and stood, hat in hand, + beneath the garden lights waiting as though for a call out of the ranks of + the dancers. How furiously they worked. How the bodies twisted and + squirmed. Out of sympathy with their efforts sweat appeared on the face of + the man who stood watching. “What a storm must be going on just below the + surface of labour,” he muttered. “Everywhere dumb brutalised men and women + must be waiting for something, not knowing what they want. I will stick to + my purpose but I will not give up Margaret,” he said aloud, turning and + half running out of the garden and into the street. + </p> + <p> + In his sleep that night McGregor dreamed of a new world, a world of soft + phrases and gentle hands that stilled the rising brute in man. It was a + world-old dream, the dream out of which such women as Margaret Ormsby have + been created. The long slender hands he had seen lying on the desk in the + settlement house now touched his hands. Uneasily he rolled about in bed + and desire came to him so that he awakened. On the Boulevard people still + passed up and down. McGregor arose and stood in the darkness by the window + of his room watching. A theatre had just spat forth its portion of richly + dressed men and women and when he had opened the window the voices of the + women came clear and sharp to his ears. + </p> + <p> + The distracted man stared into the darkness and his blue eyes were + troubled. The vision of the disordered and disorganised band of miners + marching silently in the wake of his mother's funeral into whose lives he + by some supreme effort was to bring order was disturbed and shattered by + the more definite and lovely vision that had come to him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + During the days since she had seen McGregor Margaret had thought of him + almost constantly. She weighed and balanced her own inclinations and + decided that if the opportunity came she would marry the man whose force + and courage had so appealed to her. She was half disappointed that the + opposition she had seen in her father's face when she had told him of + McGregor and had betrayed herself by her tears did not become more active. + She wanted to fight, to defend the man she had secretly chosen. When + nothing was said of the matter she went to her mother and tried to + explain. “We will have him here,” the mother said quickly. “I am giving a + reception next week. I will make him the chief figure. Let me have his + name and address and I will attend to the matter.” + </p> + <p> + Laura arose and went into the house. A shrewd gleam came into her eyes. + “He will act like a fool before our people,” she told herself. “He is a + brute and will be made to look like a brute.” She could not restrain her + impatience and sought out David. “He is a man to fear,” she said; “he + would stop at nothing. You must think of some way to put an end to + Margaret's interest in him. Do you know of a better plan than to have him + here where he will look the fool?” + </p> + <p> + David took the cigar from his lips. He felt annoyed and irritated that an + affair concerning Margaret had been brought forward for discussion. In his + heart he also feared McGregor. “Let it alone,” he said sharply. “She is a + woman grown and has more judgment and good sense than any other woman I + know.” He got up and threw the cigar over the veranda into the grass. + “Women are not understandable,” he half shouted. “They do inexplicable + things, have inexplicable fancies. Why do they not go forward along + straight lines like a sane man? I years ago gave up understanding you and + now I am being compelled to give up understanding Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + At Mrs. Ormsby's reception McGregor appeared arrayed in the black suit he + had purchased for his mother's funeral. His flaming red hair and rude + countenance arrested the attention of all. About him on all sides crackled + talk and laughter. As Margaret had been alarmed and ill at ease in the + crowded court room where a fight for life went on, so he among these + people who went about uttering little broken sentences and laughing + foolishly at nothing, felt depressed and uncertain. In the midst of the + company he occupied much the same position as a new and ferocious animal + safely caught and now on caged exhibition. They thought it clever of Mrs. + Ormsby to have him and he was, in not quite the accepted sense, the lion + of the evening. The rumour that he would be there had induced more than + one woman to cut other engagements and come to where she could take the + hand of and talk with this hero of the newspapers, and the men shaking his + hand, looked at him sharply and wondered what power and what cunning lay + in him. + </p> + <p> + In the newspapers after the murder trial a cry had sprung up about the + person of McGregor. Fearing to print in full the substance of his speech + on vice, its ownership and its significance, they had filled their columns + with talk of the man. The huge Scotch lawyer of the Tenderloin was + proclaimed as something new and startling in the grey mass of the city's + population. Then as in the brave days that followed the man caught + irresistibly the imagination of writing men, himself dumb in written or + spoken words except in the heat of an inspired outburst when he expressed + perfectly that pure brute force, the lust for which sleeps in the souls of + artists. + </p> + <p> + Unlike the men the beautifully gowned women at the reception had no fear + of McGregor. They saw in him something to be tamed and conquered and they + gathered in groups to engage him in talk and return the inquiring stare in + his eyes. They thought that with such an unconquered soul about, life + might take on new fervour and interest. Like the women who sat playing + with toothpicks in O'Toole's restaurant, more than one of the women at + Mrs. Ormsby's reception had a half unconscious wish that such a man might + be her lover. + </p> + <p> + One after another Margaret brought forward the men and women of her world + to couple their names with McGregor's and try to establish him in the + atmosphere of assurance and ease that pervaded the house and the people. + He stood by the wall bowing and staring boldly about and thought that the + confusion and distraction of mind that had followed his first visit to + Margaret at the settlement house was being increased immeasurably with + every passing moment. He looked at the glittering chandelier on the + ceiling and at the people moving about—the men at ease, comfortable—the + women with wonderfully delicate expressive hands and with their round + white necks and shoulders showing above their gowns and a feeling of utter + helplessness pervaded him. Never before had he been in a company so + feminine. He thought of the beautiful women about him, seeing them in his + direct crude and forceful way merely as females at work among males, + carrying forward some purpose. “With all the softly suggestive sensuality + of their dress and their persons they must in some way have sapped the + strength and the purpose of these men who move among them so + indifferently,” he thought. Within himself he knew of nothing to set up as + a defence against what he believed such beauty must become to the man who + lived with it. Its power he thought must be something monumental and he + looked with admiration at the quiet face of Margaret's father, moving + among his guests. + </p> + <p> + McGregor went out of the house and stood in the half darkness on the + veranda. When Mrs. Ormsby and Margaret followed he looked at the older + woman and sensed her antagonism. The old love of battle swept in on him + and he turned and stood in silence looking at her. “The fine lady,” he + thought, “is no better than the women of the First Ward. She has an idea I + will surrender without a fight.” + </p> + <p> + Out of his mind went the fear of the assurance and stability of Margaret's + people that had almost overcome him in the house. The woman who had all + her life thought of herself as one waiting only the opportunity to appear + as a commanding figure in affairs made by her presence a failure of the + effort to submerge McGregor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the veranda stood the three people. McGregor the silent became the + talkative. Seized with one of the inspirations that were a part of his + nature he threw talk about, sparring and returning thrust for thrust with + Mrs. Ormsby. When he thought that the time had come for him to get at the + thing that was in his mind he went into the house and presently came out + carrying his hat. The quality of harshness that crept into his voice when + he was excited or determined startled Laura Ormsby. Looking down at her, + he said, “I am going to take your daughter for a walk in the street. I + want to talk with her.” + </p> + <p> + Laura hesitated and smiled uncertainly. She determined to speak out, to be + like the man crude and direct. When she had her mind fixed and ready + Margaret and McGregor were already half way down the gravel walk to the + gate and the opportunity to distinguish herself had passed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + McGregor walked beside Margaret, absorbed in thoughts of her. “I am + engaged in a work here,” he said, waving his hand vaguely toward the city. + “It is a big work and it takes a lot out of me. I have not come to see + you, because I've been uncertain. I've been afraid you would overcome me + and drive thoughts of the work out of my head.” + </p> + <p> + By the iron gate at the end of the gravel walk they turned and faced each + other. McGregor leaned against the brick wall and looked at her. “I want + you to marry me,” he said. “I think of you constantly. Thinking of you I + can only half do my work. I get to thinking that another man may come and + take you and I waste hour after hour being afraid.” + </p> + <p> + She put a trembling hand upon his arm and he thinking to check an attempt + at an answer before he had finished, hurried on. + </p> + <p> + “There are things to be said and understood between us before I can come + to you as a suitor. I did not think I should feel toward a woman as I feel + toward you and I have certain adjustments to make. I thought I could get + along without your kind of women. I thought you were not for me—with + the work I have thought out to do in the world. If you will not marry me + I'll be glad to know now so that I can get my mind straightened out.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder. The act was a kind + of acknowledgment of his right to talk to her so directly. She said + nothing. Filled with a thousand messages of love and tenderness she longed + to pour into his ear she stood in silence on the gravel path with her hand + on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + And then an absurd thing happened. The fear that Margaret might come to + some quick decision that would affect all of their future together made + McGregor frantic. He did not want her to speak and wished his own words + unsaid. “Wait. Not now,” he cried and threw up his hand intending to take + her hand. His fist struck the arm that lay on his shoulder and it in turn + knocked his hat flying into the road. McGregor started to run after it and + then stopped. He put his hand to his head and appeared lost in thought. + When he turned again to pursue the hat Margaret, unable longer to control + herself, shouted with laughter. + </p> + <p> + Hatless, McGregor walked up Drexel Boulevard in the soft stillness of the + summer night. He was annoyed at the outcome of the evening and in his + heart half wished that Margaret had sent him away defeated. His arms ached + to have her against his breast but his mind kept presenting one after + another the objections to marriage with her. “Men are submerged by such + women and forget their work,” he told himself. “They sit looking into the + soft brown eyes of their beloved, thinking of happiness. A man should go + about his work thinking of that. The fire that runs through the veins of + his body should light his mind. One wants to take the love of woman as an + end in life and the woman accepts that and is made happy by it.” He + thought with gratitude of Edith in her shop on Monroe Street. “I do not + sit in my room at night dreaming of taking her in my arms and pouring + kisses on her lips,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the door of her house Mrs. Ormsby had stood watching McGregor and + Margaret. She had seen them stop at the end of the walk. The figure of the + man was lost in shadows and that of Margaret stood alone, outlined against + a distant light. She saw Margaret's hand thrust out—was she + clutching his sleeve—and heard the murmur of voices. And then the + man precipitating himself into the street. His hat catapulted ahead of him + and a quick outburst of half-hysterical laughter broke the stillness. + </p> + <p> + Laura Ormsby was furious. Although she hated McGregor she could not bear + the thought that laughter should break the spell of romance. “She is just + like her father,” she muttered. “At least she might show some spirit and + not be like a wooden thing, ending her first talk with a lover with a + laugh like that.” + </p> + <p> + As for Margaret she stood in the darkness trembling with happiness. She + imagined herself going up the dark stairway to McGregor's office in Van + Buren Street where once she had gone to take him news of the murder case—laying + her hand upon his shoulder and saying, “Take me in your arms and kiss me. + I am your woman. I want to live with you. I am ready to renounce my people + and my world and to live your life for your sake.” Margaret, standing in + the darkness before the huge old house in Drexel Boulevard, imagined + herself with Beaut McGregor—living with him as his wife in a small + apartment over a fish market on a West Side street. Why a fish market she + could not have said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Edith Carson was six years older than McGregor and lived entirely within + herself. Hers was one of those natures that do not express themselves in + words. Although at his coming into the shop her heart beat high no colour + came to her cheeks and her pale eyes did not flash back into his a + message. Day after day she sat in her shop at work, quiet, strong in her + own kind of faith, ready to give her money, her reputation, and if need be + her life to the working out of her own dream of womanhood. She did not see + in McGregor the making of a man of genius as did Margaret and did not hope + to express through him a secret desire for power. She was a working woman + and to her he represented all men. In her secret heart she thought of him + merely as the man—her man. + </p> + <p> + And to McGregor Edith was companion and friend. He saw her sitting year + after year in her shop, putting money into the savings bank, keeping a + cheerful front before the world, never assertive, kindly, in her own way + sure of herself. “We could go on forever as we are now and she be none the + less pleased,” he told himself. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon after a particularly hard week of work he went out to her + place to sit in her little workroom and think out the matter of marrying + Margaret Ormsby. It was a quiet season in Edith's trade and she was alone + in the shop serving a customer. McGregor lay down upon the little couch in + the workroom. For a week he had been speaking to gatherings of workmen + night after night and later had sat in his own room thinking of Margaret. + Now on the couch with the murmur of voices in his ears he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + When he awoke it was late in the night and on the floor by the side of the + couch sat Edith with her fingers in his hair. + </p> + <p> + McGregor opened his eyes quietly and looked at her. He could see a tear + running down her cheek. She was staring straight ahead at the wall of the + room and by the dim light that came through a window he could see the + drawn cords of her little neck and the knot of mouse coloured hair on her + head. + </p> + <p> + McGregor closed his eyes quickly. He felt like one who has been aroused + out of sleep by a dash of cold water across his breast. It came over him + with a rush that Edith Carson had been expecting something from him—something + he was not prepared to give. + </p> + <p> + She got up after a time and crept quietly away into the shop and with a + great clatter and bustle he arose also and began calling loudly. He + demanded the time and complained about a missed appointment. Turning up + the gas, Edith walked with him to the door. On her face sat the old placid + smile. McGregor hurried away into the darkness and spent the rest of the + night walking in the streets. + </p> + <p> + The next day he went to Margaret Ormsby at the settlement house. With her + he used no art. Driving straight to the point he told her of the + undertaker's daughter sitting beside him on the eminence above Coal Creek, + of the barber and his talk of women on the park bench and how that had led + him to that other woman kneeling on the floor in the little frame house, + his fists in her hair and of Edith Carson whose companionship had saved + him from all of these. + </p> + <p> + “If you can't hear all of this and still want life with me,” he said, + “there is no future for us together. I want you. I'm afraid of you and + afraid of my love for you but still I want you. I've been seeing your face + floating above the audiences in the halls where I've been at work. I've + looked at babies in the arms of workingmen's wives and wanted to see my + babe in your arms. I care more for what I am doing than I do for you but I + love you.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor arose and stood over her. “I love you with my arms aching to + close about you, with my brain planning the triumph of the workers, with + all of the old perplexing human love that I had almost thought I would + never want. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear this waiting. I can't bear this not knowing so that I can + tell Edith. I can't have my mind filled with the need of you just as men + are beginning to catch the infection of an idea and are looking to me for + clear-headed leadership. Take me or let me go and live my life.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret Ormsby looked at McGregor. When she spoke her voice was as quiet + as the voice of her father telling a workman in the shop what to do with a + broken machine. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to marry you,” she said simply. “I am full of the thought of + it. I want you, want you so blindly that I think you can't understand.” + </p> + <p> + She stood up facing him and looked into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You must wait,” she said. “I must see Edith, I myself must do that. All + these years she has served you—she has had that privilege.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor looked across the table into the beautiful eyes of the woman he + loved. + </p> + <p> + “You belong to me even if I do belong to Edith,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I will see Edith,” Margaret answered again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + McGregor left the telling of the story of his love to Margaret. Edith + Carson who knew defeat so well and who had in her the courage of defeat + was to meet defeat at his hands through the undefeated woman and he let + himself forget the whole matter. For a month he had been trying to get + workingmen to take up the idea of the Marching Men without success and + after the talk with Margaret he kept doggedly at the work. + </p> + <p> + And then one evening something happened that aroused him. The Marching Men + idea that had become more than half intellectualised became again a + burning passion and the matter of his life with women got itself cleared + up swiftly and finally. + </p> + <p> + It was night and McGregor stood upon the platform of the Elevated Railroad + at State and Van Buren Streets. He had been feeling guilty concerning + Edith and had been intending to go out to her place but the scene in the + street below fascinated him and he remained standing, looking along the + lighted thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + For a week there had been a strike of teamsters in the city and that + afternoon there had been a riot. Windows had been smashed and several men + injured. Now the evening crowds gathered and speakers climbed upon boxes + to talk. Everywhere there was a great wagging of jaws and waving of arms. + McGregor grew reminiscent. Into his mind came the little mining town and + he saw himself again a boy sitting in the darkness on the steps before his + mother's bake shop and trying to think. Again in fancy he saw the + disorganised miners tumbling out of the saloon to stand on the street + swearing and threatening and again he was filled with contempt for them. + </p> + <p> + And then in the heart of the great western city the same thing happened + that had happened when he was a boy in Pennsylvania. The officials of the + city, having decided to startle the striking teamsters by a display of + force, sent a regiment of state troops marching through the streets. The + soldiers were dressed in brown uniforms. They were silent. As McGregor + looked down they turned out of Polk Street and came with swinging measured + tread up State Street past the disorderly mobs on the sidewalk and the + equally disorderly speakers on the curb. + </p> + <p> + McGregor's heart beat so that he nearly choked. The men in the uniforms, + each in himself meaning nothing, had become by their marching together all + alive with meaning. Again he wanted to shout, to run down into the street + and embrace them. The strength in them seemed to kiss, as with the kiss of + a lover, the strength within himself and when they had passed and the + disorderly jangle of voices broke out again he got on a car and went out + to Edith's with his heart afire with resolution. + </p> + <p> + Edith Carson's millinery shop was in the hands of a new owner. She had + sold out and fled. McGregor stood in the show room looking about him at + the cases filled with their feathery finery and at the hats along the + wall. The light from a street lamp that came in at the window started + millions of tiny motes dancing before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Out of the room at the back of the shop—the room where he had seen + the tears of suffering in Edith's eyes—came a woman who told him of + Edith's having sold the business. She was excited by the message she had + to deliver and walked past the waiting man, going to the screen door to + stand with her back to him and look up the street. + </p> + <p> + Out of the corners of her eyes the woman looked at him. She was a small + black-haired woman with two gleaming gold teeth and with glasses on her + nose. “There has been a lovers' quarrel here,” she told herself. + </p> + <p> + “I have bought the store,” she said aloud. “She told me to tell you that + she had gone.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor did not wait for more but hurried past the woman into the street. + In his heart was a feeling of dumb aching loss. On an impulse he turned + and ran back. + </p> + <p> + Standing in the street by the screen door he shouted hoarsely. “Where did + she go?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + The woman laughed merrily. She felt that she was getting with the shop a + flavour of romance and adventure very attractive to her. Then she walked + to the door and smiled through the screen. “She has only just left,” she + said. “She went to the Burlington station. I think she has gone West. I + heard her tell the man about her trunk. She has been around here for two + days since I bought the shop. I think she has been waiting for you to + come. You did not come and now she has gone and perhaps you won't find + her. She did not look like one who would quarrel with a lover.” + </p> + <p> + The woman in the shop laughed softly as McGregor hurried away. “Now who + would think that quiet little woman would have such a lover?” she asked + herself. + </p> + <p> + Down the street ran McGregor and raising his hand stopped a passing + automobile. The woman saw him seated in the automobile talking to a + grey-haired man at the wheel and then the machine turned and disappeared + up the street at a law-breaking pace. + </p> + <p> + McGregor had again a new light on the character of Edith Carson. “I can + see her doing it,” he told himself—“cheerfully telling Margaret that + it didn't matter and all the time planning this in the back of her head. + Here all of these years she has been leading a life of her own. The secret + longings, the desires and the old human hunger for love and happiness and + expression have been going on under her placid exterior as they have under + my own.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor thought of the busy days behind him and realised with shame how + little Edith had seen of him. It was in the days when his big movement of + The Marching Men was just coming into the light and on the night before he + had been in a conference of labour men who had wanted him to make a public + demonstration of the power he had secretly been building up. Every day his + office was filled with newspaper men who asked questions and demanded + explanations. And in the meantime Edith had been selling her shop to that + woman and getting ready to disappear. + </p> + <p> + In the railroad station McGregor found Edith sitting in a corner with her + face buried in the crook of her arm. Gone was the placid exterior. Her + shoulders seemed narrower. Her hand, hanging over the back of the seat in + front of her, was white and lifeless. + </p> + <p> + McGregor said nothing but snatched up the brown leather bag that sat + beside her on the floor and taking her by the arm led her up a flight of + stone steps to the street. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + In the Ormsby household father and daughter sat in the darkness on the + veranda. After Laura Ormsby's encounter with McGregor there had been + another talk between her and David. Now she had gone on a visit to her + home-town in Wisconsin and father and daughter sat together. + </p> + <p> + To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. “It is not a + matter of good sense,” he had said; “one can not pretend there is a + prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and may some + day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that will bring + either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret. He may end his + life in jail.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front door + of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the hearty + voice of David. “Come and sit out here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got up + and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart she + sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people. Her voice + trembled with alarm. “Come in,” she said, turning and leading the way into + the house. + </p> + <p> + The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and + called to David. “We want you in here with us,” he said harshly. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw its + light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I've made a mistake,” said McGregor. “I've been going on and on making a + mistake.” He turned to Margaret. “We didn't count on something here. There + is Edith. She isn't what we thought.” + </p> + <p> + Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt that + if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he loved to + seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over and then go + on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion. + </p> + <p> + To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She + also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also looked + at the floor. To herself she was saying, “He is going to take himself away + and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear him say that.” In + the doorway stood David. “He is going to give me back Margaret,” he + thought, and his heart danced with happiness. + </p> + <p> + McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. His + blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning them and + himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. “If I am clear-headed + now I shall go on with the dream,” he thought. “If I fail in this I shall + fail in everything.” Turning he took hold of the sleeve of David's coat + and pulled him across the room so that the two men stood together. Then he + looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to her he continued to stand thus + with his hand on her father's arm. The action caught David's fancy and a + thrill of admiration ran through him. “Here is a man,” he told himself. + </p> + <p> + “You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is + now and you see what it has done to her,” said McGregor. + </p> + <p> + The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky + white. McGregor threw up his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he said, “a man and woman can't live together for years and then + part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent. They find + they love each other. I've found out that though I want you, I love Edith. + She loves me. Look at her.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice came + the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. “Oh, we'll be + married, Margaret and I,” he said; “her beauty has won me. I follow + beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Edith and stood staring at her. + </p> + <p> + “You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we looked + into each other's eyes. We ached with it—each wanting the other. You + are made to endure. You would get over anything and be cheerful after a + while. You know that—don't you?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of Edith came up level with his own. + </p> + <p> + “Yes I know,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Ormsby jumped up from her chair, her eyes swimming. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” she cried. “I do not want you. I would never marry you now. You + belong to her. You are Edith's.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor's voice became soft and quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know,” he said; “I know! I know! But I want children. Look at + Edith. Do you think she could bear children to me?” + </p> + <p> + A change came over Edith Carson. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders + straightened. + </p> + <p> + “That's for me to say,” she cried, springing forward and clutching his + arm. “That is between me and God. If you intend to marry me come now and + do it. I was not afraid to give you up and I'm not afraid that I shall die + bearing children.” + </p> + <p> + Dropping McGregor's arm Edith ran across the room and stood before + Margaret. “How do you know you are more beautiful or can bear more + beautiful children?” she demanded. “What do you mean by beauty anyway? I + deny your beauty.” She turned to McGregor. “Look,” she cried, “she does + not stand the test.” + </p> + <p> + Pride swept over the woman that had come to life within the body of the + little milliner. With calm eyes she stared at the people in the room and + when she looked again toward Margaret there was a challenge in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Beauty has to endure,” she said swiftly. “It has to be daring. It has to + outlive long years of life and many defeats.” A hard look came into her + eyes as she challenged the daughter of wealth. “I had the courage to be + defeated and I have the courage to take what I want,” she said. “Have you + that courage? If you have take this man. You want him and so do I. Take + his arm and walk away with him. Do it now, here before my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret shook her head. Her body trembled and her eyes looked wildly + about. She turned to David Ormsby. “I did not know that life could be like + this,” she said. “Why didn't you tell me? She is right. I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + A light came into McGregor's eyes and he turned quickly about. “I see,” he + said, looking sharply at Edith, “you have also your purpose.” Turning + again he looked into the eyes of David. + </p> + <p> + “There is something to be decided here. It is perhaps the supreme test of + a man's life. One struggles to keep a thought in mind, to be impersonal, + to see that life has a purpose outside his own purpose. You have perhaps + made that struggle. You see I'm making it now. I'm going to take Edith and + go back to work.” + </p> + <p> + At the door McGregor stopped and put out his hand to David who took it and + looked at the big lawyer respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see you go,” said the ploughmaker briefly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to be going,” said McGregor, understanding that there was + nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind of + David Ormsby. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VI + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The Marching Men Movement was never a thing to intellectualise. For years + McGregor tried to get it under way by talking. He did not succeed. The + rhythm and swing that was at the heart of the movement hung fire. The man + passed through long periods of depression and had to drive himself + forward. And then after the scene with Margaret and Edith in the Ormsby + house came action. + </p> + <p> + There was a man named Mosby about whose figure the action for a time + revolved. He was bartender for Neil Hunt, a notorious character of South + State Street, and had once been a lieutenant in the army. Mosby was what + in modern society is called a rascal. After West Point and a few years at + some isolated army post he began to drink and one night during a debauch + and when half crazed by the dullness of his life he shot a private through + the shoulder. He was arrested and put on his honour not to escape but did + escape. For years he drifted about the world a haggard cynical figure who + got drunk whenever money came his way and who would do anything to break + the monotony of existence. + </p> + <p> + Mosby was enthusiastic about the Marching Men idea. He saw in it an + opportunity to worry and alarm his fellow men. He talked a union of + bartenders and waiters to which he belonged into giving the idea a trial + and in the morning they began to march up and down in the strip of + parkland that faced the lake at the edge of the First Ward. “Keep your + mouths shut,” commanded Mosby. “We can worry the officials of this town + like the devil if we work this right. When you are asked questions say + nothing. If the police try to arrest us we will swear we are only doing it + for the sake of exercise.” + </p> + <p> + Mosby's plan worked. Within a week crowds began to gather in the morning + to watch the Marching Men and the police started to make inquiry. Mosby + was delighted. He threw up his job as bartender and recruited a motley + company of young roughs whom he induced to practise the march step during + the afternoons. When he was arrested and dragged into court McGregor acted + as his lawyer and he was discharged. “I want to get these men out into the + open,” Mosby declared, looking very innocent and guileless. “You can see + for yourself that waiters and bartenders get pale and stoop-shouldered at + their work and as for these young roughs isn't it better for society to + have them out there marching about than idling in bar rooms and planning + God knows what mischief?” + </p> + <p> + A grin appeared over the face of the First Ward. McGregor and Mosby + organised another company of marchers and a young man who had been a + sergeant in a company of regulars was induced to help with the drilling. + To the men themselves it was all a joke, a game that appealed to the + mischievous boy in them. Everybody was curious and that gave the thing + tang. They grinned as they marched up and down. For a while they exchanged + gibes with the spectators but McGregor put a stop to that. “Be silent,” he + said, going about among the men during the rest periods. “That's the best + thing to do. Be silent and attend to business and your marching will be + ten times as effective.” + </p> + <p> + The Marching Men Movement grew. A young Jewish newspaper man, half rascal, + half poet, wrote a scare-head story for one of the Sunday papers + announcing the birth of the Republic of Labour. The story was illustrated + by a drawing showing McGregor leading a vast horde of men across an open + plain toward a city whose tall chimneys belched forth clouds of smoke. + Beside McGregor in the picture and arrayed in a gaudy uniform was Mosby + the ex-army officer. In the article he was called the war lord of “The + secret republic growing up within a great capitalistic empire.” + </p> + <p> + It had begun to take form—the movement of the Marching Men. Rumours + began to run here and there. There was a question in men's eyes. Slowly at + first it began to rumble through their minds. There was the tap of feet + clicking sharply on pavements. Groups formed, men laughed, the groups + disappeared only to again reappear. In the sun before factory doors men + stood talking, half understanding, beginning to sense the fact that there + was something big in the wind. + </p> + <p> + At first the movement did not get anywhere with the ranks of labour. There + would be a meeting, perhaps a series of meetings in one of the little + halls where labourers gather to attend to the affairs of their unions. + McGregor would speak. His voice harsh and commanding could be heard in the + streets below. Merchants came out of the stores and stood in the doorways + listening. Young fellows who smoked cigarettes stopped looking at passing + girls and gathered in crowds below the open windows. The slow working + brain of labour was being aroused. + </p> + <p> + After a time a few young men, fellows who worked at the saws in a box + factory and others who ran machines in a factory where bicycles were made, + volunteered to follow the lead of the men of the First Ward. On summer + evenings they gathered in vacant lots and marched back and forth looking + at their feet and laughing. + </p> + <p> + McGregor insisted upon the training. He never had any intention of letting + his Marching Men Movement become merely a disorganised band of walkers + such as we have all seen in many a labour parade. He meant that they + should learn to march rhythmically, swinging along like veterans. He was + determined that the thresh of feet should come finally to sing a great + song, carrying the message of a powerful brotherhood into the hearts and + brains of the marchers. + </p> + <p> + McGregor gave all of his time to the movement. He made a scant living by + the practice of his profession but gave it no thought. The murder case had + brought him other cases and he had taken a partner, a ferret-eyed little + man who worked out the details of what cases came to the firm and + collected the fees, half of which he gave to the partner who was intent + upon something else. Day after day, week after week, month after month, + McGregor went up and down the city, talking to workers, learning to talk, + striving to make his idea understood. + </p> + <p> + One evening in September he stood in the shadow of a factory wall watching + a group of men who marched in a vacant lot. The movement had become by + that time really big. A flame burned in his heart at the thought of what + it might become. It was growing dark and the clouds of dust raised by the + feet of the men swept across the face of the departing sun. In the field + before him marched some two hundred men, the largest company he had been + able to get together. For a week they had stayed at the marching evening + after evening and were beginning a little to understand the spirit of it. + Their leader on the field, a tall square shouldered man, had once been a + captain in the State Militia and now worked as engineer in a factory where + soap was made. His commands rang out sharp and crisp on the evening air. + “Fours right into line,” he cried. The words were barked forth. The men + straightened their shoulders and swung out vigorously. They had begun to + enjoy the marching. + </p> + <p> + In the shadow of the factory wall McGregor moved uneasily about. He felt + that this was the beginning, the real birth of his movement, that these + men had really come out of the ranks of labour and that in the breasts of + the marching figures there in the open space understanding was growing. + </p> + <p> + He muttered and walked back and forth. A young man, a reporter on one of + the city's great daily papers, leaped from a passing street car and came + to stand near him. “What's up here? What's this going on? What's it all + about? You better tell me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + In the dim light McGregor raised his fists above his head and talked + aloud. “It's creeping in among them,” he said. “The thing that can't be + put into words is getting itself expressed. Something is being done here + in this field. A new force is coming into the world.” + </p> + <p> + Half beside himself McGregor ran up and down swinging his arms. Again + turning to the reporter who stood by a factory wall—a rather + dandified figure he was with a tiny moustache—he shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see?” he cried. His voice was harsh. “See how they march! They + are finding out what I mean. They have caught the spirit of it!” + </p> + <p> + McGregor began to explain. He talked hurriedly, his words coming forth in + short broken sentences. “For ages there has been talk of brotherhood. + Always men have babbled of brotherhood. The words have meant nothing. The + words and the talking have but bred a loose-jawed race. The jaws of men + wabble about but the legs of these men do not wabble.” + </p> + <p> + He again walked up and down, dragging the half-frightened man along the + deepening shadow of the factory wall. + </p> + <p> + “You see it begins—now in this field it begins. The legs and the + feet of men, hundreds of legs and feet make a kind of music. Presently + there will be thousands, hundreds of thousands. For a time men will cease + to be individuals. They will become a mass, a moving all-powerful mass. + They will not put their thoughts into words but nevertheless there will be + a thought growing up in them. They will of a sudden begin to realise that + they are a part of something vast and mighty, a thing that moves, that is + seeking new expression. They have been told of the power of labour but + now, you see, they will become the power of labour.” + </p> + <p> + Swept along by his own words and perhaps by something rhythmical in the + moving mass of men McGregor became feverishly anxious that the dapper + young man should understand. “Do you remember—when you were a boy—some + man who had been a soldier telling you that the men who marched had to + break step and go in a disorderly mob across a bridge because their + orderly stride would have shaken the bridge to pieces?” + </p> + <p> + A shiver ran over the body of the young man. In his off hours he was a + writer of plays and stories and his trained dramatic sense caught quickly + the import of McGregor's words. Into his mind came a scene on a village + street of his own place in Ohio. In fancy he saw the village fife and drum + corps marching past. His mind recalled the swing and the cadence of the + tune and again as when he was a boy his legs ached to run out among the + men and go marching away. + </p> + <p> + Filled with excitement he began also to talk. “I see,” he cried; “you + think there is a thought in that, a big thought that men have not + understood?” + </p> + <p> + On the field the men, becoming bolder as they became less self-conscious, + came sweeping by, their bodies falling into a long swinging stride. + </p> + <p> + The young man pondered. “I see. I see. Every one who stood watching as I + did when the fife and drum corps went past felt what I felt. They were + hiding behind a mask. Their legs also tingled and the same wild militant + thumping went on in their hearts. You have found that out, eh? You mean to + lead labour that way?” + </p> + <p> + With open mouth the young man stared at the field and at the moving mass + of men. He became oratorical in his thoughts. “Here is a big man,” he + muttered. “Here is a Napoleon, a Caesar of labour come to Chicago. He is + not like the little leaders. His mind is not sicklied over with the pale + cast of thought. He does not think that the big natural impulses of men + are foolish and absurd. He has got hold of something here that will work. + The world had better watch this man.” + </p> + <p> + Half beside himself he walked up and down at the edge of the field, his + body trembling. + </p> + <p> + Out of the ranks of the marching men came a workman. In the field words + arose. A petulant quality came into the voice of the captain who gave + commands. The newspaper man listened anxiously. “That's what will spoil + everything. The men will begin to lose heart and will quit,” he thought, + leaning forward and waiting. + </p> + <p> + “I've worked all day and I can't march up and down here all night,” + complained the voice of the workman. + </p> + <p> + Past the shoulder of the young man went a shadow. Before his eyes on the + field, fronting the waiting ranks of men, stood McGregor. His fist shot + out and the complaining workman crumpled to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “This is no time for words,” said the harsh voice. “Get back in there. + This is not a game. It's the beginning of men's realisation of themselves. + Get in there and say nothing. If you can't march with us get out. The + movement we have started can pay no attention to whimperers.” + </p> + <p> + Among the ranks of men a cheer arose. By the factory wall the excited + newspaper man danced up and down. At a word of command from the captain + the line of marching men again swept down the field and he watched them + with tears standing in his eyes. “It's going to work,” he cried. “It's + bound to work. At last a man has come to lead the men of labor.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + John Van Moore a young Chicago advertising man went one afternoon to the + offices of the Wheelright Bicycle Company. The company had both its + factory and offices far out on the west side. The factory was a huge brick + affair fronted by a broad cement sidewalk and a narrow green lawn spotted + with flower beds. The building used for offices was smaller and had a + veranda facing the street. Up the sides of the office building vines grew. + </p> + <p> + Like the reporter who had watched the Marching Men in the field by the + factory wall John Van Moore was a dapper young man with a moustache. In + his leisure hours he played a clarinet. “It gives a man something to cling + to,” he explained to his friends. “One sees life going past and feels that + he is not a mere drifting log in the stream of things. Although as a + musician I amount to nothing, it at least makes me dream.” + </p> + <p> + Among the men in the advertising office where he worked Van Moore was + known as something of a fool, redeemed by his ability to string words + together. He wore a heavy black braided watch chain and carried a cane and + he had a wife who after marriage had studied medicine and with whom he did + not live. Sometimes on a Saturday evening the two met at some restaurant + and sat for hours drinking and laughing. When the wife had gone to her own + place the advertising man continued the fun, going from saloon to saloon + and making long speeches setting forth his philosophy of life. “I am an + individualist,” he declared, strutting up and down and swinging the cane + about. “I am a dabbler, an experimenter if you will. Before I die it is my + dream that I will discover a new quality in existence.” + </p> + <p> + For the bicycle company the advertising man was to write a booklet telling + in romantic and readable form the history of the company. When finished + the booklet would be sent out to those who had answered advertisements put + into magazines and newspapers. The company had a process of manufacture + peculiar to Wheelright bicycles and in the booklet this was to be much + emphasised. + </p> + <p> + The manufacturing process in regard to which John Van Moore was to wax + eloquent had been conceived in the brain of a workman and was responsible + for the company's success. Now the workman was dead and the president of + the company had decided that he would take credit for the idea. He had + thought a good deal of the matter and had decided that in truth the notion + must have been more than a little his own. “It must have been so,” he told + himself, “otherwise it would not have worked out so well.” + </p> + <p> + In the offices of the bicycle company the president, a grey gross man with + tiny eyes, walked up and down a long room heavily carpeted. In reply to + questions asked by the advertising man, who sat at a table with a pad of + paper before him, he raised himself on his toes, put a thumb in the + armhole of his vest and told a long rambling tale of which he was the + hero. + </p> + <p> + The tale concerned a purely imaginary young workman who spent all of the + earlier years of his life labouring terribly. At evening he ran quickly + from the shop where he was employed and going without sleep toiled for + long hours in a little garret. When the workman had discovered the secret + that made successful the Wheelright bicycle he opened a shop and began to + reap the reward of his efforts. + </p> + <p> + “That was me. I was that fellow,” cried the fat man who in reality had + bought his interest in the bicycle company after the age of forty. Tapping + himself on the breast he paused as though overcome with feeling. Tears + came into his eyes. The young workman had become a reality to him. “All + day I ran about the little shop crying 'Quality! Quality!' I do that now. + It is a fetish with me. I do not make bicycles for money but because I am + a workman with pride in my work. You may put that in the book. You may + quote me as saying that. A big point should be made of my pride in my + work.” The advertising man nodded his head and scribbled upon the pad of + paper. Almost he could have written the story without the visit to the + factory. When the fat man was not looking he turned his face to one side + and listened attentively. With a whole heart he wished the president would + go away and leave him alone to wander in the factory. + </p> + <p> + On the evening before, John Van Moore had taken part in an adventure. With + a companion, a fellow who drew cartoons for the daily papers, he had gone + into a saloon and there had met another man of the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + In the saloon the three men had sat until late into the night drinking and + talking. The second newspaper man—that same dapper fellow who had + watched the marchers by the factory wall—had told over and over the + story of McGregor and his Marchers. “I tell you there is something growing + up here,” he had said. “I have seen this McGregor and I know. You may + believe me or not but the fact is that he has found out something. There + is an element in men that up to now has not been understood—there is + a thought hidden away within the breast of labour, a big unspoken thought—it + is a part of men's bodies as well as their minds. Suppose this fellow has + figured that out and understands it, eh!” + </p> + <p> + Becoming more and more excited as he continued to drink the newspaper man + had been half wild in his conjectures as to what was to happen in the + world. Thumping with his fist upon a table wet with beer he had addressed + the writer of advertisements. “There are things that animals know that + have not been understood by men,” he cried. “Consider the bees. Have you + thought that man has not tried to work out a collective intellect? Why + should man not try to work that out?” + </p> + <p> + The newspaper man's voice became low and tense. “When you go into a + factory I want you to keep your eyes and your ears open,” he said. “Go + into one of the great rooms where many men are at work. Stand perfectly + still. Don't try to think. Wait.” + </p> + <p> + Jumping out of his seat the excited man had walked up and down before his + companions. A group of men standing before the bar listened, their glasses + held half way to their lips. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you there is already a song of labour. It has not got itself + expressed and understood but it is in every shop, in every field where men + work. In a dim way the men who work are conscious of the song although if + you talk of the matter they only laugh. The song is low harsh rhythmical. + I tell you it comes out of the very soul of labour. It is akin to the + thing that artists understand and that is called form. This McGregor + understands something of that. He is the first leader of labour that has + understood. The world shall hear from him. One of these days the world + shall ring with his name.” + </p> + <p> + In the bicycle factory John Van Moore looked at the pad of paper before + him and thought of the words of the half drunken man in the saloon. In the + great shop at his back there was the steady grinding roar of many + machines. The fat man, hypnotised by his own words, continued to walk up + and down telling of the hardship that had once confronted the imaginary + young workman and above which he had risen triumphant. “We hear much of + the power of labour but there has been a mistake made,” he said. “Such men + as myself—we are the power. Do you see we have come out of the mass? + We stand forth.” + </p> + <p> + Stopping before the advertising man and looking down the fat man winked. + “You do not need to say that in the book. There is no need of quoting me + there. Our bicycles are being bought by workingmen and it would be foolish + to offend them but what I say is nevertheless true. Do not such men as I, + with our cunning brains and our power of patience build these great modern + organisations?” + </p> + <p> + The fat man waved his arm toward the shops from which the roar of + machinery came. The advertising man absentmindedly nodded his head. He was + trying to hear the song of labour talked of by the drunken man. It was + quitting time and there was the sound of many feet moving about the floor + of the factory. The roar of the machinery stopped. + </p> + <p> + Again the fat man walked up and down talking of the career of the labourer + who had come forth from the ranks of labour. From the factory the men + began filing out into the open. There was the sound of feet scuffling + along the wide cement sidewalk past the flowerbeds. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden the fat man stopped. The advertising man sat with pencil + suspended above the paper. From the walk below sharp commands rang out. + Again the sound of men moving about came in through the windows. + </p> + <p> + The president of the bicycle company and the advertising man ran to the + window. There on the cement sidewalk stood the men of the company formed + into columns of fours and separated into companies. At the head of each + company stood a captain. The captains swung the men about. “Forward! + March!” they shouted. + </p> + <p> + The fat man stood with his mouth open and looked at the men. “What's going + on down there? What do you mean? Quit that!” he bawled. + </p> + <p> + A derisive laugh floated up through the window. + </p> + <p> + “Attention! Forward, guide right!” shouted a captain. + </p> + <p> + The men went swinging down the broad cement sidewalk past the window and + the advertising man. In their faces was something determined and grim. A + sickly smile flitted across the face of the grey-haired man and then + faded. The advertising man, without knowing just what was going on felt + that the older man was afraid. He sensed the terror in his face. In his + heart he was glad to see it. + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer began to talk excitedly. “Now what's this?” he demanded. + “What's going on? What kind of a volcano are we men of affairs walking + over? Haven't we had enough trouble with labour? What are they doing now?” + Again he walked up and down past the table where the advertising man sat + looking at him. “We'll let the book go,” he said. “Come to-morrow. Come + any time. I want to look into this. I want to find out what's going on.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the office of the bicycle company John Van Moore ran along the + street past stores and houses. He did not try to follow the Marching Men + but ran forward blindly, filled with excitement. He remembered the words + of the newspaper man about the song of labour, and was drunk with the + thought that he had caught the swing of it. A hundred times he had seen + men pouring out of factory doors at the end of the day. Always before they + had been just a mass of individuals. Each had been thinking of his own + affairs and each man had shuffled off into his own street and had been + lost in the dim alleyways between the tall grimy buildings. Now all of + this was changed. The men did not shuffle off alone but marched along the + street shoulder to shoulder. + </p> + <p> + A lump came also into the throat of this man and he like that other by the + factory wall began to say words. “The song of labour is here. It has begun + to get itself sung!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + John Van Moore was beside himself. The face of the fat man pale with + terror came back into his mind. On the sidewalk before a grocery store he + stopped and shouted with delight. Then he began dancing wildly about, + startling a group of children who with fingers in their mouths stood with + staring eyes watching. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + All through the early months of that year in Chicago, rumours of a new and + not understandable movement among labourers ran about among men of + affairs. In a way the labourers understood the undercurrent of terror + their marching together had inspired and like the advertising man dancing + on the sidewalk before the grocery were made happy by it. Grim + satisfaction dwelt in their hearts. Remembering their boyhoods and the + creeping terror that invaded their fathers' houses in times of depression + they were glad to spread terror among the homes of the rich and the + well-to-do. For years they had been going through life blindly, striving + to forget age and poverty. Now they felt that life had a purpose, that + they were marching toward some end. When in the past they had been told + that power dwelt in them they had not believed. “He is not to be trusted,” + thought the man at the machine looking at the man at work at the next + machine. “I have heard him talk and at bottom he is a fool.” + </p> + <p> + Now the man at the machine did not think of his brother at the next + machine. In his dreams at night he was beginning to have a new vision. + Power had breathed its message into his brain. Of a sudden he saw himself + as a part of a giant walking in the world. “I am like a drop of blood + running through the veins of labour,” he whispered to himself. “In my own + way I am adding strength to the heart and the brain of labour. I have + become a part of this thing that has begun to move. I will not talk but + will wait. If this marching is the thing then I will march. Though I am + weary at the end of the day that shall not stop me. Many times I have been + weary and was alone. Now I am a part of something vast. This I know, that + a consciousness of power has crept into my brain and although I be + persecuted I shall not surrender what I have gained.” + </p> + <p> + In the offices of the plough trust a meeting of men of affairs was called. + The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the movement going on among the + workers. At the plough works it had broken out. No more at evening did the + men shuffle along, like a disorderly mob but marched in companies along + the brick-paved street that ran by the factory door. + </p> + <p> + At the meeting David Ormsby had been as always quiet and self-possessed. A + halo of kindly intent hung over him and when a banker, one of the + directors of the company, had finished a speech he arose and walked up and + down, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. The banker was a fat man + with thin brown hair and delicate hands. As he talked he held a pair of + yellow gloves and beat with them on a long table at the centre of the + room. The soft thump of the gloves upon the table made a chorus to the + things he had to say. David motioned for him to be seated. “I will myself + go to see this McGregor,” he said, walking across the room and putting an + arm about the shoulder of the banker. “Perhaps there is as you say a new + and terrible danger here but I do not think so. For thousands, no doubt + for millions of years, the world has gone on its way and I do not think it + is to be stopped now. + </p> + <p> + “It has been my fortune to see and to know this McGregor,” added David + smiling at the others in the room. “He is a man and not a Joshua to make + the sun stand still.” + </p> + <p> + In the office in Van Buren Street, David, the grey and confident, stood + before the desk at which sat McGregor. “We will get out of here if you do + not mind,” he said. “I want to talk to you and I would not like being + interrupted. I have a fancy that we talk out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + The two men went in a street car to Jackson Park and, forgetting to dine, + walked for an hour along the paths under the trees. The wind from the lake + had chilled the air and the park was deserted. + </p> + <p> + They went to stand on a pier that ran out into the lake. On the pier David + tried to begin the talk that was the object of their being together but + felt that the wind and the water that beat against the piling of the pier + made talk too difficult. Although he could not have told why, he was + relieved by the necessity of delay. Into the park they went again and + found a seat upon a bench facing a lagoon. + </p> + <p> + In the presence of the silent McGregor David felt suddenly embarrassed and + awkward. “By what right do I question him?” he asked himself and in his + mind could find no answer. A half dozen times he started to say what he + had come to say but stopped and his talk ran off into trivialities. “There + are men in the world you have not taken into consideration,” he said + finally, forcing himself to begin. With a laugh he went on, relieved that + the silence had been broken. “You see the very inner secret of strong men + has been missed by you and others.” + </p> + <p> + David Ormsby looked sharply at McGregor. “I do not believe that you + believe we are after money, we men of affairs. I trust you see beyond + that. We have our purpose and we keep to our purpose quietly and + doggedly.” + </p> + <p> + Again David looked at the silent figure sitting in the dim light and again + his mind ran out, striving to penetrate the silence. “I am not a fool and + perhaps I know that the movement you have started among the workers is + something new. There is power in it as in all great ideas. Perhaps I think + there is power in you. Why else should I be here?” + </p> + <p> + Again David laughed uncertainly. “In a way I am in sympathy with you,” he + said. “Although all through my life I have served money I have not been + owned by it. You are not to suppose that men like me have not something + beyond money in mind.” + </p> + <p> + The old plough maker looked away over McGregor's shoulder to where the + leaves of the trees shook in the wind from the lake. “There have been men + and great leaders who have understood the silent competent servants of + wealth,” he said half petulantly. “I want you to understand these men. I + should like to see you become such a one yourself—not for the wealth + it would bring but because in the end you would thus serve all men. You + would get at truth thus. The power that is in you would be conserved and + used more intelligently.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, history has taken little or no account of the men of whom I + speak. They have passed through life unnoticed, doing great work quietly.” + </p> + <p> + The plough maker paused. Although McGregor had said nothing the older man + felt that the interview was not going as it should. “I should like to know + what you have in mind, what in the end you hope to gain for yourself or + for these men,” he said somewhat sharply. “There is after all no point to + our beating about the bush.” + </p> + <p> + McGregor said nothing. Arising from the bench he began again to walk along + the path with Ormsby at his side. + </p> + <p> + “The really strong men of the world have had no place in history,” + declared Ormsby bitterly. “They have not asked that. They were in Rome and + in Germany in the time of Martin Luther but nothing is said of them. + Although they do not mind the silence of history they would like other + strong men to understand. The march of the world is a greater thing than + the dust raised by the heels of some few workers walking through the + streets and these men are responsible for the march of the world. You are + making a mistake. I invite you to become one of us. If you plan to upset + things you may get yourself into history but you will not really count. + What you are trying to do will not work. You will come to a bad end.” + </p> + <p> + When the two men emerged from the park the older man had again the feeling + that the interview had not been a success. He was sorry. The evening he + felt had marked for him a failure and he was not accustomed to failures. + “There is a wall here that I cannot penetrate,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + Along the front of the park beneath a grove of trees they walked in + silence. McGregor seemed not to have heard the words addressed to him. + When they came to where a long row of vacant lots faced the park he + stopped and stood leaning against a tree to look away into the park, lost + in thought. + </p> + <p> + David Ormsby also became silent. He thought of his youth in the little + village plough factory, of his efforts to get on in the world, of the long + evenings spent reading books and trying to understand the movements of + men. + </p> + <p> + “Is there an element in nature and in youth that we do not understand or + that we lose sight of?” he asked. “Are the efforts of the patient workers + of the world always to be abortive? Can some new phase of life arise + suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of men like me + as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us individuality, the right to + stand forth, the right to work things out and to control?” + </p> + <p> + The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree. Again + he was irritated and kept lighting cigars which after two or three puffs + he threw away. In the bushes at the back of the bench insects began to + sing. The wind coming now in gentle gusts swayed slowly the branches of + the trees overhead. + </p> + <p> + “Is there an eternal youth in the world, a state out of which men pass + unknowingly, a youth that forever destroys, tearing down what has been + built?” he asked. “Are the mature lives of strong men of so little + account? Have you like the empty fields that bask in the sun in the summer + the right to remain silent in the presence of men who have had thoughts + and have tried to put their thoughts into deeds?” + </p> + <p> + Still saying nothing McGregor pointed with his finger along the road that + faced the park. From a side street a body of men swung about a corner, + coming with long strides toward the two. As they passed beneath a street + lamp that swung gently in the wind their faces flashing in and out of the + light seemed to be mocking David Ormsby. For a moment anger burned in him + and then something, perhaps the rhythm of the moving mass of men, brought + a gentler mood. The men swinging past turned another corner and + disappeared beneath the structure of an elevated railroad. + </p> + <p> + The ploughmaker walked away from McGregor. Something in the interview, + terminating thus with, the presence of the marching figures had he felt + unmanned him. “After all there is youth and the hope of youth. What he has + in mind may work,” he thought as he climbed aboard a street car. + </p> + <p> + In the car David put his head out at the window and looked at the long + line of apartment buildings that lined the streets. He thought again of + his own youth and of the evenings in the Wisconsin village when, himself a + youth, he went with other young men singing and marching in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + In a vacant lot he again saw a body of the Marching Men moving back and + forth and responding quickly to the commands given by a slender young man + who stood on the sidewalk beneath a street lamp and held a stick in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + In the car the grey-haired man of affairs put his head down upon the back + of the seat in front. Half unconscious of his own thoughts his mind began + to dwell upon the figure of his daughter. “Had I been Margaret I should + not have let him go. No matter what the cost I should have clung to the + man,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + It is difficult not to be of two minds about the manifestation now called, + and perhaps rightly, “The Madness of the Marching Men.” In one mood it + comes back to the mind as something unspeakably big and inspiring. We go + each of us through the treadmill of our lives caught and caged like little + animals in some vast menagerie. In turn we love, marry, breed children, + have our moments of blind futile passion and then something happens. All + unconsciously a change creeps over us. Youth passes. We become shrewd, + careful, submerged in little things. Life, art, great passions, dreams, + all of these pass. Under the night sky the suburbanite stands in the + moonlight. He is hoeing his radishes and worrying because the laundry has + torn one of his white collars. The railroad is to put on an extra morning + train. He remembers that fact heard at the store. For him the night + becomes more beautiful. For ten minutes longer he can stay with the + radishes each morning. There is much of man's life in the figure of the + suburbanite standing absorbed in his own thoughts in the midst of his + radishes. + </p> + <p> + And so about the business of our lives we go and then of a sudden there + comes again the feeling that crept over us all in the year of the Marching + Men. In a moment we are again a part of the moving mass. The old religious + exaltation, strange emanation from the man McGregor, returns. In fancy we + feel the earth tremble under the feet of the men—the marchers. With + a conscious straining of the mind we strive to grasp the processes of the + mind of the leader during that year when men sensed his meaning, when they + saw as he saw the workers—saw them massed and moving through the + world. + </p> + <p> + My own mind, striving feebly to follow that greater and simpler mind, + gropes about. I remember sharply the words of a writer who said that men + make their own gods and realise that I myself saw something of the birth + of such a god. For he was near to being a god then—our McGregor. The + thing he did rumbles in the minds of men yet. His long shadow will fall + across men's thoughts for ages. The tantalising effort to understand his + meaning will tempt us always into endless speculation. + </p> + <p> + Only last week I met a man—he was a steward in a club and lingered + talking to me by a cigar case in an empty billiard-room—who suddenly + turned away to conceal from me two large tears that had jumped into his + eyes because of a kind of tenderness in my voice at the mention of the + Marching Men. + </p> + <p> + Another mood comes. It may be the right mood. I see sparrows jumping about + in an ordinary roadway as I walk to my office. From the maple trees the + little winged seeds come fluttering down before my eyes. A boy goes past + sitting in a grocery wagon and over-driving a rather bony horse. As I walk + I overtake two workmen shuffling along. They remind me of those other + workers and I say to myself that thus men have always shuffled, that never + did they swing forward into that world-wide rhythmical march of the + workers. + </p> + <p> + “You were drunk with youth and a kind of world madness,” says my normal + self as I go forward again, striving to think things out. + </p> + <p> + Chicago is still here—Chicago after McGregor and the Marching Men. + The elevated trains still clatter over the frogs at the turning into + Wabash Avenue; the surface cars clang their bells; the crowds pour up in + the morning from the runway leading to the Illinois Central trains; life + goes on. And men in their offices sit in their chairs and say that the + thing that happened was abortive, a brain storm, a wild outbreak of the + rebellious the disorderly and the hunger in the minds of men. + </p> + <p> + What begging of the question. The very soul of the Marching Men was a + sense of order. That was the message of it, the thing that the world has + not come up to yet. Men have not learned that we must come to understand + the impulse toward order, have that burned into our consciousness, before + we move on to other things. There is in us this madness for individual + expression. For each of us the little moment of running forward and + lifting our thin childish voices in the midst of the great silence. We + have not learned that out of us all, walking shoulder to shoulder, there + might arise a greater voice, something to make the waters of the very seas + to tremble. + </p> + <p> + McGregor knew. He had a mind not sick with much thinking of trifles. When + he had a great idea he thought it would work and he meant to see that it + did work. + </p> + <p> + Mightily was he equipped. I have seen the man in halls talking, his huge + body swaying back and forth, his great fists in the air, his voice harsh, + persistent, insistent—with something of the quality of the drums in + it—beating down into the upturned faces of the men crowded into the + stuffy little places. + </p> + <p> + I remember that newspaper men used to sit in their little holes and write + saying of him that the times made McGregor. I do not know about that. The + city caught fire from the man at the time of that terrible speech of his + in the court room when Polk Street Mary grew afraid and told the truth. + There he stood, the raw untried red-haired miner from the mines and the + Tenderloin, facing an angry court and a swarm of protesting lawyers and + uttering that city-shaking philippic against the old rotten first ward and + the creeping cowardice in men that lets vice and disease go on and pervade + all modern life. It was in a way another “J'Accuse!” from the lips of + another Zola. Men who heard it have told me that when he had finished in + the whole court no man spoke and no man dared feel guiltless. “For the + moment something—a section, a cell, a figment, of men's brains + opened—and in that terrible illuminating instant they saw themselves + as they were and what they had let life become.” + </p> + <p> + They saw something else, or thought they did, saw McGregor a new force for + Chicago to reckon with. After the trial one young newspaper man returned + to his office and running from desk to desk yelled in the faces of his + brother reporters: “Hell's out for noon. We've got a big red-haired Scotch + lawyer up here on Van Buren Street that is a kind of a new scourge of the + world. Watch the First Ward get it.” + </p> + <p> + But McGregor never looked at the First Ward. That wasn't bothering him. + From the court room he went to march with men in a new field. + </p> + <p> + Followed the time of waiting and of patient quiet work. In the evenings + McGregor worked at the law cases in the bare room in Van Buren Street. + That queer bird Henry Hunt still stayed with him, collecting tithes for + the gang and going to his respectable home at night—a strange + triumph of the small that had escaped the tongue of McGregor on that day + in court when so many men had their names bruited to the world in + McGregor's roll call—the roll call of the men who were but + merchants, brothers of vice, the men who should have been masters in the + city. + </p> + <p> + And then the movement of the Marching Men began to come to the surface. It + got into the blood of men. That harsh drumming voice began to shake their + hearts and their legs. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere men began to see and hear of the Marchers. From lip to lip ran + the question, “What's going on?” + </p> + <p> + “What's going on?” How that cry ran over Chicago. Every newspaper man in + town got assignments on the story. The papers were loaded with it every + day. All over the city they appeared, everywhere—the Marching Men. + </p> + <p> + There were leaders enough! The Cuban War and the State Militia had taught + too many men the swing of the march step for there not to be at least two + or three competent drill masters in every little company of men. + </p> + <p> + And there was the marching song the Russian wrote for McGregor. Who could + forget it? Its high pitched harsh feminine strain rang in the brain. How + it went pitching and tumbling along in that wailing calling endless high + note. It had strange breaks and intervals in the rendering. The men did + not sing it. They chanted it. There was in it just the weird haunting + something the Russians know how to put into their songs and into the books + they write. It isn't the quality of the soil. Some of our own music has + that. But in this Russian song there was something else, something + world-wide and religious—a soul, a spirit. Perhaps it is just the + spirit that broods over that strange land and people. There was something + of Russia in McGregor himself. + </p> + <p> + Anyway the marching song was the most persistently penetrating thing + Americans had ever heard. It was in the streets, the shops, the offices, + the alleys and in the air overhead—the wail—half shout. No + noise could drown it. It swung and pitched and rioted through the air. + </p> + <p> + And there was the fellow who wrote the music down for McGregor. He was the + real thing and he bore the marks of the shackles on his legs. He had + remembered the march from hearing the men sing it as they went over the + Steppes to Siberia, the men who were going up out of misery to more + misery. “It would come out of the air,” he explained. “The guards would + run down the line of men to shout and strike out with their short whips. + 'Stop it!' they cried. And still it went on for hours, defying everything, + there on the cold cheerless plains.” + </p> + <p> + And he had brought it to America and put it to music for McGregor's + marchers. + </p> + <p> + Of course the police tried to stop the marchers. Into a street they would + run crying “Disperse!” The men did disperse only to appear again on some + vacant lot working away at the perfection of the marching. Once an excited + squad of police captured a company of them. The same men were back in line + the next evening. The police could not arrest a hundred thousand men + because they marched shoulder to shoulder along the streets and chanted a + weird march song as they went. + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was not an outbreak of labour. It was something different + from anything that had come into the world before. The unions were in it + but besides the unions there were the Poles, the Russian Jews, the Hunks + from the stockyards and the steel works in South Chicago. They had their + own leaders, speaking their own languages. And how they could throw their + legs into the march! The armies of the old world had for years been + training men for the strange demonstration that had broken out in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + The thing was hypnotic. It was big. It is absurd to sit writing of it now + in such majestic terms but you have to go back to the newspapers of that + day to realise how the imagination of men was caught and held. + </p> + <p> + Every train brought writers tumbling into Chicago. In the evening fifty of + them would gather in the back room at Weingardner's restaurant where such + men congregate. + </p> + <p> + And then the thing broke out all over the country, in steel towns like + Pittsburgh and Johnstown and Lorain and McKeesport and men working in + little independent factories in towns down in Indiana began drilling and + chanting the march song on summer evenings on the village baseball ground. + </p> + <p> + How the people, the comfortable well-fed middle class people were afraid! + It swept over the country like a religious revival, the creeping dread. + </p> + <p> + The writing men got to McGregor, the brain back of it all, fast enough. + Everywhere his influence appeared. In the afternoon there would be a + hundred newspaper men standing on the stairway leading up to the big bare + office in Van Buren Street. At his desk he sat, big and red and silent. He + looked like a man half asleep. I suppose the thing that was in their minds + had something to do with the way men looked at him but in any case the + crowd in Weingardner's agreed that there was in the man something of the + same fear-inspiring bigness there was in the movement he had started and + was guiding. + </p> + <p> + It seems absurdly simple now. There he sat at his desk. The police might + have walked in and arrested him. But if you begin figuring that way the + whole thing was absurd. What differs it if men march coming from work, + swinging along shoulder to shoulder or shuffle aimlessly along, and what + harm can come out of the singing of a song? + </p> + <p> + You see McGregor understood something that all of us had not counted on. + He knew that every one has an imagination. He was at war with men's minds. + He challenged something in us that we hardly realised was there. He had + been sitting there for years thinking it out. He had watched Dr. Dowie and + Mrs. Eddy. He knew what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + A crowd of newspaper men went one night to hear McGregor at a big outdoor + meeting up on the North Side. Dr. Cowell was with them—the big + English statesman and writer who later was drowned on the <i>Titanic.</i> + He was a big man, physically and mentally, and was in Chicago to see + McGregor and try to understand what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + And McGregor got him as he had all men. Out there under the sky the men + stood silent, Cowell's head sticking up above the sea of faces, and + McGregor talked. The newspaper men declared he could not talk. They were + wrong about that. McGregor had a way of throwing up his arms and straining + and shouting out his sentences, that got to the souls of men. + </p> + <p> + He was a kind of crude artist drawing pictures on the mind. + </p> + <p> + That night he talked about labour as always—labour personified—huge + crude old Labour. How he made the men before him see and feel the blind + giant who has lived in the world since time began and who still goes + stumbling blindly about, rubbing his eyes and lying down to sleep away + centuries in the dust of the fields and the factories. + </p> + <p> + A man arose in the audience and climbed upon the platform beside McGregor. + It was a daring thing to do and men's knees trembled. While the man was + crawling up to the platform shouts arose. One has in mind a picture of a + bustling little fellow going into the house and into the upper room where + Jesus and his followers were having the last supper together, going in + there to wrangle about the price to be paid for the wine. + </p> + <p> + The man who got on the platform with McGregor was a socialist. He wanted + to argue. + </p> + <p> + But McGregor did not argue with him. He sprang forward, it was a quick + tiger-like movement, and spun the socialist about, making him stand small + and blinking and comical before the crowd. + </p> + <p> + Then McGregor began to talk. He made of the little stuttering arguing + socialist a figure representing all labour, made him the personification + of the old weary struggle of the world. And the socialist who went to + argue stood with tears in his eyes, proud of his position in men's eyes. + </p> + <p> + All over the city McGregor talked of old Labour and how he was to be built + up and put before men's eyes by the movement of the Marching Men. How our + legs tingled to fall in step and go marching away with him. + </p> + <p> + Out of the crowds there came the note of that wailing march. Some one + always started that. + </p> + <p> + That night on the North Side Doctor Cowell got hold of the shoulder of a + newspaper man and led him to a car. He who knew Bismarck and who had sat + in council with kings went walking and babbling half the night through the + empty streets. + </p> + <p> + It is amusing now to think of the things men said under the influence of + McGregor. Like old Doctor Johnson and his friend Savage they walked half + drunk through the streets swearing that whatever happened they would stick + to the movement. Doctor Cowell himself said things just as absurd as that. + </p> + <p> + And all over the country men were getting the idea—the Marching Men—old + Labour in one mass marching before the eyes of men—old Labour that + was going to make the world see—see and feel its bigness at last. + Men were to come to the end of strife—men united—Marching! + Marching! Marching! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + In all of the time of The Marching Men there was but one bit of written + matter from the leader McGregor. It had a circulation running into the + millions and was printed in every tongue spoken in America. A copy of the + little circular lies before me now. + </p> + <p> + THE MARCHERS + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “They ask us what we mean. + Well, here is our answer. + We mean to go on marching. + We mean to march in the morning and in the evening when the sun + goes down. + On Sundays they may sit on their porches or shout at men playing + ball in a field + But we will march. + On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust + of country roads we will march. + Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry, + But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder. + We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble. + Shoulder to shoulder we will go—all of us— + On and on forever. + We will not talk nor listen to talk. + We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to + march. + Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear. + We do not think and banter words. + We march. + Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards. + See, the inner parts of our hands are rough. + And still we march—we the workers.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Who will ever forget that Labour Day in Chicago? How they marched!—thousands + and thousands and more thousands! They filled the streets. The cars + stopped. Men trembled with the import of the impending hour. + </p> + <p> + Here they come! How the ground trembles! The chant chant chant of that + song! It must have been thus that Grant felt at the great review of the + veterans in Washington when all day long they marched past him, the men of + the Civil War, the whites of their eyes showing in the tan of their faces. + McGregor stood on the stone curbing above the tracks in Grant Park. As the + men marched they massed in there about him, thousands of them, steel + workers and iron workers and great red-necked butchers and teamsters. + </p> + <p> + And in the air wailed the marching song of the workers. + </p> + <p> + All of the world that was not marching jammed into the buildings facing + Michigan Boulevard and waited. Margaret Ormsby was there. She sat with her + father in a carriage near where Van Buren Street ends at the Boulevard. As + the men kept crowding in about them she clutched nervously at the sleeve + of David Ormsby's coat. “He is going to speak,” she whispered and pointed. + Her tense air of expectancy expressed much of the feeling of the crowd. + “See, listen, he is going to speak out.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been five in the afternoon when the men got through marching. + They were massed in there clear down to the Twelfth Street Station of the + Illinois Central. McGregor lifted his hands. In the hush his harsh voice + carried far. “We are at the beginning,” he shouted and silence fell upon + the people. In the stillness one standing near her might have heard + Margaret Ormsby weeping softly. There was the gentle murmur that always + prevails where many people stand at attention. The weeping of the woman + was scarcely audible but it persisted like the sound of little waves on a + beach at the end of the day. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VII + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The idea prevalent among men that the woman to be beautiful must be hedged + about and protected from the facts of life has done something more than + produce a race of women not physically vigorous. It has made them + deficient in strength of soul also. After the evening when she stood + facing Edith and when she had been unable to arise to the challenge flung + at her by the little milliner Margaret Ormsby was forced to stand facing + her own soul and there was no strength in her for the test. Her mind + insisted on justifying her failure. A woman of the people placed in such a + position would have been able to face it calmly. She would have gone + soberly and steadily about her work and after a few months of pulling + weeds in a field, trimming hats in a shop or instructing children in a + schoolroom would have been ready to thrust out again, making another trial + at life. Having met many defeats she would have been armed and ready for + defeat. Like a little animal in a forest inhabited by other and larger + animals she would have known the effectiveness of lying perfectly still + for a long period, making her patience a part of her equipment for living. + </p> + <p> + Margaret had decided that she hated McGregor. After the scene in her house + she gave up her work in the settlement house and for a long time went + about nursing her hatred. In the street as she walked about her mind kept + bringing accusations against him and in her room at night she sat by the + window looking at the stars and said strong words. “He is a brute,” she + declared hotly, “a mere animal untouched by the culture that makes for + gentleness. There is something animal-like and horrible in my nature that + has made me care for him. I shall pluck it out. In the future I shall make + it my business to forget the man and all of the dreadful lower strata of + life that he represents.” + </p> + <p> + Filled with this idea Margaret went about among her own people and tried + to become interested in the men and women she met at dinners and + receptions. It did not work and when, after a few evenings spent in the + company of men absorbed in the getting of money, she found them only dull + creatures whose mouths were filled with meaningless words, her irritation + grew and she blamed McGregor for that also. “He had no right to come into + my consciousness and then take himself off,” she declared bitterly. “The + man is more of a brute than I thought. He no doubt preys upon everyone as + he has preyed upon me. He is without tenderness, knows nothing of the + meaning of tenderness. The colourless creature he has married will serve + his body. That is what he wants. He does not want beauty. He is a coward + who dare not stand up to beauty and is afraid of me.” + </p> + <p> + When the Marching Men Movement began to make a stir in Chicago Margaret + went on a visit to New York. For a month she lived with two women friends + at a big hotel near the sea and then hurried home. “I will see the man and + hear him talk,” she told herself. “I cannot cure myself of the + consciousness of him by running away. Perhaps I am myself a coward. I + shall go into his presence. When I hear his brutal words and see again the + hard gleam that sometimes comes into his eyes I shall be cured.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret went to hear McGregor talk to a gathering of workingmen in a West + Side hall and came away more alive to him than ever. In the hall she sat + concealed in deep shadows by the door and waited with trembling eagerness. + </p> + <p> + On all sides of her were men crowded together. Their faces were washed but + the grime of the shops was not quite effaced. Men from the steel mills + with the cooked look that follows long exposure to intense artificial + heat, men of the building trades with their broad hands, big men and small + men, misshapen and straight, labouring men, all sat at attention, waiting. + </p> + <p> + Margaret noticed that as McGregor talked the lips of the working men + moved. Fists were clenched. Applause came quick and sharp like the report + of guns. + </p> + <p> + In the shadows at the further side of the hall the black coats of the + workers made a blot out of which intense faces looked and across which the + flickering gas jets in the centre of the hall threw dancing lights. + </p> + <p> + The words of the speaker were shot forth. The sentences seemed broken and + disconnected. As he talked giant pictures flashed through the minds of the + hearers. Men felt themselves big and exalted. A little steel worker + sitting near Margaret, who earlier in the evening had been abused by his + wife because he wanted to come to the meeting instead of helping with the + dishes at home, stared fiercely about. He thought he would like to fight + hand in hand with a wild animal in a forest. + </p> + <p> + Standing on the narrow stage McGregor seemed a giant seeking expression. + His mouth worked, the sweat stood upon his forehead and he moved + restlessly up and down. At times, with his hands advanced and with the + eager forward crouch of his body, he was like a wrestler waiting to + grapple with an opponent. + </p> + <p> + Margaret was deeply moved. Her years of training and of refinement were + stripped off and she felt that, like the women of the French Revolution, + she would like to go out into the streets and march screaming and fighting + in feminine rage for the things of this man's mind. + </p> + <p> + McGregor had scarcely begun to talk. His personality, the big eager + something in him, had caught and held this audience as it had caught and + held other audiences in other halls and was to hold them night after night + for months. + </p> + <p> + McGregor was something the men to whom he talked understood. He was + themselves become expressive and he moved them as no other leader had ever + moved them before. His very lack of glibness, the things in him wanting + expression and not getting expressed, made him seem like one of them. He + did not confuse their minds but drew for them great scrawling pictures and + to them he cried, “March!” and for marching he promised them realisation + of themselves. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard men in colleges and speakers in halls talk of the + brotherhood of man,” he cried. “They do not want such a brotherhood. They + would flee before it. But we will make by our marching such a brotherhood + that they will tremble and say to one another, 'See, Old Labour is awake. + He has found his strength.' They will hide themselves and eat their words + of brotherhood. + </p> + <p> + “A clamour of voices will arise, many voices, crying out, 'Disperse! Cease + marching! I am afraid!' + </p> + <p> + “This talk of brotherhood. The words mean nothing. Man cannot love man. We + do not know what they mean by such love. They hurt us and underpay us. + Sometimes one of us gets an arm torn off. Are we to lie in our beds loving + the man who gets rich from the iron machine that ripped the arm from the + shoulder? + </p> + <p> + “On our knees and in our arms we have borne their children. On the streets + we see them—the petted children of our madness. See we have let them + run about misbehaving. We have given them automobiles and wives with soft + clinging dresses. When they have cried we have cared for them. + </p> + <p> + “And they being children with the minds of children are confused. The + noise of affairs alarms them. They run about shaking their fingers and + commanding. They speak with pity of us—Labour—their father. + </p> + <p> + “And now we will show them their father in his might. The little machines + they have in their factories are toys we have given them and that for the + time we leave in their hands. We do not think of the toys nor the + soft-bodied women. We make of ourselves a mighty army, a marching army + going along shoulder to shoulder. We can love that. + </p> + <p> + “When they see us, hundreds of thousands of us, marching into their minds + and into their consciousness, then will they be afraid. And at the little + meetings they have when three or four of them sit talking, daring to + decide what things we shall have from life, there will be in their minds a + picture. We will stamp it there. + </p> + <p> + “They have forgotten our power. Let us reawaken it. See, I shake Old + Labour by the shoulder. He arouses. He sits up. He thrusts his huge form + up from where he was asleep in the dust and the smoke of the mills. They + look at him and are afraid. See, they tremble and run away, falling over + each other. The did not know Old Labour was so big. + </p> + <p> + “But you workers are not afraid. You are the arms and the legs and the + hands and the eyes of Labour. You have thought yourself small. You have + not got yourself into one mass so that I could shake and arouse you. + </p> + <p> + “You must get that way. You must march shoulder to shoulder. You must + march so that you yourselves shall come to know what a giant you are. If + one of your number whines or complains or stands upon a box throwing words + about knock him down and keep marching. + </p> + <p> + “When you have marched until you are one giant body then will happen a + miracle. A brain will grow in the giant you have made. + </p> + <p> + “Will you march with me?” + </p> + <p> + Like a volley from a battery of guns came the sharp reply from the eager + upturned faces of the audience. “We will! Let us march!” they shouted. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Ormsby went out at the door and into the crowds on Madison + Street. As she walked in the press she lifted her head in pride that a man + possessed of such a brain and of the simple courage to try to express such + magnificent ideas through human beings had ever shown favour toward her. + Humbleness swept over her and she blamed herself for the petty thoughts + concerning him that had been in her mind. “It does not matter,” she + whispered to herself. “Now I know that nothing matters, nothing but his + success. He must do this thing he has set out to do. He must not be + denied. I would give the blood out of my body or expose my body to shame + if that could bring him success.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret became exalted in her humbleness. When her carriage had taken her + to her house she ran quickly upstairs to her own room and knelt by her + bed. She started to pray but presently stopped and sprang to her feet. + Running to the window she looked off across the city. “He must succeed,” + she cried again. “I shall myself be one of his marchers. I will do + anything for him. He is tearing the veil from my eyes, from all men's + eyes. We are children in the hands of this giant and he must not meet + defeat at the hands of children.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + On the day of the great demonstration, when McGregor's power over the + minds and the bodies of the men of labour sent hundreds of thousands + marching and singing in the streets, there was one man who was untouched + by the song of labour expressed in the threshing of feet. David Ormsby had + in his quiet way thought things out. He expected that the new impetus + given to solidity in the ranks of labour would make trouble for him and + his kind, that it would express itself finally in strikes and in + wide-spread industrial disturbance. He was not worried. In the end he + thought that the silent patient power of money would bring his people the + victory. On that day he did not go to his office but in the morning stayed + in his own room thinking of McGregor and of his daughter. Laura Ormsby was + out of the city but Margaret was at home. David believed he had measured + accurately the power of McGregor over her mind but occasional doubts came + to him. “Well the time has come to have it out with her,” he decided. “I + must reassert my ascendency over her mind. The thing that is going on here + is really a struggle of minds. McGregor differs from other leaders of + labour as I differ from most leaders of the forces of money. He has + brains. Very well. I shall meet him on that level. Then, when I have made + Margaret think as I think, she will return to me.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + When he was still a small manufacturer in the Wisconsin town David had + been in the habit of driving out in the evening with his daughter. During + the drives he had been almost a lover in his attentions to the child and + now when he thought of the forces at work within her he was convinced that + she was still a child. Early in the afternoon he had a carriage brought to + the door and drove off with her to the city. “She will want to see the man + in the height of his power. If I am right in thinking that she is still + under the influence of his personality there will be a romantic desire for + that. + </p> + <p> + “I will give her the chance,” he thought proudly. “In this struggle I ask + no quarter from him and shall not make the common mistake of parents in + such cases. She is fascinated by the figure he has made of himself. Showy + men who stand out from the crowd have that power. She is still under his + influence. Why else her constant distraction and her want of interest in + other things? Now I will be with her when the man is most powerful, when + he shows to the greatest advantage, and then I will make my fight for her. + I will point out to her another road, the road along which the real + victors in life must learn to travel.” + </p> + <p> + Together David the quiet efficient representative of wealth and his woman + child sat in the carriage on the day of McGregor's triumph. For the moment + an impassable gulf seemed to separate them and with intense eyes each + watched the hordes of men who massed themselves about the labour leader. + At the moment McGregor seemed to have caught all men in the sweep of his + movement. Business men had closed their desks, labour was exultant, + writers and men given to speculation in thought walked about dreaming of + the realisation of the brotherhood of man. In the long narrow treeless + park the music made by the steady never-ending thresh of feet arose to + something vast and rhythmical. It was like a mighty chorus come up out of + the hearts of men. David was unmoved. Occasionally he spoke to the horses + and looked from the faces of the men massed about him to his daughter's + face. In the coarse faces of the men he thought he saw only a crude sort + of intoxication, the result of a new kind of emotionalism. “It will not + outlast thirty days of ordinary living in their squalid surroundings,” he + thought grimly. “It is not the kind of exaltation for Margaret. I can sing + her a more wonderful song. I must get myself ready for that.” + </p> + <p> + When McGregor arose to speak Margaret was overcome with emotions. Dropping + to her knees in the carriage she put her head down upon her father's arm. + For days she had been telling herself that in the future of the man she + loved there was no place for failure. Now again she whispered to herself + that this great sturdy figure must not be denied the fulfilment of its + purpose. When in the hush that followed the massing of the labourers about + him the harsh booming voice floated over the heads of the people her body + shook as with a chill. Extravagant fancies invaded her mind and she wished + it were possible for her to do something heroic, something that would make + her live again in the mind of McGregor. She wanted to serve him, to give + him something out of herself, and thought wildly that there might yet come + a time and a way by which the beauty of her body could be laid like a gift + before him. The half mythical figure of Mary the lover of Jesus came into + her mind and she aspired to be such another. With her body shaken with + emotions she pulled at the sleeve of her father's coat. “Listen! It is + going to come now,” she murmured. “The brain of labour is going to express + the dream of labour. An impulse sweet and lasting is going to come into + the world.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + David Ormsby said nothing. When McGregor had begun to speak he touched the + horses with the whip and drove slowly along Van Buren Street past the + silent attentive ranks of men. When he had got into one of the streets + near the river a vast cheer arose. It seemed to shake the city and the + horses reared and leaped forward over the rough cobblestones. With one + hand David quieted them while with the other he gripped the hand of his + daughter. They drove over a bridge and into the West Side and as they went + the marching song of the workers rising up out of thousands of throats + rang in their ears. For a time the air seemed to pulsate with it but as + they went westward it grew continually less and less distinct. At last + when they had turned into a street lined by tall factories it died out + altogether. “That is the end of him for me and mine,” thought David and + again set himself for the task he had to perform. + </p> + <p> + Through street after street David let the horses wander while he clung to + his daughter's hand and thought of what he wanted to say. Not all of the + streets were lined with factories. Some, and these in the evening light + were the most hideous, were bordered by the homes of workers. The houses + of the workers, jammed closely together and black with grime, were filled + with noisy life. Women sat in the doorways and children ran screaming and + shouting in the road. Dogs barked and howled. Everywhere was dirt and + disorder, the terrible evidence of men's failure in the difficult and + delicate art of living. In one of the streets a little girl child who sat + on the post of a fence made a ludicrous figure. As David and Margaret + drove past she beat with her heels against the sides of the post and + screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks and her dishevelled hair was black + with dirt. “I want a banana! I want a banana!” she howled, staring at the + blank walls of one of the houses. In spite of herself Margaret was touched + and her mind left the figure of McGregor. By an odd chance the child on + the post was the daughter of that socialist orator who one night on the + North Side had climbed upon a platform to confront McGregor with the + propaganda of the Socialist Party. + </p> + <p> + David turned the horses into a wide boulevard that ran south through the + factory district of the west. As they came out into the boulevard they saw + sitting on the sidewalk before a saloon a drunkard with a drum in his + hand. The drunkard beat upon the drum and tried to sing the marching song + of the workers but succeeded only in making a queer grunting noise like a + distressed animal. The sight brought a smile to David's lips. “Already it + has begun to disintegrate,” he muttered. “I brought you into this part of + town on purpose,” he said to Margaret. “I wanted you to see with your own + eyes how much the world needs the thing he is trying to do. The man is + terribly right about the need for discipline and order. He is a big man + doing a big thing and I admire his courage. He would be a really big man + had he the greater courage.” + </p> + <p> + On the boulevard into which they had turned all was quiet. The summer sun + was setting and over the roofs of buildings the west was ablaze with + light. They passed a factory surrounded by little patches of garden. Some + employer of labour had tried thus feebly to bring beauty into the + neighbourhood of the place where his men worked. David pointed with the + whip. “Life is a husk,” he said, “and we men of affairs who take ourselves + so seriously because the fates have been good to us have odd silly little + fancies. See what this fellow has been at, patching away, striving to + create beauty on the shell of things. He is like McGregor you see. I + wonder if the man has made himself beautiful, if either he or McGregor has + seen to it that there is something lovely inside the husk he wears around + and that he calls his body, if he has seen through life to the spirit of + life. I do not believe in patching nor do I believe in disturbing the + shell of things as McGregor has dared to do. I have my own beliefs and + they are the beliefs of my kind. This man here, this maker of little + gardens, is like McGregor. He might better let men find their own beauty. + That is my way. I have, I want to think, kept myself for the sweeter and + more daring effort.” + </p> + <p> + David turned and looked hard at Margaret who had begun to be influenced by + his mood. She waited, looking with averted face at the sky over the roofs + of buildings. David began to talk of himself in relation to her and her + mother. A note of impatience came into his voice. + </p> + <p> + “How far you have been carried away, haven't you?” he said sharply. + “Listen. I am not talking to you now as your father nor as Laura's + daughter. Let us be clear about that I love you and am in a contest to win + your love. I am McGregor's rival. I accept the handicap of fatherhood. I + love you. You see I have let something within myself alight upon you. + McGregor has not done that. He refused what you had to offer but I do not. + I have centred my life upon you and have done it quite knowingly and after + much thought. The feeling I have is something quite special. I am an + individualist but believe in the oneness of man and woman. I would dare + venture into but one other life beyond my own and that the life of a + woman. I have chosen to ask you to let me venture so into your life. We + will talk of it.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret turned and looked at her father. Later she thought that some + strange phenomena must have happened at the moment Something like a film + was torn from her eyes and she saw the man David, not as a shrewd and + calculating man of affairs, but as something magnificently young. Not only + was he strong and solid but in his face there was at the moment the deep + lines of thought and suffering she had seen on the countenance of + McGregor. “It is strange,” she thought. “They are so unlike and yet the + two men are both beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “I married your mother when I was a child as you are a child now,” David + went on. “To be sure I had a passion for her and she had one for me. It + passed but it was beautiful enough while it lasted. It did not have depth + or meaning. I want to tell you why. Then I am going to make you understand + McGregor so that you may take your measure of the man. I am coming to + that. I have to begin at the beginning. + </p> + <p> + “My factory began to grow and as an employer of labour I became concerned + in the lives of a good many men.” + </p> + <p> + His voice again became sharp. “I have been impatient with you,” he said. + “Do you think this McGregor is the only man who has seen and thought of + other men in the mass? I have done that and have been tempted. I also + might have become sentimental and destroyed myself. I did not. Loving a + woman saved me. Laura did that for me although when it came to the real + test of our love, understanding, she failed. I am nevertheless grateful to + her that she was once the object of my love. I believe in the beauty of + that.” + </p> + <p> + Again David paused and began to tell his story in a new way. The figure of + McGregor came back into Margaret's mind and her father began to feel that + to take it entirely away would be an accomplishment full of significance. + “If I can take her from him, I and my kind can take the world from him + also,” he thought. “It will be another victory for the aristocracy in the + never-ending battle with the mob.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to a turning point,” he said aloud. “All men come to that point. + To be sure the great mass of people drift quite stupidly but we are not + now talking of people in general. There is you and me and there is the + thing McGregor might be. We are each in our way something special. We + come, people like us, to a place where there are two roads to take. I took + one and McGregor has taken another. I know why and perhaps he knows why. I + concede to him knowledge of what he has done. But now it is time for you + to decide which road you will take. You have seen the crowds moving along + the broad way he has chosen and now you will set out on your own way. I + want you to look down my road with me.” + </p> + <p> + They came to a bridge over a canal and David stopped the horses. A body of + McGregor's marchers passed and Margaret's pulse began to beat high again. + When she looked at her father however he was unmoved and she was a little + ashamed of her emotions. For a moment David waited, as though for + inspiration, and when the horses started on again he began to talk. “A + labour leader came to my factory, a miniature McGregor with a crooked + twist to him. He was a rascal but the things he said to my men were all + true enough. I was making money for my investors, a lot of it. They might + have won in a fight with me. One evening I went out into the country to + walk alone under the trees and think it over.” + </p> + <p> + David's voice became harsh and Margaret thought it had become strangely + like the voice of McGregor talking to workingmen. “I bought the man off,” + David said. “I used the cruel weapon men like me have to use. I gave him + money and told him to get out, to let me alone. I did it because I had to + win. My kind of men always have to win. During the walk I took alone I got + hold of my dream, my belief. I have the same dream now. It means more to + me than the welfare of a million men. For it I would crush whatever + opposed me. I am going to tell you of the dream. + </p> + <p> + “It is too bad one has to talk. Talk kills dreams and talk will also kill + all such men as McGregor. Now that he has begun to talk we will get the + best of him. I do not worry about McGregor. Time and talk will bring about + his destruction.” + </p> + <p> + David's mind ran off in a new direction. “I do not think a man's life is + of much importance,” he said. “No man is big enough to grasp all of life. + That is the foolish fancy of children. The grown man knows he cannot see + life at one great sweep. It cannot be comprehended so. One has to realise + that he lives in a patchwork of many lives and many impulses. + </p> + <p> + “The man must strike at beauty. That is the realisation maturity brings + and that is where the woman conies in. That is what McGregor was not wise + enough to understand. He is a child you see in a land of excitable + children.” + </p> + <p> + The quality of David's voice changed. Putting his arm about his daughter + he drew her face down beside his own. Night descended upon them. The woman + who was tired from much thinking began to feel grateful for the touch of + the strong hand on her shoulder. David had accomplished his purpose. He + had for the moment made his daughter forget that she was his daughter. + There was something hypnotic in the quiet strength of his mood. + </p> + <p> + “I come now to women, to your part,” he said. “We will talk of the thing I + want to make you understand. Laura failed as the woman. She never saw the + point. As I grew she did not grow with me. Because I did not talk of love + she did not understand me as a lover, did not know what I wanted, what I + demanded of her. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to fit my love down upon her figure as one puts a glove on his + hand. You see I was the adventurer, the man mussed and moiled by life and + its problems. The struggle to exist, to get money, could not be avoided. I + had to make that struggle. She did not. Why could she not understand that + I did not want to come into her presence to rest or to say empty words. I + wanted her to help me create beauty. We should have been partners in that. + Together we should have undertaken the most delicate and difficult of all + struggles, the struggle for living beauty in our everyday affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Bitterness swept over the old ploughmaker and he used strong words. “The + whole point is in what I am now saying. That was my cry to the woman. It + came out of my soul. It was the only cry to another I have ever made. + Laura was a little fool. Her mind flitted away to little things. I do not + know what she wanted me to be and now I do not care. Perhaps she wanted me + to be a poet, a stringer together of words, one to write shrill little + songs about her eyes and lips. It does not matter now what she wanted. + </p> + <p> + “But you matter.” + </p> + <p> + David's voice cut through the fog of new thoughts that were confusing his + daughter's mind and she could feel his body stiffen. A thrill ran through + her own body and she forgot McGregor. With all the strength of her spirit + she was absorbed in what David was saying. In the challenge that was + coming from the lips of her father she began to feel there would be born + in her own life a definite purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Women want to push out into life, to share with men the disorder and + mussiness of little things. What a desire! Let them try it if they wish. + They will sicken of the attempt. They lose sight of something bigger they + might undertake. They have forgotten the old things, Ruth in the corn and + Mary with the jar of precious ointment, they have forgotten the beauty + they were meant to help men create. + </p> + <p> + “Let them share only in man's attempt to create beauty. That is the big, + the delicate task to which they should consecrate themselves. Why attempt + instead the cheaper, the secondary task? They are like this McGregor.” + </p> + <p> + The ploughmaker became silent. Taking up the whip he drove the horses + rapidly along. He thought that his point was made and was satisfied to let + the imagination of his daughter do the rest. They turned off the boulevard + and passed through a street of small stores. Before a saloon a troop of + street urchins led by a drunken man without a hat gave a grotesque + imitation of McGregor's Marchers before a crowd of laughing idlers. With a + sinking heart Margaret realised that even at the height of his power the + forces that would eventually destroy the impulses back of McGregor's + Marchers were at work. She crept closer to David. “I love you,” she said. + “Some day I may have a lover but always I shall love you. I shall try to + be what you want of me.” + </p> + <p> + It was past two o'clock that night when David arose from the chair where + he had been for several hours quietly reading. With a smile on his face he + went to a window facing north toward the city. All through the evening + groups of men had been passing the house. Some had gone scuffling along, a + mere disorderly mob, some had gone shoulder to shoulder chanting the + marching song of the workers and a few, under the influence of drink, had + stopped before the house to roar out threats. Now all was quiet. David + lighted a cigar and stood for a long time looking out over the city. He + was thinking of McGregor and wondering what excited dream of power the day + had brought into the man's head. Then he thought of his daughter and of + her escape. A soft light came into his eyes. He was happy but when he had + partially undressed a new mood came and he turned out the lights in the + room and went again to the window. In the room above Margaret had been + unable to sleep and had also crept to the window. She was thinking again + of McGregor and was ashamed of her thoughts. By chance both father and + daughter began at the same moment to doubt the truth of what David had + said during the drive along the boulevard. Margaret could not express her + doubts in words but tears came into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + As for David, he put his hand on the sill of the window and for just a + moment his body trembled as with age and weariness. “I wonder,” he + muttered—“if I had youth—perhaps McGregor knew he would fail + and yet had the courage of failure, I wonder if both Margaret and myself + lack the greater courage, if that evening long ago when I walked under the + trees I made a mistake? What if after all this McGregor and his woman knew + both roads. What if they, after looking deliberately along the road toward + success in life, went without regret along the road to failure? What if + McGregor and not myself knew the road to beauty?” + </p> + <p> + END + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 7045-h.htm or 7045-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/4/7045/ + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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: Marching Men + +Author: Sherwood Anderson + + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7045] +This file was first posted on February 27, 2003 +Last Updated: June 30, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland + + + + + + + + +MARCHING MEN + +By Sherwood Anderson + +Author of "Windy Mcpherson's Son" + +MCMXVII + + + +TO + +AMERICAN WORKINGMEN + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Uncle Charlie Wheeler stamped on the steps before Nance McGregor's +bake-shop on the Main Street of the town of Coal Creek Pennsylvania and +then went quickly inside. Something pleased him and as he stood before +the counter in the shop he laughed and whistled softly. With a wink at +the Reverend Minot Weeks who stood by the door leading to the street, he +tapped with his knuckles on the showcase. + +"It has," he said, waving attention to the boy, who was making a mess +of the effort to arrange Uncle Charlie's loaf into a neat package, +"a pretty name. They call it Norman--Norman McGregor." Uncle Charlie +laughed heartily and again stamped upon the floor. Putting his finger to +his forehead to suggest deep thought, he turned to the minister. "I am +going to change all that," he said. + +"Norman indeed! I shall give him a name that will stick! Norman! +Too soft, too soft and delicate for Coal Creek, eh? It shall be +rechristened. You and I will be Adam and Eve in the garden naming +things. We will call it Beaut--Our Beautiful One--Beaut McGregor." + +The Reverend Minot Weeks also laughed. He thrust four ringers of each +hand into the pockets of his trousers, letting the extended thumbs lie +along the swelling waist line. From the front the thumbs looked like +two tiny boats on the horizon of a troubled sea. They bobbed and jumped +about on the rolling shaking paunch, appearing and disappearing as +laughter shook him. The Reverend Minot Weeks went out at the door ahead +of Uncle Charlie, still laughing. One fancied that he would go along +the street from store to store telling the tale of the christening and +laughing again. The tall boy could imagine the details of the story. + +It was an ill day for births in Coal Creek, even for the birth of one of +Uncle Charlie's inspirations. Snow lay piled along the sidewalks and in +the gutters of Main Street--black snow, sordid with the gathered grime +of human endeavour that went on day and night in the bowels of the +hills. Through the soiled snow walked miners, stumbling along silently +and with blackened faces. In their bare hands they carried dinner pails. + +The McGregor boy, tall and awkward, and with a towering nose, great +hippopotamus-like mouth and fiery red hair, followed Uncle Charlie, +Republican politician, postmaster and village wit to the door and looked +after him as with the loaf of bread under his arm he hurried along the +street. Behind the politician went the minister still enjoying the scene +in the bakery. He was preening himself on his nearness to life in the +mining town. "Did not Christ himself laugh, eat and drink with publicans +and sinners?" he thought, as he waddled through the snow. The eyes of +the McGregor boy, as they followed the two departing figures, and later, +as he stood in the door of the bake-shop watching the struggling miners, +glistened, with hatred. It was the quality of intense hatred for his +fellows in the black hole between the Pennsylvania hills that marked the +boy and made him stand forth among his fellows. + +In a country of so many varied climates and occupations as America it +is absurd to talk of an American type. The country is like a vast +disorganised undisciplined army, leaderless, uninspired, going in +route-step along the road to they know not what end. In the prairie +towns of the West and the river towns of the South from which have come +so many of our writing men, the citizens swagger through life. Drunken +old reprobates lie in the shade by the river's edge or wander through +the streets of a corn shipping village of a Saturday evening with grins +on their faces. Some touch of nature, a sweet undercurrent of life, +stays alive in them and is handed down to those who write of them, and +the most worthless man that walks the streets of an Ohio or Iowa town +may be the father of an epigram that colours all the life of the men +about him. In a mining town or deep in the entrails of one of our cities +life is different. There the disorder and aimlessness of our American +lives becomes a crime for which men pay heavily. Losing step with one +another, men lose also a sense of their own individuality so that a +thousand of them may be driven in a disorderly mass in at the door of a +Chicago factory morning after morning and year after year with never an +epigram from the lips of one of them. + +In Coal Creek when men got drunk they staggered in silence through the +street. Did one of them, in a moment of stupid animal sportiveness, +execute a clumsy dance upon the barroom floor, his fellow--labourers +looked at him dumbly, or turning away left him to finish without +witnesses his clumsy hilarity. + +Standing in the doorway and looking up and down the bleak village +street, some dim realisation of the disorganised ineffectiveness of life +as he knew it came into the mind of the McGregor boy. It seemed to him +right and natural that he should hate men. With a sneer on his lips, +he thought of Barney Butterlips, the town socialist, who was forever +talking of a day coming when men would march shoulder to shoulder and +life in Coal Creek, life everywhere, should cease being aimless and +become definite and full of meaning. + +"They will never do that and who wants them to," mused the McGregor boy. +A blast of wind bearing snow beat upon him and he turned into the shop +and slammed the door behind him. Another thought stirred in his head and +brought a flush to his cheeks. He turned and stood in the silence of the +empty shop shaking with emotion. "If I could form the men of this place +into an army I would lead them to the mouth of the old Shumway cut and +push them in," he threatened, shaking his fist toward the door. "I would +stand aside and see the whole town struggle and drown in the black +water as untouched as though I watched the drowning of a litter of dirty +little kittens." + + * * * * * + +The next morning when Beaut McGregor pushed his baker's cart along the +street and began climbing the hill toward the miners' cottages, he went, +not as Norman McGregor, the town baker boy, only product of the loins of +Cracked McGregor of Coal Creek, but as a personage, a being, the object +of an art. The name given him by Uncle Charlie Wheeler had made him a +marked man. He was as the hero of a popular romance, galvanised into +life and striding in the flesh before the people. Men looked at him with +new interest, inventorying anew the huge mouth and nose and the flaming +hair. The bartender, sweeping the snow from before the door of the +saloon, shouted at him. "Hey, Norman!" he called. "Sweet Norman! Norman +is too pretty a name. Beaut is the name for you! Oh you Beaut!" + +The tall boy pushed the cart silently along the street. Again he hated +Coal Creek. He hated the bakery and the bakery cart. With a burning +satisfying hate he hated Uncle Charlie Wheeler and the Reverend Minot +Weeks. "Fat old fools," he muttered as he shook the snow off his hat and +paused to breathe in the struggle up the hill. He had something new to +hate. He hated his own name. It did sound ridiculous. He had thought +before that there was something fancy and pretentious about it. It did +not fit a bakery cart boy. He wished it might have been plain John or +Jim or Fred. A quiver of irritation at his mother passed through him. +"She might have used more sense," he muttered. + +And then the thought came to him that his father might have chosen +the name. That checked his flight toward universal hatred and he began +pushing the cart forward again, a more genial current of thought running +through his mind. The tall boy loved the memory of his father, "Cracked +McGregor." "They called him 'Cracked' until that became his name," +he thought. "Now they are at me." The thought renewed a feeling of +fellowship between himself and his dead father--it softened him. When he +reached the first of the bleak miners' houses a smile played about the +corners of his huge mouth. + +In his day Cracked McGregor had not borne a good reputation in Coal +Creek. He was a tall silent man with something morose and dangerous +about him. He inspired fear born of hatred. In the mines he worked +silently and with fiery energy, hating his fellow miners among whom +he was thought to be "a bit off his head." They it was who named him +"Cracked" McGregor and they avoided him while subscribing to the common +opinion that he was the best miner in the district. Like his fellow +workers he occasionally got drunk. When he went into the saloon where +other men stood in groups buying drinks for each other he bought only +for himself. Once a stranger, a fat man who sold liquor for a wholesale +house, approached and slapped him on the back. "Come, cheer up and +have a drink with me," he said. Cracked McGregor turned and knocked +the stranger to the floor. When the fat man was down he kicked him and +glared at the crowd in the room. Then he walked slowly out at the door +staring around and hoping some one would interfere. + +In his house also Cracked McGregor was silent. When he spoke at all +he spoke kindly and looked into the eyes of his wife with an eager +expectant air. To his red-haired son he seemed to be forever pouring +forth a kind of dumb affection. Taking the boy in his arms he sat for +hours rocking back and forth and saying nothing. When the boy was ill or +troubled by strange dreams at night the feel of his father's arms about +him quieted him. In his arms the boy went to sleep happily. In the mind +of the father there was a single recurring thought, "We have but the one +bairn, we'll not put him into the hole in the ground," he said, looking +eagerly to the mother for approval. + +Twice had Cracked McGregor walked with his son on a Sunday afternoon. +Taking the lad by the hand the miner went up the face of the hill, past +the last of the miners' houses, through the grove of pine trees at the +summit and on over the hill into sight of a wide valley on the farther +side. When he walked he twisted his head far to one side like one +listening. A falling timber in the mines had given him a deformed +shoulder and left a great scar on his face, partly covered by a red +beard filled with coal dust. The blow that had deformed his shoulder had +clouded his mind. He muttered as he walked along the road and talked to +himself like an old man. + +The red-haired boy ran beside his father happily. He did not see the +smiles on the faces of the miners, who came down the hill and stopped to +look at the odd pair. The miners went on down the road to sit in front +of the stores on Main Street, their day brightened by the memory of the +hurrying McGregors. They had a remark they tossed about. "Nance McGregor +should not have looked at her man when she conceived," they said. + +Up the face of the hill climbed the McGregors. In the mind of the boy a +thousand questions wanted answering. Looking at the silent gloomy face +of his father, he choked back the questions rising in his throat, saving +them for the quiet hour with his mother when Cracked McGregor was gone +to the mine. He wanted to know of the boyhood of his father, of the life +in the mine, of the birds that flew overhead and why they wheeled and +flew in great ovals in the sky. He looked at the fallen trees in the +woods and wondered what made them fall and whether the others would +presently fall in their turn. + +Over the hill went the silent pair and through the pinewood to an +eminence half way down the farther side. When the boy saw the valley +lying so green and broad and fruitful at their feet he thought it the +most wonderful sight in the world. He was not surprised that his father +had brought him there. Sitting on the ground he opened and closed his +eyes, his soul stirred by the beauty of the scene that lay before them. + +On the hillside Cracked McGregor went through a kind of ceremony. +Sitting upon a log he made a telescope of his hands and looked over the +valley inch by inch like one seeking something lost. For ten minutes he +would look intently at a clump of trees or a spot in the river running +through the valley where it broadened and where the water roughened +by the wind glistened in the sun. A smile lurked in the corners of his +mouth, he rubbed his hands together, he muttered incoherent words and +bits of sentences, once he broke forth into a low droning song. + +On the first morning, when the boy sat on the hillside with his father, +it was spring and the land was vividly green. Lambs played in the +fields; birds sang their mating songs; in the air, on the earth and in +the water of the flowing river it was a time of new life. Below, +the flat valley of green fields was patched and spotted with brown +new-turned earth. The cattle walking with bowed heads, eating the sweet +grass, the farmhouses with red barns, the pungent smell of the new +ground, fired his mind and awoke the sleeping sense of beauty in the +boy. He sat upon the log drunk with happiness that the world in which +he lived could be so beautiful. In his bed at night he dreamed of the +valley, confounding it with the old Bible tale of the Garden of Eden, +told him by his mother. He dreamed that he and his mother went over +the hill and down toward the valley but that his father, wearing a long +white robe and with his red hair blowing in the wind, stood upon the +hillside swinging a long sword blazing with fire and drove them back. + +When the boy went again over the hill it was October and a cold wind +blew down the hill into his face. In the woods golden brown leaves ran +about like frightened little animals and golden-brown were the leaves +on the trees about the farmhouses and golden-brown the corn standing +shocked in the fields. The scene saddened the boy. A lump came into his +throat and he wanted back the green shining beauty of the spring. He +wished to hear the birds singing in the air and in the grass on the +hillside. + +Cracked McGregor was in another mood. He seemed more satisfied than on +the first visit and ran up and down on the little eminence rubbing +his hands together and on the legs of his trousers. Through the long +afternoon he sat on the log muttering and smiling. + +On the road home through the darkened woods the restless hurrying leaves +frightened the boy so that, with his weariness from walking against +the wind, his hunger from being all day without food, and with the cold +nipping at his body, he began to cry. The father took the boy in his +arms and holding him across his breast like a babe went down the hill to +their home. + +It was on a Tuesday morning that Cracked McGregor died. His death fixed +itself as something fine in the mind of the boy and the scene and the +circumstance stayed with him through life, filling him with secret pride +like a knowledge of good blood. "It means something that I am the son of +such a man," he thought. + +It was past ten in the morning when the cry of "Fire in the mine" ran up +the hill to the houses of the miners. A panic seized the women. In +their minds they saw the men hurrying down old cuts, crouching in hidden +corridors, pursued by death. Cracked McGregor, one of the night shift, +slept in his house. The boy's mother, threw a shawl about her head, +took his hand and ran down the hill to the mouth of the mine. Cold winds +spitting snow blew in their faces. They ran along the tracks of the +railroad, stumbling over the ties, and stood on the railroad embankment +that overlooked the runway to the mine. + +About the runway and along the embankment stood the silent miners, their +hands in their trousers pockets, staring stolidly at the closed door +of the mine. Among them was no impulse toward concerted action. Like +animals at the door of a slaughter-house they stood as though waiting +their turn to be driven in at the door. An old crone with bent back +and a huge stick in her hand went from one to another of the miners +gesticulating and talking. "Get my boy--my Steve! Get him out of there!" +she shouted, waving the stick about. + +The door of the mine opened and three men came out, staggering as they +pushed before them a small car that ran upon rails. On the car lay three +other men, silent and motionless. A woman thinly clad and with great +cave-like hollows in her face climbed the embankment and sat upon the +ground below the boy and his mother. "The fire is in the old McCrary +cut," she said, her voice quivering, a dumb hopeless look in her eyes. +"They can't get through to close the doors. My man Ike is in there." +She put down her head and sat weeping. The boy knew the woman. She was +a neighbour who lived in an unpainted house on the hillside. In the yard +in front of her house a swarm of children played among the stones. Her +husband, a great hulking fellow, got drunk and when he came home kicked +his wife. The boy had heard her screaming at night. + +Suddenly in the growing crowd of miners below the embankment Beaut +McGregor saw his father moving restlessly about. On his head he had his +cap with the miner's lamp lighted. He went from group to group among the +people, his head hanging to one side. The boy looked at him intently. He +was reminded of the October day on the eminence overlooking the fruitful +valley and again he thought of his father as a man inspired, going +through a kind of ceremony. The tall miner rubbed his hands up and down +his legs, he peered into the faces of the silent men standing about, his +lips moved and his red beard danced up and down. + +As the boy looked a change came over the face of Cracked McGregor. He +ran to the foot of the embankment and looked up. In his eyes was the +look of a perplexed animal. The wife bent down and began to talk to the +weeping woman on the ground, trying to comfort her. She did not see her +husband and the boy and man stood in silence looking into each other's +eyes. + +Then the puzzled look went out of the father's face. He turned and +running along with his head rolling about reached the closed door of the +mine. A man, who wore a white collar and had a cigar stuck in the corner +of his mouth, put out his hand. + +"Stop! Wait!" he shouted. Pushing the man aside with his powerful arm +the runner pulled open the door of the mine and disappeared down the +runway. + +A hubbub arose. The man in the white collar took the cigar from his +mouth and began to swear violently. The boy stood on the embankment and +saw his mother running toward the runway of the mine. A miner gripped +her by the arm and led her back up the face of the embankment. In the +crowd a woman's voice shouted, "It's Cracked McGregor gone to close the +door to the McCrary cut." + +The man with the white collar glared about as he chewed the end of his +cigar. "He's gone crazy," he shouted, again closing the door to the +mine. + +Cracked McGregor died in the mine, almost within reach of the door to +the old cut where the fire burned. With him died all but five of the +imprisoned miners. All day parties of men tried to get down into the +mine. Below in the hidden passages under their own homes the scurrying +miners died like rats in a burning barn while their wives, with shawls +over their heads, sat silently weeping on the railroad embankment. In +the evening the boy and his mother went up the hill alone. From the +houses scattered over the hill came the sound of women weeping. + + * * * * * + +For several years after the mine disaster the McGregors, mother and son, +lived in the house on the hillside. The woman went each morning to the +offices of the mine where she washed windows and scrubbed floors. The +position was a sort of recognition on the part of the mine officials of +the heroism of Cracked McGregor. + +Nance McGregor was a small blue-eyed woman with a sharp nose. She wore +glasses and had the name in Coal Creek of being quick and sharp. She did +not stand by the fence to talk with the wives of other miners but sat +in her house and sewed or read aloud to her son. She subscribed for a +magazine and had bound copies of it standing upon shelves in the room +where she and the boy ate breakfast in the early morning. Before the +death of her husband she had maintained a habit of silence in her +house but after his death she expanded, and, with her red-haired son, +discussed freely every phase of their narrow lives. As he grew older the +boy began to believe that she like the miners had kept hidden under her +silence a secret fear of his father. Certain things she said of her life +encouraged the thought. + +Norman McGregor grew into a tall broad-shouldered boy with strong arms, +flaming red hair and a habit of sudden and violent fits of temper. There +was something about him that held the attention. As he grew older and +was renamed by Uncle Charlie Wheeler he began going about looking for +trouble. When the boys called him "Beaut" he knocked them down. When +men shouted the name after him on the street he followed them with +black looks. It became a point of honour with him to resent the name. He +connected it with the town's unfairness to Cracked McGregor. + +In the house on the hillside the boy and his mother lived together +happily. In the early morning they went down the hill and across the +tracks to the offices of the mine. From the offices the boy went up +the hill on the farther side of the valley and sat upon the schoolhouse +steps or wandered in the streets waiting for the day in school to begin. +In the evening mother and son sat upon the steps at the front of their +home and watched the glare of the coke ovens on the sky and the +lights of the swiftly-running passenger trains, roaring whistling and +disappearing into the night. + +Nance McGregor talked to her son of the big world outside the valley +and told him of the cities, the seas and the strange lands and peoples +beyond the seas. "We have dug in the ground like rats," she said, "I and +my people and your father and his people. With you it will be different. +You will get out of here to other places and other work." She grew +indignant thinking of the life in the town. "We are stuck down here amid +dirt, living in it, breathing it," she complained. "Sixty men died in +that hole in the ground and then the mine started again with new men. +We stay here year after year digging coal to burn in engines that take +other people across the seas and into the West." + +When the son was a tall strong boy of fourteen Nance McGregor bought the +bakery and to buy it took the money saved by Cracked McGregor. With it +he had planned to buy a farm in the valley beyond the hill. Dollar by +dollar it had been put away by the miner who dreamed of life in his own +fields. + +In the bakery the boy worked and learned to make bread. Kneading the +dough his arms and hands grew as strong as a bear's. He hated the work, +he hated Coal Creek and dreamed of life in the city and of the part he +should play there. Among the young men he began to make here and there +a friend. Like his father he attracted attention. Women looked at him, +laughed at his big frame and strong homely features and looked again. +When they spoke to him in the bakery or on the street he spoke back +fearlessly and looked them in the eyes. Young girls in the school +walked home down the hill with other boys and at night dreamed of Beaut +McGregor. When some one spoke ill of him they answered defending and +praising him. Like his father he was a marked man in the town of Coal +Creek. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +One Sunday afternoon three boys sat on a log on the side of the hill +that looked down into Coal Creek. From where they sat they could see the +workers of the night shift idling in the sun on Main Street. From the +coke ovens a thin line of smoke rose into the sky. A freight train +heavily loaded crept round the hill at the end of the valley. It was +spring and over even that hive of black industry hung a faint promise of +beauty. The boys talked of the life of people in their town and as they +talked thought each of himself. + +Although he had not been out of the valley and had grown strong and big +there, Beaut McGregor knew something of the outside world. It isn't a +time when men are shut off from their fellows. Newspapers and magazines +have done their work too well. They reached even into the miner's cabin +and the merchants along Main Street of Coal Creek stood before their +stores in the afternoon and talked of the doings of the world. Beaut +McGregor knew that life in his town was exceptional, that not everywhere +did men toil all day black and grimy underground, that not all women +were pale bloodless and bent. As he went about delivering bread he +whistled a song. "Take me back to Broadway," he sang after the soubrette +in a show that had once come to Coal Creek. + +Now as he sat on the hillside he talked earnestly while he gesticulated +with his hands. "I hate this town," he said. "The men here think they +are confoundedly funny. They don't care for anything but making foolish +jokes and getting drunk. I want to go away." His voice rose and hatred +flamed up in him. "You wait," he boasted. "I'll make men stop being +fools. I'll make children of them. I'll----" Pausing he looked at his +two companions. + +Beaut poked the ground with a stick. The boy sitting beside him laughed. +He was a short well--dressed black--haired boy with rings on his fingers +who worked in the town poolroom, racking the pool balls. "I'd like to go +where there are women with blood in them," he said. + +Three women came up the hill toward them, a tall pale brown-haired +woman of twenty-seven and two fairer young girls. The black-haired boy +straightened his tie and began thinking of a conversation he would start +when the women reached him. Beaut and the other boy, a fat fellow, the +son of a grocer, looked down the hill to the town over the heads of the +newcomers and continued in their minds the thoughts that had made the +conversation. + +"Hello girls, come and sit here," shouted the black-haired boy, laughing +and looking boldly into the eyes of the tall pale woman. They stopped +and the tall woman began stepping over the fallen logs, coming to them. +The two young girls followed, laughing. They sat down on the log beside +the boys, the tall pale woman at the end beside red-haired McGregor. An +embarrassed silence fell over the party. Both Beaut and the fat boy were +disconcerted by this turn to their afternoon's outing and wondered how +it would turn out. + +The pale woman began to talk in a low tone. "I want to get away from +here," she said, "I wish I could hear birds sing and see green things +grow." + +Beaut McGregor had an idea. "You come with me," he said. He got up and +climbed over the logs and the pale woman followed. The fat boy shouted +at them, relieving his own embarrassment by trying to embarrass them. +"Where're you going--you two?" he shouted. + +Beaut said nothing. He stepped over the logs to the road and began +climbing the hill. The tall woman walked beside him and held her skirts +out of the deep dust of the road. Even on this her Sunday gown there was +a faint black mark along the seams--the mark of Coal Creek. + +As McGregor walked his embarrassment left him. He thought it fine that +he should be thus alone with a woman. When she had tired from the climb +he sat with her on a log beside the road and talked of the black-haired +boy. "He has your ring on his finger," he said, looking at her and +laughing. + +She held her hand pressed tightly against her side and closed her eyes. +"The climbing hurts me," she said. + +Tenderness took hold of Beaut. When they went on again he walked behind +her, his hand upon her back pushing her up the hill. The desire to tease +her about the black-haired boy had passed and he wished he had said +nothing about the ring. He remembered the story the black-haired boy +had told him of his conquest of the woman. "More than likely a mess of +lies," he thought. + +Over the crest of the hill they stopped and rested, leaning against a +worn rail fence by the woods. Below them in a wagon a party of men went +down the hill. The men sat upon boards laid across the box of a wagon +and sang a song. One of them stood in the seat beside the driver and +waved a bottle. He seemed to be making a speech. The others shouted and +clapped their hands. The sounds came faint and sharp up the hill. + +In the woods beside the fence rank grass grew. Hawks floated in the sky +over the valley below. A squirrel running along the fence stopped and +chattered at them. McGregor thought he had never had so delightful +a companion. He got a feeling of complete, good fellowship and +friendliness with this woman. Without knowing how the thing had been +done he felt a certain pride in it. "Don't mind what I said about the +ring," he urged, "I was only trying to tease you." + +The woman beside McGregor was the daughter of an undertaker who lived +upstairs over his shop near the bakery. He had seen her in the evening +standing in the stairway by the shop door. After the story told him by +the black-haired boy he had been embarrassed about her. When he passed +her standing in the stairway he went hurriedly along and looked into the +gutter. + +They went down the hill and sat on the log upon the hillside. A clump +of elders had grown about the log since his visits there with Cracked +McGregor so that the place was closed and shaded like a room. The woman +took off her hat and laid it beside her on the log. A faint colour +mounted to her pale cheeks and a flash of anger gleamed in her eyes. "He +probably lied to you about me," she said, "I didn't give him that ring +to wear. I don't know why I gave it to him. He wanted it. He asked me +for it time and again. He said he wanted to show it to his mother. And +now he has shown it to you and I suppose told lies about me." + +Beaut was annoyed and wished he had not mentioned the ring. He felt that +an unnecessary fuss was being made about it. He did not believe that the +black-haired boy had lied but he did not think it mattered. + +He began talking of his father, boasting of him. His hatred of the +town blazed up. "They thought they knew him down there," he said, "they +laughed at him and called him 'Cracked.' They thought his running into +the mine just a crazy notion like a horse that runs into a burning +stable. He was the best man in town. He was braver than any of them. He +went in there and died when he had almost enough money saved to buy a +farm over here." He pointed down the valley. + +Beaut began to tell her of the visits to the hillside with his father +and described the effect of the scene on himself when he was a child. "I +thought it was paradise," he said. + +She put her hand on his arm and seemed to be soothing him like a careful +groom quieting an excitable horse. "Don't mind them," she said, "you +will go away after a time and make a place for yourself out in the +world." + +He wondered how she knew. A profound respect for her came over him. "She +is keen to guess that," he thought. + +He began to talk of himself, boasting and throwing out his chest. "I'd +like to have the chance to show what I can do," he declared. A thought +that had been in his mind on the winter day when Uncle Charlie Wheeler +put the name of Beaut upon him came back and he walked up and down +before the woman making grotesque motions with his hands as Cracked +McGregor had walked up and down before him. + +"I'll tell you what," he began and his voice was harsh. He had forgotten +the presence of the woman and half forgotten what had been in his +mind. He sputtered and glared over his shoulder up the hillside as he +struggled for words. "Oh to Hell with men!" he burst forth. "They are +cattle, stupid cattle." A fire blazed up in his eyes and a confident +ring came into his voice. "I'd like to get them together, all of them," +he said, "I'd like to make them----" Words failed him and again he sat +down on the log beside the woman. "Well I'd like to lead them to an old +mine shaft and push them in," he concluded resentfully. + + * * * * * + +On the eminence Beaut and the tall woman sat and looked down into the +valley. "I wonder why we don't go there, mother and I," he said. "When +I see it I'm filled with the notion. I think I want to be a farmer and +work in the fields. Instead of that mother and I sit and plan of the +city. I'm going to be a lawyer. That's all we talk about. Then I come up +here and it seems as though this is the place for me." + +The tall woman laughed. "I can see you coming home at night from the +fields," she said. "It might be to that white house there with the +windmill, You would be a big man and would have dust in your red hair +and perhaps a red beard growing on your chin. And a woman with a baby +in her arms would come out of the kitchen door to stand leaning on the +fence waiting for you. When you came up she would put her arm around +your neck and kiss you on the lips. The beard would tickle her cheek. +You should have a beard when you grow older. Your mouth is so big." + +A strange new feeling shot through Beaut. He wondered why she had said +that and wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss her then and there. He +got up and looked at the sun going down behind the hill far away at the +other end of the valley. "We'd better be getting along back," he said. + +The woman remained seated on the log. "Sit down," she said, "I'll tell +you something--something it's good for you to hear. You're so big and +red you tempt a girl to bother you. First though you tell me why you go +along the street looking into the gutter when I stand in the stairway in +the evening." + +Beaut sat down again upon the log, and thought of what the black-haired +boy had told him of her. "Then it was true--what he said about you?" he +asked. + +"No! No!" she cried, jumping up in her turn and beginning to pin on her +hat. "Let's be going." + +Beaut sat stolidly on the log. "What's the use bothering each other," +he said. "Let's sit here until the sun goes down. We can get home before +dark." + +They sat down and she began talking, boasting of herself as he had +boasted of his father. + +"I'm too old for that boy," she said; "I'm older than you by a good many +years. I know what boys talk about and what they say about women. I do +pretty well. I don't have any one to talk to except father and he sits +all evening reading a paper and going to sleep in his chair. If I let +boys come and sit with me in the evening or stand talking with me in +the stairway it is because I'm lonesome. There isn't a man in town I'd +marry--not one." + +The speech sounded discordant and harsh to Beaut. He wished his father +were there rubbing his hands together and muttering rather than this +pale woman who stirred him up and then talked harshly like the women at +the back doors in Coal Creek. He thought again as he had thought before +that he preferred the black-faced miners drunk and silent to their pale +talking wives. On an impulse he told her that, saying it crudely so that +it hurt. + +Their companionship was spoiled. They got up and began to climb the +hill, going toward home. Again she put her hand to her side and again he +wished to put his hand at her back and push her up the hill. Instead he +walked beside her in silence, again hating the town. + +Halfway down the hill the tall woman stopped by the road-side. Darkness +was coming on and the glow of the coke ovens lighted the sky. "One +living up here and never going down there might think it rather grand +and big," he said. Again the hatred came. "They might think the men who +live down there knew something instead of being just a lot of cattle." + +A smile came into the face of the tall woman and a gentler look stole +into her eyes. "We get at one another," she said, "we can't let one +another alone. I wish we hadn't quarrelled. We might be friends if we +tried. You have got something in you. You attract women. I've heard +others say that. Your father was that way. Most of the women here would +rather have been the wife of Cracked McGregor ugly as he was than to +have stayed with their own husbands. I heard my mother say that to +father when they lay quarrelling in bed at night and I lay listening." + +The boy was overcome with the thought of a woman talking to him so +frankly. He looked at her and said what was in his mind. "I don't +like the women," he said, "but I liked you, seeing you standing in the +stairway and thinking you had been doing as you pleased. I thought maybe +you amounted to something. I don't know why you should be bothered by +what I think. I don't know why any woman should be bothered by what any +man thinks. I should think you would go right on doing what you want to +do like mother and me about my being a lawyer." + +He sat on a log beside the road near where he had met her and watched +her go down the hill. "I'm quite a fellow to have talked to her all +afternoon like that," he thought and pride in his growing manhood crept +over him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The town of Coal Creek was hideous. People from prosperous towns and +cities of the middle west, from Ohio, Illinois, and Iowa, going east to +New York or Philadelphia, looked out of the car windows and seeing the +poor little houses scattered along the hillside thought of books they +had read of life in hovels in the old world. In chair-cars men and women +leaned back and closed their eyes. They yawned and wished the journey +would come to an end. If they thought of the town at all they regretted +it mildly and passed it off as a necessity of modern life. + +The houses on the hillside and the stores along Main Street belonged +to the mining company. In its turn the mining company belonged to the +officials of the railroad. The manager of the mine had a brother who was +division superintendent. It was the mine manager who had stood by the +door of the mine when Cracked McGregor went to his death. He lived in a +city some thirty miles away, and went there in the evening on the train. +With him went the clerks and even the stenographers from the offices of +the mine. After five o'clock in the afternoon no white collars were to +be seen upon the streets of Coal Creek. + +In the town men lived like brutes. Dumb with toil they drank greedily in +the saloon on Main Street and went home to beat their wives. Among them +a constant low muttering went on. They felt the injustice of their lot +but could not voice it logically and when they thought of the men +who owned the mine they swore dumbly, using vile oaths even in their +thoughts. Occasionally a strike broke out and Barney Butterlips, a thin +little man with a cork leg, stood on a box and made speeches regarding +the coming brotherhood of man. Once a troop of cavalry was unloaded from +the cars and with a battery paraded the main street. The battery was +made up of several men in brown uniforms. They set up a Gatling gun at +the end of the street and the strike subsided. + +An Italian who lived in a house on the hillside cultivated a garden. +His place was the one beauty spot in the valley. With a wheelbarrow he +brought earth from the woods at the top of the hill and on Sunday he +could be seen going back and forth and whistling merrily. In the winter +he sat in his house making a drawing on a bit of paper. In the spring he +took the drawing, and by it planted his garden, utilising every inch of +his ground. When a strike came on he was told by the mine manager to go +on back to work or move out of his house. He thought of the garden and +the work he had done and went back to his routine of work in the mine. +While he worked the miners marched up the hill and destroyed the garden. +The next day the Italian also joined the striking miners. + +In a little one-room shack on the hill lived an old woman. She lived +alone and was vilely dirty. In her house she had old broken chairs and +tables picked up about town and piled in such profusion that she could +scarcely move about. On warm days she sat in the sun before the shack +chewing on a stick that had been dipped in tobacco. Miners coming up the +hill dumped bits of bread and meat-ends out of their dinner-pails into a +box nailed to a tree by the road. These the old woman collected and ate. +When the soldiers came to town she walked along the street jeering at +them. "Pretty boys! Scabs! Dudes! Dry-goods clerks!" she called after +them as she walked by the tails of their horses. A young man with +glasses on his nose, who was mounted on a grey horse turned and called +to his comrades, "Let her alone--it's old Mother Misery herself." + +When the tall red-haired boy looked at the workers and at the old woman +who followed the soldiers he did not sympathise with them. He hated +them. In a way he sympathised with the soldiers. His blood was stirred +by the sight of them marching shoulder to shoulder. He thought there +was order and decency in the rank of uniformed men moving silently and +quickly along and he half wished they would destroy the town. When the +strikers made a wreck of the garden of the Italian he was deeply touched +and walked up and down in the room before his mother, proclaiming +himself. "I would have killed them had it been my garden," he said. "I +would not have left one of them alive." In his heart he like Cracked +McGregor nursed his hatred of the miners and of the town. "The place is +one to get out of," he said. "If a man doesn't like it here let him get +up and leave." He remembered his father working and saving for the farm +in the valley. "They thought him cracked but he knew more than they. +They would not have dared touch a garden he had planted." + +In the heart of the miner's son strange half-formed thoughts began to +find lodgings. Remembering in his dreams at night the moving columns +of men in their uniforms he read new meaning into the scraps of history +picked up in the school and the movements of men in old history began to +have significance for him. On a summer afternoon as he loitered before +the town's hotel, beneath which was the saloon and billiard room +where the black-haired boy worked, he overheard two men talking of the +significance of men. + +One of the men was an itinerant oculist who came to the mining town once +a month to fit and sell spectacles. When the oculist had sold several +pairs of spectacles he got drunk, sometimes staying drunk for a week. +When he was drunk he spoke French and Italian and sometimes stood in the +barroom before the miners, quoting the poems of Dante. His clothes +were greasy from long wear and he had a huge nose streaked with red and +purple veins. Because of his learning in the languages and his quoting +of poems the miners thought the oculist infinitely wise. To them it +seemed that one with such a mind must have almost unearthly knowledge +concerning the eyes and the fitting of glasses and they wore with pride +the cheap ill-fitting things he thrust upon them. + +Occasionally, as though making a concession to his patrons, the oculist +spent an evening among them. Once after reciting one of the sonnets of +Shakespeare he put a hand on the bar and rocking gently back and forth +sang in a drink-broken voice a ballad beginning "The harp that once +through Tara's halls the soul of music shed." After the song he put his +head down upon the bar and wept while the miners looked on touched with +sympathy. + +On the summer afternoon when Beaut McGregor listened, the oculist was +engaged in a violent quarrel with another man, drunk like himself. The +second man was a slender dandified fellow of middle age who sold shoes +for a Philadelphia jobbing-house. He sat in a chair tilted against the +hotel and tried to read aloud from a book. When he was fairly launched +in a long paragraph the oculist interrupted. Staggering up and down the +narrow board walk before the hotel the old drunkard raved and swore. He +seemed beside himself with wrath. + +"I am sick of such slobbering philosophy," he declared. "Even the +reading of it makes you drool at the mouth. You do not say the words +sharply, and they can't be said sharply. I'm a strong man myself." + +Spreading his legs wide apart and blowing up his cheeks, the oculist +beat upon his breast. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the man in +the chair. + +"You but slobber and make a foul noise," he declared. "I know your kind. +I spit upon you. The Congress at Washington is full of such fellows as +is also the House of Commons in England. In France they were once in +charge. They ran things in France until the coming of a man such as +myself. They were lost in the shadow of the great Napoleon." + +The oculist as though dismissing the dandified man from his mind turned +to address Beaut. He talked in French and the man in the chair fell into +a troubled sleep. "I am like Napoleon," the drunkard declared, breaking +again into English. Tears began to show in his eyes. "I take the money +of these miners and I give them nothing. The spectacles I sell to their +wives for five dollars cost me but fifteen cents. I ride over these +brutes as Napoleon rode over Europe. There would be order and purpose in +me were I not a fool. I am like Napoleon in that I have utter contempt +for men." + + * * * * * + +Again and again the words of the drunkard came back into the mind of +the McGregor boy influencing his thoughts. Grasping nothing of the +philosophy back of the man's words his imagination was yet touched by +the drunkard's tale of the great Frenchman, babbled into his ears, and +it in some way seemed to give point to his hatred of the disorganised +ineffectiveness of the life about him. + + * * * * * + +After Nance McGregor opened the bakery another strike came to disturb +the prosperity of the business. Again the miners walked idly through the +streets. Into the bakery they came to get bread and told Nance to write +the debt down against them. Beaut McGregor was disturbed. He saw his +father's money being spent for flour which when baked into loaves +went out of the shop under the arms of the miners who shuffled as they +walked. One night a man whose name appeared on their books followed by +a long record of charged loaves came reeling past the bakery. McGregor +went to his mother and protested. "They have money to get drunk," he +said, "let them pay for their loaves." + +Nance McGregor went on trusting the miners. She thought of the women and +children in the houses on the hill and when she heard of the plans of +the mining company to evict the miners from their houses she shuddered. +"I was the wife of a miner and I will stick to them," she thought. + +One day the mine manager came into the bakery. He leaned over the +showcase and talked to Nance. The son went and stood by his mother's +side to listen. "It has got to be stopped," the manager was saying. "I +will not see you ruin yourself for these cattle. I want you to close +this place till the strike is over. If you won't close it I will. The +building belongs to us. They did not appreciate what your husband did +and why should you ruin yourself for them?" + +The woman looked at him and answered in a low tone full of resolution. +"They thought he was crazy and he was," she said; "but what made him +so--the rotten timbers in the mine that broke and crushed him. You and +not they are responsible for my man and what he was." + +Beaut McGregor interrupted. "Well I think he is right," he declared, +leaning over the counter beside his mother and looking into her face. +"The miners don't want better things for their families, they want more +money to get drunk. We will close the doors here. We will put no more +money into bread to go into their gullets. They hated father and he +hated them and now I hate them also." + +Beaut walked around the end of the counter and went with the mine +manager to the door. He locked it and put the key into his pocket. Then +he walked to the rear of the bake shop where his mother sat on a box +weeping. "It is time a man took charge here," he said. + +Nance McGregor and her son sat in the bakery and looked at each other. +Miners came along the street, tried the door and went away grumbling. +Word ran from lip to lip up the hillside. "The mine manager has closed +Nance McGregor's shop," said the women leaning over back fences. +Children sprawling on the floors of the houses put up their heads and +howled. Their lives were a succession of new terrors. When a day passed +that a new terror did not shake them they went to bed happy. When the +miner and his woman stood by the door talking in low tones they cried, +expecting to be put to bed hungry. When guarded talk did not go on by +the door the miner came home drunk and beat the mother and the children +lay in beds along the wall trembling with fright. + +Late that night a party of miners came to the door of the bakery and +beat upon it with their fists. "Open up here!" they shouted. Beaut +came out of the rooms above the bakery and stood in the empty shop. His +mother sat in a chair in her room and trembled. He went to the door +and unlocking it stepped out. The miners stood in groups on the wooden +sidewalk and in the mud of the road. Among them stood the old crone who +had walked beside the horses and shouted at the soldiers. A miner with a +black beard came and stood before the boy. Waving his hand at the crowd +he said, "We have come to open the bakery. Some of us have no ovens +in our stoves. You give us the key and we will open the place. We will +break in the door if you don't want to do that. The company can't blame +you if we do it by force. You can keep account of what we take. Then +when the strike is settled we will pay you." + +A flame shot into the eyes of the boy. He walked down the steps and +stood among the miners. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he peered +into their faces. When he spoke his voice resounded through the street, +"You jeered at my father, Cracked McGregor, when he went into the mine +for you. You laughed at him because he saved his money and did not spend +it buying you drinks. Now you come here to get bread his money bought +and you do not pay. Then you get drunk and go reeling past this very +door. Now let me tell you something." He thrust his hands into the air +and shouted. "The mine manager did not close this place. I closed it. +You jeered at Cracked McGregor, a better man than any of you. You have +had fun with me--laughing at me. Now I jeer at you." He ran up the steps +and unlocking the door stood in the doorway. "Pay the money you owe this +bakery and there will be bread for sale here," he called, and went in +and locked the door. + +The miners walked off up the street. The boy stood within the bakery, +his hands trembling. "I've told them something," he thought, "I've shown +them they can't make a fool of me." He went up the stairway to the rooms +above. By the window his mother sat, her head in her hands, looking down +into the street. He sat in a chair and thought of the situation. "They +will be back here and smash the place like they tore up that garden," he +said. + +The next evening Beaut sat in the darkness on the steps before the +bakery. In his hands he held a hammer. A dull hatred of the town and of +the miners burned in his brain. "I will make it hot for some of them if +they come here," he thought. He hoped they would come. As he looked at +the hammer in his hand a phrase from the lips of the drunken old oculist +babbling of Napoleon came into his mind. He began to think that he also +must be like the figure of which the drunkard had talked. He remembered +a story the oculist had told of a fight in the streets of a European +city and muttered and waved the hammer about. Upstairs his mother sat by +the window with her head in her hands. From the saloon down the street a +light gleamed out on the wet sidewalk. The tall pale woman who had gone +with him to the eminence overlooking the valley came down the stairway +from above the undertaker's shop. She ran along the sidewalk. On her +head she wore a shawl and as she ran she clutched it with her hand. The +other hand she held against her side. + +When the women reached the boy who sat in silence before the bakery +she put her hands on his shoulders and plead with him. "Come away," she +said. "Get your mother and come to our place. They're going to smash you +up here. You'll get hurt." + +Beaut arose and pushed her away. Her coming had given him new courage. +His heart jumped at the thought of her interest in him and he wished +that the miners might come so that he could fight them before her. "I +wish I could live among people as decent as she," he thought. + +A train stopped at the station down the street. There came the sound of +tramping of men and quick sharp commands. A stream of men poured out of +the saloon onto the sidewalk. Down the street came a file of soldiers +with guns swung across their shoulders. Again Beaut was thrilled by the +sight of trained orderly men moving along shoulder to shoulder. In the +presence of these men the disorganized miners seemed pitifully weak and +insignificant. The girl pulled the shawl about her head and ran up the +street to disappear into the stairway. The boy unlocked the door and +went upstairs and to bed. + +After the strike Nance McGregor who owned nothing but unpaid accounts +was unable to open the bakery. A small man with a white moustache, who +chewed tobacco, came from the mill and took the unused flour and shipped +it away. The boy and his mother continued living above the bakery store +room. Again she went in the morning to wash the windows and scrub the +floors in the offices of the mine and her red-haired son stood upon the +street or sat in the pool room and talked to the black-haired boy. +"Next week I'll be going to the city and will begin making something of +myself," he said. When the time came to go he waited and idled in the +streets. Once when a miner jeered at him for his idleness he knocked him +into the gutter. The miners who hated him for his speech on the steps, +admired him for his strength and brute courage. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In a cellar-like house driven like a stake into the hillside above Coal +Creek lived Kate Hartnet with her son Mike. Her man had died with the +others during the fire in the mine. Her son like Beaut McGregor did not +work in the mine. He hurried through Main Street or went half running +among the trees on the hills. Miners seeing him hurrying along with +white intense face shook their heads. "He's cracked," they said. "He'll +hurt some one yet." + +Beaut saw Mike hurrying about the streets. Once encountering him in the +pine woods above the town he walked with him and tried to get him to +talk. In his pockets Mike carried books and pamphlets. He set traps +in the woods and brought home rabbits and squirrels. He got together +collections of birds' eggs which he sold to women in the trains that +stopped at Coal Creek and when he caught birds he stuffed them, put +beads in their eyesockets and sold them also. He proclaimed himself an +anarchist and like Cracked McGregor muttered to himself as he hurried +along. + +One day Beaut came upon Mike Hartnet reading a book as he sat on a log +overlooking the town. A shock ran through McGregor when he looked over +the shoulder of the man and saw what book he read. "It is strange," he +thought, "that this fellow should stick to the same book that fat old +Weeks makes his living by." + +Beaut sat on the log beside Hartnet and watched him. The reading man +looked up and nodded nervously then slid along the log to the farther +end. Beaut laughed. He looked down at the town and then at the +frightened nervous book-reading man on the log. An inspiration came to +him. + +"If you had the power, Mike, what would you do to Coal Creek?" he asked. + +The nervous man jumped and tears came into his eyes. He stood before +the log and spread out his hands. "I would go among men like Christ," he +cried, pitching his voice forward like one addressing an audience. "Poor +and humble, I would go teaching them of love." Spreading out his hands +like one pronouncing a benediction he shouted, "Oh men of Coal Creek, I +would teach you love and the destruction of evil." + +Beaut jumped up from the log and strode before the trembling figure. He +was strangely moved. Grasping the man he thrust him back upon the log. +His own voice rolled down the hillside in a great roaring laugh. "Men of +Coal Creek," he shouted, mimicking the earnestness of Hartnet, "listen +to the voice of McGregor. I hate you. I hate you because you jeered at +my father and at me and because you cheated my mother, Nance McGregor. I +hate you because you are weak and disorganised like cattle. I would like +to come among you teaching the power of force. I would like to slay you +one by one, not with weapons but with my naked fists. If they have made +you work like rats buried in a hole they are right. It is man's right to +do what he can. Get up and fight. Fight and I'll get on the other side +and you can fight me. I'll help drive you back into your holes." + +Beaut ceased speaking and jumping over the logs ran down the road. Among +the first of the miner's houses he stopped and laughed awkwardly. "I +am cracked also," he thought, "shouting at emptiness on a hillside." +He went on in a reflective mood, wondering what power had taken hold of +him. "I would like a fight--a fight against odds," he thought. "I will +stir things up when I am a lawyer in the city." + +Mike Hartnet came running down the road at the heels of McGregor. "Don't +tell," he plead trembling. "Don't tell about me in the town. They will +laugh and call names after me. I want to be let alone." + +Beaut shook himself loose from the detaining hand and went on down the +hill. When he had passed out of sight of Hartnet he sat down on the +ground. For an hour he looked at the town in the valley and thought of +himself. He was half proud, half ashamed of the thing that had happened. + + * * * * * + +In the blue eyes of McGregor anger flashed quick and sudden. Upon +the streets of Coal Creek he walked, swinging along, his great body +inspiring fear. His mother grown grave and silent worked in the offices +of the mines. Again she had a habit of silence in her own home and +looked at her son, half fearing him. All day she worked in the mine +offices and in the evening sat silently in a chair on the porch before +her house and looked down into Main Street. + +Beaut McGregor did nothing. He sat in the dingy little pool room and +talked with the black-haired boy or walked over the hills swinging a +stick in his hand and thinking of the city to which he would presently +go to start his career. As he walked in the streets women stopped to +look at him, thinking of the beauty and strength of his maturing body. +The miners passed him in silence hating him and dreading his wrath. +Walking among the hills he thought much of himself. "I am capable of +anything," he thought, lifting his head and looking at the towering +hills, "I wonder why I stay on here." + +When he was eighteen Beaut's mother fell ill. All day she lay on her +back in bed in the room above the empty bakery. Beaut shook himself out +of his waking stupor and went about seeking work. He had not felt that +he was indolent. He had been waiting. Now he bestirred himself. "I'll +not go into the mines," he said, "nothing shall get me down there." + +He got work in a livery stable cleaning and feeding the horses. His +mother got out of bed and began going again to the mine offices. Having +started to work Beaut stayed on, thinking it but a way station to the +position he would one day achieve in the city. + +In the stable worked two young boys, sons of coal miners. They drove +travelling men from the trains to farming towns in valleys back among +the hills and in the evening with Beaut McGregor they sat on a bench +before the barn and shouted at people going past the stable up the hill. + +The livery stable in Coal Creek was owned by a hunchback named Weller +who lived in the city and went home at night. During the day he sat +about the stable talking to red-haired McGregor. "You're a big beast," +he said laughing. "You talk about going away to the city and making +something of yourself and still you stay on here doing nothing. You want +to quit this talking about being a lawyer and become a prize fighter. +Law is a place for brains not muscles." He walked through the stables +leaning his head to one side and looking up at the big fellow who +brushed the horses. McGregor watched him and grinned. "I'll show you," +he said. + +The hunchback was pleased when he strutted before McGregor. He had heard +men talk of the strength and the evil temper of his stableman and it +pleased him to have so fierce a fellow cleaning the horses. At night in +the city he sat under the lamp with his wife and boasted. "I make him +step about," he said. + +In the stable the hunchback kept at the heels of McGregor. "And there's +something else," he said, putting his hand in his pockets and raising +himself on his toes. "You look out for that undertaker's daughter. She +wants you. If she gets you there will be no law study but a place in the +mines for you. You let her alone and begin taking care of your mother." + +Beaut went on cleaning the horses and thinking of what the hunchback had +said. He thought there was sense to it. He also was afraid of the tall +pale girl. Sometimes when he looked at her a pain shot through him and +a combination of fear and desire gripped him. He walked away from it +and went free as he went free from the life in the darkness down in the +mine. "He has a kind of genius for keeping away from the things he don't +like," said the liveryman, talking to Uncle Charlie Wheeler in the sun +before the door of the post office. + +One afternoon the two boys who worked in the livery stable with McGregor +got him drunk. The affair was a rude joke, elaborately planned. The +hunchback had stayed in the city for the day and no travelling men got +off the trains to be driven over the hills. In the afternoon hay brought +over the hill from the fruitful valley was being put into the loft of +the barn and between loads McGregor and the two boys sat on the bench by +the stable door. The two boys went to the saloon and brought back beer, +paying for it from a fund kept for that purpose. The fund was the result +of a system worked out by the two drivers. When a passenger gave one +of them a coin at the end of a day of driving he put it into the common +fund. When the fund had grown to some size the two went to the saloon +and stood before the bar drinking until it was spent and then came back +to sleep off their stupor on the hay in the barn. After a prosperous +week the hunchback occasionally gave them a dollar for the fund. + +Of the beer McGregor drank but one foaming glass. For all his idling +about Coal Creek he had never before tasted beer and it was strong and +bitter in his mouth. He threw up his head and gulped it then turned and +walked toward the rear of the stable to conceal the tears that the taste +of the stuff had forced into his eyes. + +The two drivers sat on the bench and laughed. The drink they had given +Beaut was a horrible mess concocted by the laughing bartender at their +suggestion. "We will get the big fellow drunk and hear him roar," the +bartender had said. + +As he walked toward the back of the stable a convulsive nausea seized +Beaut. He stumbled and pitched forward, cutting his face on the floor. +Then he rolled over on his back and groaned and a little stream of blood +ran down his cheek. + +The two boys jumped up from the bench and ran toward him. They stood +looking at his pale lips. Fear seized them. They tried to lift him but +he fell from their arms and lay again on the stable floor, white and +motionless. Filled with fright they ran from the stable and through Main +Street. "We must get a doctor," they said as they hurried along, "He is +mighty sick--that fellow." + +In the doorway leading to the rooms over the undertaker's shop stood the +tall pale girl. One of the running boys stopped and addressed her, "Your +red-head," he shouted, "is blind drunk lying on the stable floor. He has +cut his head and is bleeding." + +The tall girl ran down the street to the offices of the mine. With Nance +McGregor she hurried to the stable. The store keepers along Main Street +looked out of their doors and saw the two women pale and with set faces +half-carrying the huge form of Beaut McGregor along the street and in at +the door of the bakery. + + * * * * * + +At eight o'clock that evening Beaut McGregor, his legs still unsteady, +his face white, climbed aboard a passenger train and passed out of +the life of Coal Creek. On the seat beside him a bag contained all his +clothes. In his pocket lay a ticket to Chicago and eighty-five dollars, +the last of Cracked McGregor's savings. He looked out of the car window +at the little woman thin and worn standing alone on the station platform +and a great wave of anger passed through him. "I'll show them," he +muttered. The woman looked at him and forced a smile to her lips. The +train began to move into the west. Beaut looked at his mother and at the +deserted streets of Coal Creek and put his head down upon his hands and +in the crowded car before the gaping people wept with joy that he had +seen the last of youth. He looked back at Coal Creek, full of hate. Like +Nero he might have wished that all of the people of the town had but one +head so that he might have cut it off with a sweep of a sword or knocked +it into the gutter with one swinging blow. + + + + + +BOOK II + + + +CHAPTER I + + +It was late in the summer of 1893 when McGregor came to Chicago, an ill +time for boy or man in that city. The big exposition of the year before +had brought multiplied thousands of restless labourers into the city +and its leading citizens, who had clamoured for the exposition and had +loudly talked of the great growth that was to come, did not know what to +do with the growth now that it had come. The depression that followed +on the heels of the great show and the financial panic that ran over the +country in that year had set thousands of hungry men to wait dumbly on +park benches poring over want advertisements in the daily papers and +looking vacantly at the lake or had driven them to tramp aimlessly +through the streets, filled with forebodings. + +In time of plenty a great American city like Chicago goes on showing a +more or less cheerful face to the world while in nooks and crannies +down side-streets and alleys poverty and misery sit hunched up in little +ill-smelling rooms breeding vice. In times of depression these creatures +crawl forth and joined by thousands of the unemployed tramp the streets +through the long nights or sleep upon benches in the parks. In the +alleyways off Madison Street on the West Side and off State Street, +on the South Side, eager women driven by want sold their bodies to +passersby for twenty-five cents. An advertisement in the newspapers of +one unfilled job brought a thousand men to block the streets at daylight +before a factory door. In the crowds men swore and knocked each other +about. Working-men driven to desperation went forth into quiet streets +and knocking over citizens took their money and watches and ran +trembling into the darkness. A girl of Twenty-fourth Street was kicked +and knocked into the gutter because when attacked by thieves she had but +thirty-five cents in her purse. A professor of the University of Chicago +addressing his class said that, having looked into the hungry distorted +faces of five hundred men clamouring for a position as dishwasher in +a cheap restaurant, he was ready to pronounce all claims to social +advancement in America a figment in the brains of optimistic fools. +A tall awkward man walking up State Street threw a stone through the +window of a store. A policeman hustled him through the crowd. "You'll +get a workhouse sentence for this," he said. + +"You fool that's what I want. I want to make property that won't employ +me feed me," said the tall gaunt man who, trained in the cleaner and +more wholesome poverty of the frontier, might have been a Lincoln +suffering for mankind. + +Into this maelstrom of misery and grim desperate want walked Beaut +McGregor of Coal Creek--huge, graceless of body, indolent of mind, +untrained, uneducated, hating the world. Within two days he had snatched +before the very eyes of that hungry marching army three prizes, three +places where a man might by working all day get clothes to wear upon his +back and food to put into his stomach. + +In a way McGregor had already sensed something the realisation of which +will go far toward making any man a strong figure in the world. He was +not to be bullied with words. Orators might have preached to him all day +about the progress of mankind in America, flags might have been flapped +and newspapers might have dinned the wonders of his country into his +brain. He would only have shaken his big head. He did not yet know +the whole story of how men, coming out of Europe and given millions of +square miles of black fertile land mines and forests, have failed in the +challenge given them by fate and have produced out of the stately order +of nature only the sordid disorder of man. McGregor did not know the +fullness of the tragic story of his race. He only knew that the men he +had seen were for the most part pigmies. On the train coming to Chicago +a change had come over him. The hatred of Coal Creek that burned in him +had set fire to something else. He sat looking out of the car window at +the stations running past during the night and the following day at +the cornfields of Indiana, making his plans. In Chicago he meant to do +something. Coming from a community where no man arose above a condition +of silent brute labour he meant to step up into the light of power. +Filled with hatred and contempt of mankind he meant that mankind should +serve him. Raised among men who were but men he meant to be a master. + +And his equipment was better than he knew. In a disorderly haphazard +world hatred is as effective an impulse to drive men forward to success +as love and high hope. It is a world-old impulse sleeping in the heart +of man since the day of Cain. In a way it rings true and strong above +the hideous jangle of modern life. Inspiring fear it usurps power. + +McGregor was without fear. He had not yet met his master and looked with +contempt upon the men and women he had known. Without knowing it he had, +besides a huge body hard as adamant, a clear and lucid brain. The fact +that he hated Coal Creek and thought it horrible proved his keenness. It +was horrible. Well might Chicago have trembled and rich men strolling in +the evening along Michigan Boulevard have looked fearfully about as this +huge red fellow, carrying the cheap handbag and staring with his blue +eyes at the restless moving mobs of people, walked for the first time +through its streets. In his very frame there was the possibility of +something, a blow, a shock, a thrust out of the lean soul of strength +into the jelly-like fleshiness of weakness. + +In the world of men nothing is so rare as a knowledge of men. Christ +himself found the merchants hawking their wares even on the floor of +the temple and in his naive youth was stirred to wrath and drove them +through the door like flies. And history has represented him in turn +as a man of peace so that after these centuries the temples are +again supported by the hawking of wares and his fine boyish wrath is +forgotten. In France after the great revolution and the babbling of many +voices talking of the brotherhood of man it wanted but a short and very +determined man with an instinctive knowledge of drums, of cannons and of +stirring words to send the same babblers screaming across open spaces, +stumbling through ditches and pitching headlong into the arms of death. +In the interest of one who believed not at all in the brotherhood of man +they who had wept at the mention of the word brotherhood died fighting +brothers. + +In the heart of all men lies sleeping the love of order. How to achieve +order out of our strange jumble of forms, out of democracies and +monarchies, dreams and endeavours is the riddle of the Universe and the +thing that in the artist is called the passion for form and for which +he also will laugh in the face of death is in all men. By grasping that +fact Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon and our own Grant have made heroes +of the dullest clods that walk and not a man of all the thousands who +marched with Sherman to the sea but lived the rest of his life with a +something sweeter, braver and finer sleeping in his soul than will ever +be produced by the reformer scolding of brotherhood from a soap-box. The +long march, the burning of the throat and the stinging of the dust in +the nostrils, the touch of shoulder against shoulder, the quick bond of +a common, unquestioned, instinctive passion that bursts in the orgasm +of battle, the forgetting of words and the doing of the thing, be it +winning battles or destroying ugliness, the passionate massing of men +for accomplishment--these are the signs, if they ever awake in our land, +by which you may know you have come to the days of the making of men. + +In Chicago in 1893 and in the men who went aimlessly seeking work in the +streets of Chicago in that year there were none of these signs. Like +the coal mining town from which Beaut McGregor had come, the city lay +sprawling and ineffective before him, a tawdry disorderly dwelling for +millions of men, built not for the making of men but for the making of +millions by a few odd meat-packers and drygoods merchants. + +With a slight lifting of his great shoulders McGregor sensed these +things although he could not have expressed his sense of them and the +hatred and contempt of men, born of his youth in the mining town, was +rekindled by the sight of city men wandering afraid and bewildered +through the streets of their own city. + +Knowing nothing of the customs of the unemployed McGregor did not walk +the streets looking for signs marked "Men Wanted." He did not sit on +park benches studying want advertisements, the want advertisements that +so often proved but bait put out by suave men up dirty stairways to +glean the last few pennies from pockets of the needy. Going along the +street he swung his great body through the doorways leading to the +offices of factories. When some pert young man tried to stop him he +did not say words but drew back his fist threateningly and, glowering, +walked in. The young men at the doors of factories looked at his blue +eyes and let him pass unchallenged. + +In the afternoon of his first day of seeking Beaut got a place in an +apple warehouse on the North Side, the third place offered him during +the day and the one that he accepted. The chance came to him through an +exhibition of strength. Two men, old and bent, struggled to get a barrel +of apples from the sidewalk up to a platform that ran waist high along +the front of the warehouse. The barrel had rolled to the sidewalk from +a truck standing in the gutter. The driver of the truck stood with his +hands on his hips, laughing. A German with blond hair stood upon the +platform swearing in broken English. McGregor stood upon the sidewalk +and looked at the two men who were struggling with the barrel. A feeling +of immense contempt for their feebleness shone in his eyes. Pushing them +aside he grasped the barrel and with a great heave sent it up onto the +platform and spinning through an open doorway into the receiving room of +the warehouse. The two workmen stood on the sidewalk smiling sheepishly. +Across the street a group of city firemen who lounged in the sun +before an engine house clapped their hands. The truck driver turned and +prepared to send another barrel along the plank extending from the truck +across the sidewalk to the warehouse platform. At a window in the upper +part of the warehouse a grey head protruded and a sharp voice called +down to the tall German. "Hey Frank, hire that 'husky' and let about six +of the dead ones you've got around here go home." + +McGregor jumped upon the platform and walked in at the warehouse door. +The German followed, inventorying the size of the red-haired giant +with something like disapproval. His look seemed to say, "I like strong +fellows but you're too strong." He took the discomfiture of the two +feeble workmen on the sidewalk as in some way reflecting upon himself. +The two men stood in the receiving room and looked at each other. A +bystander might have thought them preparing to fight. + +And then a freight elevator came slowly down from the upper part of the +warehouse and from it jumped a small grey-haired man with a yard stick +in his hand. He had a sharp restless eye and a short stubby grey beard. +Striking the floor with a bound he began to talk. "We pay two dollars +for nine hours' work here--begin at seven, quit at five. Will you come?" +Without waiting for an answer he turned to the German. "Tell those two +old 'rummies' to get their time and get out of here," he said, turning +again and looking expectantly at McGregor. + +McGregor liked the quick little man and grinned with approval of his +decisiveness. He nodded his assent to the proposal and, looking at the +German, laughed. The little man disappeared through a door leading to +an office and McGregor walked out into the street. At a corner he turned +and saw the German standing on the platform before the warehouse looking +after him. "He is wondering whether or not he can whip me," thought +McGregor. + + * * * * * + +In the apple warehouse McGregor worked for three years, rising during +his second year to be foreman and replacing the tall German. The German +expected trouble with McGregor and was determined to make short work +of him. He had been offended by the action of the gray-haired +superintendent in hiring the man and felt that a prerogative belonging +to himself had been ignored. All day he followed McGregor with his eyes, +trying to calculate the strength and courage in the huge body. He knew +that hundreds of hungry men walked the streets and in the end decided +that the need of work if not the spirit of the man would make him +submissive. During the second week he put the question that burned in +his brain to the test. He followed McGregor into a dimly-lighted upper +room where barrels of apples, piled to the ceiling, left only narrow +ways for passage. Standing in the semi-darkness he shouted, calling the +man who worked among the apple barrels a foul name, "I won't have you +loafing in there, you red-haired bastard," he shouted. + +McGregor said nothing. He was not offended by the vileness of the name +the German had called him and took it merely as a challenge that he had +been expecting and that he meant to accept. With a grim smile on his +lips he walked toward the German and when but one apple barrel lay +between them reached across and dragged the foreman sputtering and +swearing down the passageway to a window at the end of the room. By the +window he stopped and putting his hand to the throat of the struggling +man began to choke him into submission. Blows fell on his face and body. +Struggling terribly the German kicked McGregor's legs with desperate +energy. Although his ears rang with the hammer-like blows that fell +about his neck and cheeks McGregor stool silent under the storm. His +blue eyes gleamed with hatred and the muscles of his great arms danced +in the light from the window. As he looked into the protruding eyes of +the writhing German he thought of fat Reverend Minot Weeks of Coal +Creek and added an extra twitch to the flesh between his fingers. When a +gesture of submission came from the man against the wall he stepped back +and let go his grip. The German dropped to the floor. Standing over +him McGregor delivered his ultimatum. "You report this or try to get me +fired and I'll kill you outright," he said. "I'm going to stay here on +this job until I get ready to leave it. You can tell me what to do +and how to do it but when you speak to me again say 'McGregor'--Mr. +McGregor, that's my name." + +The German got to his feet and began walking down the passageway between +the rows of piled barrels. As he went he helped himself along with his +hands. McGregor went back to work. After the retreating form of the +German he shouted, "Get a new place when you can Dutch, I'll be taking +this job away from you when I'm ready for it." + +That evening as McGregor walked to the car he saw the little grey-haired +superintendent standing waiting for him before a saloon. The man made a +sign and McGregor walked across and stood beside him. They went together +into the saloon and stood leaning against the bar and looked at each +other. A smile played about the lips of the little man. "What have you +been doing to Frank?" he asked. + +McGregor turned to the bartender who stood waiting before him. He +thought that the superintendent intended to try to patronise him by +buying him a drink and he did not like the thought. "What will you +have? I'll take a cigar for mine," he said quickly, defeating the +superintendent's plan by being the first to speak. When the bartender +brought the cigars McGregor paid for them and walked out at the door. +He felt like one playing a game. "If Frank meant to bully me into +submission this man also means something." + +On the sidewalk before the saloon McGregor stopped. "Look here," he +said, turning and facing the superintendent, "I'm after Frank's place. +I'm going to learn the business as fast as I can. I won't put it up to +you to fire him. When I get ready for the place he won't be there." + +A light flashed into the eyes of the little man. He held the cigar +McGregor had paid for as though about to throw it into the street. "How +far do you think you can go with your big fists?" he asked, his voice +rising. + +McGregor smiled. He thought he had earned another victory and lighting +his cigar held the burning match before the little man. "Brains are +intended to help fists," he said, "I've got both." + +The superintendent looked at the burning match and at the cigar between +his fingers. "If I don't which will you use on me?" he asked. + +McGregor threw the match into the street. "Aw! don't bother asking," he +said, holding out another match. + +McGregor and the superintendent walked along the street. "I would like +to fire you but I won't. Some day you'll run that warehouse like a +clock," said the superintendent. + +McGregor sat in the street-car and thought of his day. It had been he +felt a day of two battles. First the direct brutal battle of fists in +the passageway and then this other battle with the superintendent. He +thought he had won both fights. Of the fight with the tall German he +thought little. He had expected to win that. The other was different. +The superintendent he felt had wanted to patronise him, patting him +on the back and buying him drinks. Instead he had patronised the +superintendent. A battle had gone on in the brains of the two men and he +had won. He had met a new kind of man, one who did not live by the raw +strength of his muscles and he had given a good account of himself. The +conviction that he had, besides a good pair of fists, a good brain +swept in on him glorifying him. He thought of the sentence, "Brains are +intended to help fists," and wondered how he had happened to think of +it. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The street in which McGregor lived in Chicago was called Wycliff Place, +after a family of that name that had once owned the land thereabout. The +street was complete in its hideousness. Nothing more unlovely could +be imagined. Given a free hand an indiscriminate lot of badly trained +carpenters and bricklayers had builded houses beside the cobblestone +road that touched the fantastic in their unsightliness and +inconvenience. + +The great west side of Chicago has hundreds of such streets and the coal +mining town out of which McGregor had come was more inspiring as a place +in which to live. As an unemployed young man, not much given to chance +companionships, Beaut had spent many long evenings wandering alone +on the hillsides above his home town. There was a kind of dreadful +loveliness about the place at night. The long black valley with +its dense shroud of smoke that rose and fell and formed itself into +fantastic shapes in the moonlight, the poor little houses clinging to +the hillside, the occasional cry of a woman being beaten by a drunken +husband, the glare of the coke fires and the rumble of coal cars being +pushed along the railroad tracks, all of these made a grim and rather +inspiring impression on the young man's mind so that although he hated +the mines and the miners he sometimes paused in his night wanderings +and stood with his great shoulders lifted, breathing deeply and feeling +things he had no words in him to express. + +In Wycliff Place McGregor got no such reactions. Foul dust filled the +air. All day the street rumbled and roared under the wheels of trucks +and light hurrying delivery wagons. Soot from the factory chimneys was +caught up by the wind and having been mixed with powdered horse manure +from the roadway flew into the eyes and the nostrils of pedestrians. +Always a babble of voices went on. At a corner saloon teamsters stopped +to have their drinking cans filled with beer and stood about swearing +and shouting. In the evening women and children went back and forth from +their houses carrying beer in pitchers from the same saloon. Dogs howled +and fought, drunken men reeled along the sidewalk and the women of the +town appeared in their cheap finery and paraded before the idlers about +the saloon door. + +The woman who rented the room to McGregor boasted to him of Wycliff +blood. It was that she told him that had brought her to Chicago from her +home at Cairo, Illinois. "The place was left to me and not knowing what +else to do with it I came here to live," she said. She explained to +him that the Wycliffs had been people of note in the early history of +Chicago. The huge old house with the cracked stone steps and the ROOMS +TO RENT sign in the window had once been their family seat. + +The history of this woman was characteristic of the miss-fire quality of +much of American life. She was at bottom a wholesome creature who should +have lived in a neat frame house in a village and tended a garden. On +Sunday she should have dressed herself with care and gone off to sit in +a country church with her hands crossed and her soul at rest. + +The thought of owning a house in the city had however paralysed her +brain. The house itself was worth a certain number of thousands of +dollars and her mind could not rise above that fact, so her good broad +face had become grimy with city dirt and her body weary from the endless +toil of caring for roomers. On summer evenings she sat on the steps +before her house clad in some bit of Wycliff finery taken from a trunk +in the attic and when a lodger came out at the door she looked at him +wistfully and said, "On such a night as this you could hear the whistles +on the river steamers in Cairo." + +McGregor lived in a small room at the end of a tall on the second floor +of the Wycliff house. The windows of the room looked down into a +dirty little court almost surrounded by brick warehouses. The room was +furnished with a bed, a chair that was always threatening to come to +pieces and a desk with weak carved legs. + +In this room sat McGregor night after night striving to realise his Coal +Creek dream of training his mind and making himself of some account in +the world. From seven-thirty until nine-thirty he sat at a desk in a +night school. From ten until midnight he read in his room. He did not +think of his surroundings, of the vast disorder of life about him, but +tried with all his strength to bring something like order and purpose +into his own mind and his own life. + +In the little court under the window lay heaps of discarded newspaper +tossed about by the wind. There in the heart of the city, walled in by +the brick warehouse and half concealed under piles of chair legs cans +and broken bottles, lay two logs in their time no doubt, a part of the +grove that once lay about the house. The neighbourhood had passed so +rapidly from country estate to homes and from homes to rented lodgings +and huge brick warehouses that the marks of the lumberman's axe still +showed in the butts of the logs. + +McGregor seldom saw the little court except when its ugliness was +refined and glossed over by darkness or by the moonlight. On hot +evenings he laid down his book and leaning far out of the window rubbed +his eyes and watched the discarded newspapers, worried by the whirlpools +of wind in the court, run here and there, dashing against the warehouse +walls and vainly trying to escape over the roof. The sight fascinated +him and brought a thought into his mind. He began to think that the +lives of most of the people about him were much like the dirty newspaper +harried by adverse winds and surrounded by ugly walls of facts. The +thought drove him from the window to renewed effort among his books. +"I'll do something here anyway. I'll show them," he growled. + +One living in the house with McGregor during those first years in the +city might have thought his life stupid and commonplace but to him +it did not seem so. It was for the miner's son a time of sudden and +tremendous growth. Filled with confidence in the strength and quickness +of his body he was beginning to have also confidence in the vigour and +clearness of his brain. In the warehouse he went about with eyes and +ears open, devising in his mind new methods of moving goods, watching +the men at work, marking the shirkers, preparing to pounce upon the tall +German's place as foreman. + +The superintendent of the warehouse, not understanding the turn of the +talk with McGregor on the sidewalk before the saloon, decided to +like him and laughed when they met in the warehouse. The tall German +maintained a policy of sullen silence and went to laborious lengths to +avoid addressing him. + +In his room at night McGregor began to read law, reading each page over +and over and thinking of what he had read through the next day as he +rolled and piled apple barrels in the passages in the warehouse. + +McGregor had an aptitude and an appetite for facts. He read law as +another and gentler nature might have read poetry or old legends. What +he read at night he remembered and thought about during the day. He had +no dream of the glories of the law. The fact that these rules laid down +by men to govern their social organisation were the result of ages of +striving toward perfection did not greatly interest him and he only +thought of them as weapons with which to attack and defend in the battle +of brains he meant presently to fight. His mind gloated in anticipation +of the battle. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +And then a new element asserted itself in the life of McGregor. One +of the hundreds of disintegrating forces that attack strong natures, +striving to scatter their force in the back currents of life, attacked +him. His big body began to feel with enervating persistency the call of +sex. + +In the house in Wycliff Place McGregor passed as a mystery. By keeping +silence he won a reputation for wisdom. The clerks in the hall bedrooms +thought him a scientist. The woman from Cairo thought him a theological +student. Down the hall a pretty girl with large black eyes who worked +in a department store down town dreamed of him at night. When in the +evening he banged the door to his room and strode down the hallway going +to the night school she sat in a chair by the open door of her room. As +he passed she raised her eyes and looked at him boldly. When he returned +she was again by the door and again she looked boldly at him. + +In his room, after the meetings with the black-eyed girl McGregor found +difficulty in keeping his mind on the reading. He felt as he had felt +with the pale girl on the hillside beyond Coal Creek. With her as with +the pale girl he felt the need of defending himself. He began to make it +a practice to hurry along past her door. + +The girl in the hall bedroom thought constantly of McGregor. When he had +gone to night school another young man of the house who wore a Panama +hat came from the floor above and, putting his hands on the door frames +of her room, stood looking at her and talking. In his lips he held +a cigarette, which when he talked hung limply from the corner of his +mouth. + +This young man and the black-eyed girl kept up a continuous stream of +comments on the doings of red-haired McGregor. Begun by the young man, +who hated him because of his silence, the subject was kept alive by the +girl who wanted to talk of McGregor. + +On Saturday nights the young man and the girl sometimes went together to +the theatre. One night in the summer when they had returned to the +front of the house the girl stopped. "Let's see what the big red-head is +doing," she said. + +Going around the block they stole in the darkness down an alleyway and +stood in the little dirty court looking up at McGregor who, with his +feet in the window and a lamp burning at his shoulder, sat in his room +reading. + +When they returned to the front of the house the black-eyed girl kissed +the young man, closing her eyes and thinking of McGregor. In her room +later she lay abed dreaming. She imagined herself assaulted by the young +man who had crept into her room and that McGregor had come roaring down +the hall to snatch him away and fling him outside the door. + +At the end of the hallway near the stairway leading to the street lived +a barber. He had deserted a wife and four children in a town in Ohio +and to prevent recognition had grown a black beard. Between this man and +McGregor a companionship had sprung up and they went together on Sunday +mornings to walk in the park. The black bearded man called himself Frank +Turner. + +Frank Turner had a passion. Through the evenings and on Sunday +afternoons he sat in his room making violins. He worked with a knife, +glue, pieces of glass and sand paper and spent his earnings for +ingredients for the making of varnishes. When he got hold of a piece of +wood that seemed an answer to his prayers he took it to McGregor's +room and holding it up to the light talked of what he would do with it. +Sometimes he brought a violin and sitting in the open window tested the +quality of its tone. One evening he took an hour of McGregor's time to +talk of the varnish of Cremona and to read to him from a worn little +book concerning the old Italian masters of violin making. + + * * * * * + +On a bench in the park sat Turner, the maker of violins, the man +who dreamed of the rediscovery of the varnish of Cremona, talking to +McGregor, son of the Pennsylvania miner. + +It was a Sunday afternoon and the park was vibrant with life. All day +the street cars had been unloading Chicagoans at the park entrance. +They came in pairs and in parties, young men with their sweethearts and +fathers with families at their heels. Now at the end of the day they +continued to come, a steady stream of humanity flowing along the gravel +walk past the bench where the two men sat in talk. Through the stream +and crossing it went another stream homeward bound. Babies cried. +Fathers called to the children at play on the grass. Cars coming to the +park filled went away filled. + +McGregor looked about him and thought of himself and of the restless +moving people. In him there was none of that vague fear of the multitude +common to many solitary souls. His contempt of men and of the lives +lived by men reinforced his native boldness. The odd little rounding of +the shoulders of even the athletic young men made him straighten with +pride his own shoulders and fat and lean, tall and short, he thought of +all men as counters in some vast games at which he was presently to be a +master player. + +The passion for form, that strange intuitive power that many men have +felt and none but the masters of human life have understood, had begun +to awaken in him. Already he had begun to sense out the fact that for +him law was but an incident in some vast design and he was altogether +untouched by the desire for getting on in the world, by the greedy +little snatching at trifles that was the whole purpose of the lives of +so many of the people about him. When somewhere in the park a band began +to play he nodded his head up and down and ran his hand nervously up and +down the legs of his trousers. Into his mind came the desire to boast +to the barber, telling of the things he meant to do in the world, but +he put the desire away. Instead he sat silently blinking his eyes and +wondering at the persistent air of ineffectiveness in the people who +passed. When a band went by playing march music and followed by +some fifty men wearing white plumes in their hats and walking with +self-conscious awkwardness, he was startled. Among the people he thought +there was a change. Something like a running shadow passed over them. +The babbling of voices ceased and like himself the people began to nod +their heads. A thought, gigantic in its simplicity, began to come +into his mind but was wiped out immediately by his impatience with the +marchers. A madness to spring up and run among them knocking them about +and making them march with the power that comes of abandonment almost +lifted him from the bench. His mouth twitched and his fingers ached for +action. + + * * * * * + +In and out among the trees and on the green spaces moved the people. +Along the shores of a pond sat men and women eating the evening meal +from baskets or from white cloths spread on the grass. They laughed and +shouted at each other and at the children, calling them back from the +gravel driveways filled with moving carriages. Beaut saw a girl throw an +egg shell and hit a young fellow between the eyes, and then run laughing +away along the shore of the pond. Under a tree a woman nursed a babe, +covering her breasts with a shawl so that just the black head of the +babe showed. Its tiny hand clutched at the mouth of the woman. In an +open space in the shadow of a building young men played baseball, the +shouts of the spectators rising above the murmur of the voices of people +on the gravel walk. + +A thought came into McGregor's mind that he wanted to discuss with the +older man. He was moved by the sight of women about and shook himself +like one awakening from a dream. Then he began looking at the ground and +kicking up the gravel with his foot. "Look here," he said, turning to +the barber, "what is a man to do about women, about getting what he +wants from the women?" + +The barber seemed to understand. "It has come to that then?" he asked +and looked quickly up. He lighted a pipe and sat looking at the people. +It was then he told McGregor of the wife and four children in the Ohio +town, describing the little brick house and the garden and the coop +for chickens at the back like one who lingers over a place dear to his +fancy. Something old and weary was in his voice as he finished. + +"It wasn't a matter for me to decide," he said. "I came away because +I couldn't do anything else. I'm not excusing myself, I'm just telling +you. There was something messy and disorderly about it all, about my +life with her and with them. I couldn't stand it. I felt myself being +submerged by something. I wanted to be orderly and to work, you see. +I couldn't let violin making alone. Lord, how I tried--tried bluffing +myself about it--calling it a fad." + +The barber looked nervously at McGregor to reassure himself of his +interest. "I owned a shop on the main street of our town. Back of it +was a blacksmith shop. During the day I stood by the chair in my shop +talking to men being shaved about the love of women and a man's duty to +his family. Summer afternoons I went and sat on a keg in the blacksmith +shop and talked of the same thing with the smith but all that did me no +good. + +"When I let myself go I dreamed not of my duty to my family but of +working undisturbed as I do now here in the city in my room in the +evenings and on Sundays." + +A sharpness came into the voice of the speaker. He turned to McGregor +and talked vigorously like one making a defence. "My woman was a good +enough sort," he said. "I suppose loving is an art like writing a book +or drawing pictures or making violins. People try to do it and don't +succeed. In the end we threw the job up and just lived together like +most people do. Our lives got mussy and meaningless. That's how it was. + +"Before she married me my wife had been a stenographer in a factory that +made tin cans. She liked that work. She could make her fingers dance +along the keys. When she read a book at home she didn't think the writer +amounted to much if he made mistakes about punctuation. Her boss was so +proud of her that he would brag of her work to visitors and sometimes +would go off fishing leaving the running of the business in her hands. + +"I don't know why she married me. She was happier there and she is +happier back there now. We got to walking together on Sunday evenings +and standing under the trees on side streets, kissing and looking at +each other. We talked about a lot of things. We seemed to need each +other. Then we got married and started living together. + +"It didn't work out. After we had been married a few years things +changed. I don't know why. I thought I was the same as I had been and I +think she was. We used to sit around quarrelling about it, each blaming +the other. Anyway we didn't get along. + +"We would sit on the little front porch of our house in the evening, she +bragging of the work she had done in the can factory and I dreaming of +quietude and a chance to work on the violins. I thought I knew a way +to increase the quality and beauty of tone and I had that idea about +varnish I have talked to you about. I even dreamed of doing things those +old fellows of Cremona didn't do. + +"When she had been talking of her work in the office for maybe a half +hour she would look up and find that I hadn't been listening. We would +quarrel. We even quarrelled before the children after they came. Once +she said that she didn't see how it would matter if no violins had ever +been made and that night I dreamed of choking her in bed. I woke up +and lay there beside her thinking of it with something like real +satisfaction in just the thought that one long hard grip of my fingers +would get her out of my way for good. + +"We didn't always feel that way. Every little while a change would come +over both of us and we would begin to take an interest in each other. I +would be proud of the work she had done in the factory and would brag of +it to men coming into the shop. In the evening she would be sympathetic +about the violins and put the baby to bed to let me alone at my work in +the kitchen. + +"Then we would begin to sit in the darkness in the house and hold each +other's hands. We would forgive things that had been said and play a +sort of game, chasing each other about the room in the darkness and +knocking against the chairs and laughing. Then we would begin to look at +each other and kiss. Presently there would be another baby." + +The barber threw up his hands with a gesture of impatience. His voice +lost its softer, reminiscent quality. "Such times didn't last," he said. +"On the whole it was no life to live. I came away. The children are in +a state institution and she has gone back to her work in the office. The +town hates me. They have made a heroine of her. I'm here talking to you +with these whiskers on my face so that people from my town wouldn't +know me if they came along. I'm a barber and I would shave them off fast +enough if it wasn't for that." + +A woman walking past looked back at McGregor. In her eyes lurked +an invitation. It reminded him of something in the eyes of the pale +daughter of the undertaker of Coal Creek. An uneasy tremor ran through +him. "What do you do about women now?" he asked. + +The voice of the smaller man arose harsh and excited in the evening air. +"I get the feeling taken out of me as a man would have a tooth fixed," +he said. "I pay money for the service and keep my mind on what I want +to do. There are plenty of women for that, women who are good for that +only. When I first came here I used to wander about at night, wanting +to go to my room and work but with my mind and my will paralysed by +that feeling. I don't do that now and I won't again. What I do many men +do--good men--men who do good work. What's the use thinking about it +when you only run against a stone wall and get hurt?" + +The black bearded man arose, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets +and looked about him. Then he sat down again. He seemed to be filled +with suppressed excitement. "There is a big hidden something going on in +modern life," he said, talking rapidly and excitedly. "It used to touch +only the men higher up, now it reaches down to men like me--barbers and +workingmen. Men know about it but don't talk and don't dare think. Their +women have changed. Women used to be willing to do anything for men, +just be slaves to them. The best men don't ask that now and don't want +that." + +He jumped to his feet and stood over McGregor. "Men don't understand +what's going on and don't care," he said. "They are too busy getting +things done or going to ball games or quarrelling about politics. + +"And what do they know about it if they are fools enough to think? +They get thrown into false notions. They see about them a lot of +fine purposeful women maybe caring for their children and they blame +themselves for their vices and are ashamed. Then they turn to the other +women anyway, shutting their eyes and going ahead. They pay for what +they want as they would pay for a dinner, thinking no more of the women +who serve them than they do of the waitresses who serve them in the +restaurants. They refuse to think of the new kind of woman that is +growing up. They know that if they get sentimental about her they'll +get into trouble or get new tests put to them, be disturbed you see, +and spoil their work or their peace of mind. They don't want to get into +trouble or be disturbed. They want to get a better job or enjoy a ball +game or build a bridge or write a book. They think that a man who gets +sentimental about any woman is a fool and of course he is." + +"Do you mean that all of them do that?" asked McGregor. He wasn't upset +by what had been said. It struck him as being true. For himself he was +afraid of women. It seemed to him that a road was being built by his +companion along which he might travel with safety. He wanted the man +to go on talking. Into his brain flashed the thought that if he had +the thing to do over there would have been a different ending to the +afternoon spent with the pale girl on the hillside. + +The barber sat down upon the bench. The flush out of his cheeks. "Well +I have done pretty well myself," he said, "but then you know I make +violins and don't think of women. I've been in Chicago two years and +I've spent just eleven dollars. I would like to know what the average +man spends. I wish some fellow would get the facts and publish them. It +would make people sit up. There must be millions spent here every year." + +"You see I'm not very strong and I stand all day on my feet in the +barber shop." He looked at McGregor and laughed. "The black-eyed girl +in the hall is after you," he said. "You'd better look out. You let her +alone. Stick to your law books. You are not like me. You are big and red +and strong. Eleven dollars won't pay your way here in Chicago for no two +years." + +McGregor looked again at the people moving toward the park entrance in +the gathering darkness. He thought it wonderful that a brain could +think a thing out so clearly and words express thoughts so lucidly. His +eagerness to follow the passing girls with his eyes was gone. He was +interested in the older man's viewpoint. "And what about children?" he +asked. + +The older man sat sideways on the bench. There was a troubled look in +his eyes and a suppressed eager quality in his voice. "I'm going to tell +you about that," he said. "I don't want to keep anything back. + +"Look here!" he demanded, sliding along the bench toward McGregor and +emphasising his points by slapping one hand down upon the other. "Ain't +all children my children?" He paused, trying to gather his scattered +thoughts into words. When McGregor started to speak he put his hand up +as though to ward off a new thought or another question. "I'm not trying +to dodge," he said. "I'm trying to get thoughts that have been in my +head day after day in shape to tell. I haven't tried to express them +before. I know men and women cling to their children. It's the only +thing they have left of the dream they had before they married. I felt +that way. It held me for a long time. It would be holding me now only +that the violins pulled so hard at me." + +He threw up his hand impatiently. "You see I had to find an answer. I +couldn't think of being a skunk--running away--and I couldn't stay. I +wasn't intended to stay. Some men are intended to work and take care of +children and serve women perhaps but others have to keep trying for a +vague something all their lives--like me trying for a tone on a violin. +If they don't get it it doesn't matter, they have to keep trying. + +"My wife used to say I'd get tired of it. No woman ever really +understands a man caring for anything except herself. I knocked that out +of her." + +The little man looked up at McGregor. "Do you think I'm a skunk?" he +asked. + +McGregor looked at him gravely. "I don't know," he said. "Go on and tell +me about the children." + +"I said they were the last things to cling to. They are. We used to have +religion. But that's pretty well gone now--the old kind. Now men think +about children, I mean a certain kind of men--the ones that have work +they want to get on with. Children and work are the only things that +kind care about. If they have a sentiment about women it's only about +their own--the one they have in the house with them. They want to keep +that one finer than they are themselves. So they work the other feeling +out on the paid women. + +"Women fuss about men loving children. Much they care. It's only a plan +for demanding adulation for themselves that they don't earn. Once, when +I first came to the city, I took a place as servant in a wealthy family. +I wanted to stay under cover until my beard grew. Women used to come +there to receptions and to meetings in the afternoon to talk about +reforms they were interested in----Bah! They work and scheme trying to +get at men. They are at it all their lives, flattering, diverting us, +giving us false ideas, pretending to be weak and uncertain when they are +strong and determined. They have no mercy. They wage war on us trying +to make us slaves. They want to take us captive home to their houses as +Caesar took captives home to Rome. + +"You look here!" He jumped to his feet again and shook his fingers at +McGregor. "You just try something. You try being open and frank and +square with a woman--any woman--as you would with a man. Let her live +her own life and ask her to let you live yours. You try it. She won't. +She will die first." + +He sat down again upon the bench and shook his head back and forth. +"Lord how I wish I could talk!" he said. "I'm making a muddle of this +and I wanted to tell you. Oh, how I wanted to tell you! It's part of my +idea that a man should tell a boy all he knows. We've got to quit lying +to them." + +McGregor looked at the ground. He was profoundly and deeply moved and +interested as he had never before been moved by anything but hate. + +Two women coming along the gravel walk stopped under a tree and looked +back. The barber smiled and raised his hat. When they smiled back at him +he rose and started toward them. "Come on boy," he whispered behind his +hand to McGregor. "Let's get them." + +When McGregor looked up the scene before his eyes infuriated him. The +smiling barber with his hat in his hand, the two women waiting under +the tree, the look of half-guilty innocence on the faces of all of them, +stirred a blind fury in his brain. He sprang forward, clutching the +shoulder of Turner with his hand. Whirling him about he threw him to his +hands and knees. "Get out of here you females!" he roared at the women +who ran off in terror down the walk. + +The barber sat again upon the bench beside McGregor. He rubbed his hands +together to brush the bits of gravel out of the flesh. "What's got wrong +with you?" he asked. + +McGregor hesitated. He wondered how he should tell what was in his mind. +"Everything in its place," he said finally. "I wanted to go on with our +talk." + +Lights flashed out of the darkness of the park. The two men sat on the +bench thinking each his own thoughts. + +"I want to take some work out of the clamps to-night," the barber said, +looking at his watch. Together the two men walked along the street. +"Look here," said McGregor. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Those two +women that came up and interfered with what we were working out made me +furious." + +"Women always interfere," said the barber. "They raise hell with men." +His mind ran out and began to play with the world-old problem of the +sexes. "If a lot of women fall in the fight with us men and become our +slaves--serving us as the paid women do--need they fuss about it? Let +them be game and try to help work it out as men have been game and have +worked and thought through ages of perplexity and defeat." + +The barber stopped on the street corner to fill and light his pipe. +"Women can change everything when they want to," he said, looking at +McGregor and letting the match burn out in his fingers. "They can have +motherhood pensions and room to work out their own problem in the world +or anything else that they really want. They can stand up face to face +with men. They don't want to. They want to enslave us with their faces +and their bodies. They want to carry on the old, old weary fight." He +tapped McGregor on the arm. "If a few of us--wanting with all our might +to get something done--beat them at their own game, don't we deserve the +victory?" he asked. + +"But sometimes I think I would like a woman to live with, you know, just +to sit and talk with me," said McGregor. + +The barber laughed. Puffing at his pipe he walked down the street. "To +be sure! To be sure!" he said. "I would. Any man would. I like to sit in +the room for a spell in the evening talking to you but I would hate to +give up violin making and be bound all my life to serve you and your +purposes just the same." + +In the hallway of their own house the barber spoke to McGregor as he +looked down the hallway to where the door of the black eyed girl's room +had just crept open. "You let women alone," he said; "when you feel you +can't stay away from them any longer you come and talk it over with me." + +McGregor nodded and went along the hallway to his own room. In the +darkness he stood by the window and looked down into the court. The +feeling of hidden power, the ability to rise above the mess into which +modern life had sunk that had come to him in the park, returned and +he walked nervously about. When finally he sat down upon a chair and +leaning forward put his head in his hands he felt like one who has +started on a long journey through a strange and dangerous country and +who has unexpectedly come upon a friend going the same way. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The people of Chicago go home from their work at evening--drifting they +go in droves, hurrying along. It is a startling thing to look closely at +them. The people have bad mouths. Their mouths are slack and the jaws do +not hang right. The mouths are like the shoes they wear. The shoes +have become run down at the corners from too much pounding on the hard +pavements and the mouths have become crooked from too much weariness of +soul. + +Something is wrong with modern American life and we Americans do not +want to look at it. We much prefer to call ourselves a great people and +let it go at that. + +It is evening and the people of Chicago go home from work. Clatter, +clatter, clatter, go the heels on the hard pavements, jaws wag, the wind +blows and dirt drifts and sifts through the masses of the people. Every +one has dirty ears. The stench in the street cars is horrible. The +antiquated bridges over the rivers are packed with people. The suburban +trains going away south and west are cheaply constructed and dangerous. +A people calling itself great and living in a city also called great +go to their houses a mere disorderly mass of humans cheaply equipped. +Everything is cheap. When the people get home to their houses they sit +on cheap chairs before cheap tables and eat cheap food. They have given +their lives for cheap things. The poorest peasant of one of the old +countries is surrounded by more beauty. His very equipment for living +has more solidity. + +The modern man is satisfied with what is cheap and unlovely because he +expects to rise in the world. He has given his life to that dreary dream +and he is teaching his children to follow the same dream. McGregor was +touched by it. Being confused by the matter of sex he had listened to +the advice of the barber and meant to settle things in the cheap way. +One evening a month after the talk in the park he hurried along Lake +Street on the West Side with that end in view. It was near eight o'clock +and growing dark and McGregor should have been at the night school. +Instead he walked along the street looking at the ill-kept frame houses. +A fever burned in his blood. An impulse, for the moment stronger than +the impulse that kept him at work over books night after night there in +the big disorderly city and as yet stronger than any new impulse toward +a vigorous compelling march through life, had hold of him. His eyes +stared into the windows. He hurried along filled with a lust that +stultified his brain and will. A woman sitting at the window of a little +frame house smiled and beckoned to him. + +McGregor walked along the path leading to the little frame house. The +path ran through a squalid yard. It was a foul place like the +court under his window behind the house in Wycliff Place. Here also +discoloured papers worried by the wind ran about in crazy circles. +McGregor's heart pounded and his mouth felt dry and unpleasant. He +wondered what he should say and how he should say it when he came into +the presence of the woman. He wished there were some one to be hit with +his fist. He didn't want to make love, he wanted relief. He would have +much preferred a fight. + +The veins in McGregor's neck began to swell and as he stood in the +darkness before the door of the house he swore. He stared up and down +the street but the sky, the sight of which might have helped him, was +hidden from view by the structure of an elevated railroad. Pushing +open the door of the house he stepped in. In the dim light he could see +nothing but a form sprang out of the darkness and a pair of powerful +arms pinned his hands to his sides. McGregor looked quickly about A man +huge as himself held him tightly against the door. He had one glass +eye and a stubby black beard and in the half light looked sinister and +dangerous. The hand of the woman who had beckoned to him from the window +fumbled in McGregor's pockets and came out clutching a little roll of +money. Her face, set now and ugly like the man's, looked up at him from +under the arms of her ally. + +In a moment McGregor's heart stopped pounding and the dry unpleasant +taste went out of his mouth. He felt relieved and glad at this sudden +turn to the affair. + +With a quick upward snap of his knees into the stomach of the man who +had held him McGregor freed himself. A swinging blow to the neck sent +his assailant groaning to the floor. McGregor sprang across the room. In +the corner by the bed he caught the woman. Clutching her by the hair he +whirled her about. "Hand over that money," he said fiercely. + +The woman put up her hands and plead with him. The grip of his hands +in her hair brought the tears to her eyes. She thrust the roll of bills +into his hands and waited, trembling, thinking he intended to kill her. + +A new feeling swept over McGregor. The thought of having come into the +house at the invitation of this woman was revolting to him. He wondered +how he could have been such a beast. As he stood in the dim light +thinking of this and looking at the woman he became lost in thought and +wondered why the idea given him by the barber, that had seemed so clear +and sensible, now seemed so foolish. His eyes stared at the woman as his +mind returned to the black-bearded barber talking on the park bench and +he was seized with a blind fury, a fury not directed at the people in +the foul little room but at himself and his own blindness. Again a great +hatred of the disorder of life took hold of him and as though all of +the disorderly people of the world were personified in her he swore and +shook the woman as a dog might have shaken a foul rag. + +"Sneak. Dodger. Mussy fool," he muttered, thinking of himself as a giant +attacked by some nauseous beast. The woman screamed with terror. Seeing +the look on her assailant's face and mistaking the meaning of his words +she trembled and thought again of death. Reaching under the pillow +on the bed she got another roll of bills and thrust that also into +McGregor's hands. "Please go," she plead. "We were mistaken. We thought +you were some one else." + +McGregor strode to the door past the man on the floor who groaned and +rolled about. He walked around the corner to Madison Street and boarded +a car for the night school. Sitting in the car he counted the money in +the roll thrust into his hand by the kneeling woman and laughed so that +the people in the car looked at him in amazement. "Turner has spent +eleven dollars among them in two years and I have got twenty-seven +dollars in one night," he thought. He jumped off the car and walked +along under the street lights striving to think things out. "I can't +depend on any one," he muttered. "I have to make my own way. The barber +is as confused as the rest of them and he doesn't know it. There is a +way out of the confusion and I'm going to find it, but I'll have to do +it alone. I can't take any one's word for anything." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The matter of McGregor's attitude toward women and the call of sex was +not of course settled by the fight in the house in Lake Street. He was +a man who, even in the days of his great crudeness, appealed strongly +to the mating instinct in women and more than once his purpose was to +be shaken and his mind disturbed by the forms, the faces and the eyes of +women. + +McGregor thought he had settled the matter. He forgot the black-eyed +girl in the hallway and thought only of advancement in the warehouse and +of study in his room at night. Now and then he took an evening off and +went for a walk through the streets or in one of the parks. + +In the streets of Chicago, under the night lights, among the restless +moving people he was a figure to be remembered. Sometimes he did not see +the people at all but went swinging along in the same spirit in which he +had walked in the Pennsylvania hills. He was striving to get a hold of +some elusive quality in life that seemed to be forever out of reach. He +did not want to be a lawyer or a warehouseman. What did he want? Along +the street he went trying to make up his mind and because his was not a +gentle nature his perplexity drove him to anger and he swore. + +Up and down Madison Street he went striding along, his lips muttering +words. In a corner saloon some one played a piano. Groups of girls +passed laughing and talking. He came to the bridge that led over the +river into the loop district and then turned restlessly back. On the +sidewalks along Canal Street he saw strong-bodied men loitering before +cheap lodging houses. Their clothing was filthy with long wear and +there was no light of determination in their faces. In the little fine +interstices of the cloth of which their clothes were made was gathered +the filth of the city in which they lived and in the stuff of their +natures the filth and disorder of modern civilisation had also found +lodging. + +On walked McGregor looking at man-made things and the flame of anger +within burned stronger and stronger. He saw the drifting clouds of +people of all nations that wander at night in Halstead Street and +turning into a side street saw also the Italians, Poles and Russians +that at evening gather on the sidewalks before tenements in that +district. + +The desire in McGregor for some kind of activity became a madness. His +body shook with the strength of his desire to end the vast disorder of +life. With all the ardour of youth he wanted to see if with the strength +of his arm he could shake mankind out of its sloth. A drunken man passed +and following him came a large man with a pipe in his mouth. The large +man did not walk with any suggestion of power in his legs. He shambled +along. He was like a huge child with fat cheeks and great untrained +body, a child without muscles and hardness, clinging to the skirts of +life. + +McGregor could not bear the sight of the big ungainly figure. The man +seemed to personify all of the things against which his soul was in +revolt and he stopped and stood crouched, a ferocious light burning in +his eyes. + +Into the gutter rolled the man stunned by the force of the blow dealt +him by the miner's son. He crawled on his hands and knees and cried for +help. His pipe had rolled away into the darkness. McGregor stood on the +sidewalk and waited. A crowd of men standing before a tenement house +started to run toward him. Again he crouched. He prayed that they would +come on and let him fight them also. In anticipation of a great struggle +joy shone in his eyes and his muscles twitched. + +And then the man in the gutter got to his feet and ran away. The men who +had started to run toward him stopped and turned back. McGregor walked +on, his heart heavy with the sense of defeat. He was a little sorry for +the man he had struck and who had made so ridiculous a figure crawling +about on his hands and knees and he was more perplexed than ever. + + * * * * * + +McGregor tried again to solve the problem of women. He had been much +pleased by the outcome of the affair in the little frame house and the +next day bought law books with the twenty-seven dollars thrust into his +hand by the frightened woman. Later he stood in his room stretching his +great body like a lion returned from the kill and thought of the little +black-bearded barber in the room at the end of the hall stooping over +his violin, his mind busy with the attempt to justify himself because he +would not face one of life's problems. The feeling of resentment against +the man had gone. He thought of the course laid out for himself by that +philosopher and laughed. "There is something about it to avoid, like +giving yourself up to digging in the dirt under the ground," he told +himself. + +McGregor's second adventure began on a Saturday night and again he let +himself be led into it by the barber. The night was hot and the younger +man sat in his room filled with a desire to go forth and explore the +city. The quiet of the house, the distant rumble of street cars, the +sound of a band playing far down the street disturbed and diverted his +mind. He wished that he might take a stick in his hands and go forth to +prowl among the hills as he had gone on such nights in his youth in the +Pennsylvania town. + +The door to his room opened and the barber came in. In his hand he held +two tickets. He sat on the window sill to explain. + +"There is a dance in a hall on Monroe Street," said the barber +excitedly. "I have two tickets here. A politician sold them to the boss +in the shop where I work." The barber threw back his head and laughed. +To his mind there was something delicious in the thought of the boss +barber being forced by the politicians to buy dance tickets. "They cost +two dollars each," he cried and shook with laughter "You should have +seen my boss squirm. He didn't want the tickets but was afraid not to +take them. The politician could make trouble for him and he knew it. You +see we make a hand-book on the races in the shop and that is against +the law. The politician could make trouble for us. The boss paid out the +four dollars swearing under his breath and when the politician had gone +out he threw them at me. 'There, take them,' he shouted, 'I don't want +the rotten things. Is a man a horse trough at which every beast can stop +to drink?'" + +McGregor and the barber sat in the room laughing at the boss barber who +had smilingly bought the tickets while consumed with inward wrath. The +barber urged McGregor to go with him to the dance. "We will make a night +of it," he said. "We will see women there--two that I know. They live +upstairs over a grocery store. I have been with them. They will open +your eyes. They are a kind of women you haven't known, bold and clever +and good fellows too." + +McGregor got up and pulled his shirt over his head. A wave of feverish +excitement ran over his body. "We shall see about this," he said, "we +shall see if this is another wrong trail you are starting me on. You go +to your room and get ready. I am going to fix myself up." + +In the dance hall McGregor sat on a seat by the wall with one of the two +women lauded by the barber and a third one who was frail and bloodless. +To him the adventure had been a failure. The swing of the dance music +struck no answering chord in him. He saw the couples on the floor +clasped in each other's arms, writhing and turning, swaying back and +forth, looking into each other's eyes and turned aside wishing himself +back in his room among the law books. + +The barber talked to two of the women, bantering them. McGregor thought +the conversation inane and trivial. It skirted the edge of things and +ran off into vague references to other times and adventures of which he +knew nothing. + +The barber danced away with one of the women. She was tall and the head +of the barber barely Passed her shoulder. His black beard shone against +her white dress. The two women sat beside him and talked. McGregor +gathered that the frail woman was a maker of hats. Something about her +attracted him and he leaned against the wall and looked at her, not +hearing the talk. + +A youth came up and took the other woman away. From across the hall the +barber beckoned to him. + +A thought flashed into his mind. This woman beside him was frail and +thin and bloodless like the women of Coal Creek. A feeling of intimacy +with her came over him. He felt as he had felt concerning the tall pale +girl of Coal Creek when they together gether had climbed the hill to the +eminence that looked down into the valley of farms. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Edith Carson the milliner, whom fate had thrown into the company of +McGregor, was a frail woman of thirty-four and lived alone in two +rooms at the back of her millinery store. Her life was almost devoid of +colour. On Sunday morning she wrote a long letter to her family on an +Indiana farm and then put on a hat from among the samples in the show +case along the wall and went to church, sitting by herself in the +same seat Sunday after Sunday and afterward remembering nothing of the +sermon. + +On Sunday afternoon Edith went by street-car to a park and walked alone +under the trees. If it threatened rain she sat in the larger of the two +rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself or for a +sister who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and who had four +children. + +Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brown spots +on the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about her body under +her dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had a sweetheart--a +fat round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Once they had gone +together to the fair at the county seat and coming home in the buggy at +night he had put his arm about her and kissed her. "You ain't very big," +he had said. + +Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the padding +which she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed +on herself. The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with great +respect as a wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places on her +side against which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain with grim +stoicism, remembering what the fat boy had said. + +After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had a +letter from her former admirer. "It pleases me to think that the same +wind that blows over me blows also over you," it said. After that one +letter she did not hear from him again. He had the phrase out of a book +he had read and had written the letter to Edith that he might use it. +After the letter had gone he thought of her frail figure and repented +of the impulse that had tricked him into writing. Half in alarm he began +courting and soon married another girl. + +Sometimes on her rare visits home Edith had seen her former lover +driving along the road. The sister who had married the blacksmith said +that he was stingy, that his wife had nothing to wear but a cheap calico +dress and that on Saturday he drove off to town alone, leaving her to +milk the cows and feed the pigs and horses. Once he encountered Edith on +the road and tried to get her into the wagon to ride with him. Although +she had walked along the road ignoring him she took the letter about +the wind that blew over them both out of a drawer on spring evenings or +after a walk in the park and read it over. After she had read it she +sat in the darkness at the front of the store looking through the screen +door at people in the street and wondered what life would mean to her +if she had a man on whom she could bestow her love. In her heart she +believed that, unlike the wife of the fat youth, she would have borne +children. + +In Chicago Edith Carson had made money. She had a genius for economy +in the management of her business. In six years she had cleared a large +debt from the shop and had a comfortable balance in the bank. Girls +who worked in factories or in stores came and left most of their meagre +surplus in her shop and other girls who didn't work came in, throwing +dollars about and talking about "gentlemen friends." Edith hated the +bargaining but attended to it with shrewdness and with a quiet disarming +little smile on her face. What she liked was to sit quietly in the room +and trim hats. When the business grew she had a woman to tend the shop +and a girl to sit beside her and help with the hats. She had a friend, +the wife of a motorman on the street-car line, who sometimes came to see +her in the evening. The friend was a plump little woman, dissatisfied +with her marriage, and she got Edith to make her several new hats a year +for which she paid nothing. + +Edith went to the dance at which she met McGregor with the motorman's +wife and a girl who lived upstairs over a bakery next door to the shop, +The dance was held in a hall over a saloon and was given for the benefit +of a political organisation in which the baker was a leader. The wife +of the baker came in and sold Edith two tickets, one for herself and one +for the wife of the motorman who happened to be sitting with her at the +time. + +That evening after the motorman's wife had gone home Edith decided to go +to the dance and the decision was something like an adventure in itself. +The night was hot and sultry, lightning flashed in the sky and clouds of +dust swept down the street. Edith sat in the darkness behind the bolted +screen door and looked at the people who hurried homeward down the +street. A wave of revolt at the narrowness and emptiness of her life +ran through her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed the shop door and +going into the room at the back lighted the gas and stood looking at +herself in the mirror. "I'll go to the dance," she thought. "Perhaps I +shall get a man. If he won't marry me he can have what he wants of me +anyway." + +In the dance hall Edith sat demurely by the wall near a window and +watched the couples whirl about on the floor. Through an open door she +could see couples sitting in another room around tables and drinking +beer. A tall young man in white trousers and white slippers went about +on the dance floor. He smiled and bowed to the women. Once he started +across the floor toward Edith and her heart beat rapidly, but just when +she thought he intended to speak to her and to the motorman's wife he +turned and went to another part of the room. Edith followed him with her +eyes, admiring his white trousers and his shining white teeth. + +The wife of the motorman went away with a small straight man with a grey +moustache whom Edith thought had unpleasant eyes and two girls came and +sat beside her. They were customers of her store and lived together in +a flat over a grocery on Monroe Street. Edith had heard the girl who +sat in the workroom with her speak slightingly of them. The three sat +together along the wall and talked of hats. + +And then across the floor of the dance hall came two men, a huge +red-haired fellow and a little man with a black beard. The two women +hailed them and the five sat together making a party by the wall, the +little man keeping up a running stream of comments about the people on +the floor with Edith's two companions. A dance struck up and taking +one of the women the black-bearded man danced away. Edith and the other +woman again talked of hats. The huge fellow beside her said nothing but +followed the women about the dance hall with his eyes. Edith thought she +had never seen so homely a fellow. + +At the end of the dance the black-bearded man went through the door into +the room filled with little tables and made a sign to the red-haired man +to follow. A boyish looking fellow appeared and went away with the other +woman and Edith sat alone on the bench by the wall beside McGregor. + +"This place doesn't interest me," said McGregor quickly. "I don't like +to sit watching people hop about on their toes. If you want to come with +me we'll get out of here and go to some place where we can talk and get +acquainted." + + * * * * * + +The little milliner walked across the floor on the arm of McGregor, her +heart jumping with excitement. "I've got a man," she thought, exulting. +That the man had deliberately chosen her she knew. She had heard the +introductions and the bantering talk of the black-bearded man and had +noted the indifference of the big man to the other women. + +Edith looked at her companion's huge frame and forgot his homeliness. +Into her mind came a picture of the fat boy, grown into a man, driving +down the road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride with him. A +flood of anger at the memory of the look of greedy assurance in his eyes +came over her. "This one could knock him over a six-rail fence," she +thought. + +"Where are we going now?" she asked. + +McGregor looked down at her. "To some place where we can talk," he said. +"I was sick of this place. You ought to know where we're going. I'm +going with you. You aren't going with me." + +McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt he would like to take +this woman over the hill and sit on the log to talk of his father. + +As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of the resolution she +had made as she stood before the mirror in her room at the back of +the shop on the evening when she had decided to come to the dance. She +wondered if the great adventure was about to come to her and her hand +trembled on McGregor's arm. A hot wave of hope and fear shot through +her. + +At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with uncertain hands as +she unlocked the door. A delicious feeling shook her. She felt like a +bride, glad and yet ashamed and afraid. + +In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted the gas and pulling +off his overcoat threw it on the couch at the side of the room. He was +not in the least excited and with a steady hand lighted the fire in the +little stove and then looking up he asked Edith if he might smoke. He +had the air of a man come home to his own house and the woman sat on +the edge of her chair to unpin her hat and waited hopefully to see what +course the night's adventure would take. + +For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in Edith Carson's room +and talked of Coal Creek and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely, +letting himself go as a man might in talking to one of his own people +after a long absence. His attitude and the quiet ring in his voice +confused and puzzled Edith. She had expected something quite different. + +Going to the little room at the side she brought forth a teakettle and +prepared to make tea. The big man still sat in her chair smoking and +talking. A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over her. She +thought her room beautiful but mingled with her satisfaction was a faint +grey streak of fear. "Of course he won't come back again," she thought. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the year following the beginning of his acquaintanceship with Edith +Carson McGregor continued to work hard and steadily in the warehouse and +with his books at night. He was promoted to be foreman, replacing the +German, and he thought he had made progress with his studies. When he +did not go to the night school he went to Edith Carson's place and sat +reading a book and smoking his pipe by a little table in the back room. + +About the room and in and out of her shop moved Edith, going softly and +quietly. A light began to come into her eyes and colour into her cheeks. +She did not talk but new and daring thoughts visited her mind and a +thrill of reawakened life ran through her body. With gentle insistence +she did not let her dreams express themselves in words and almost hoped +that she might be able to go on forever thus, having this strong man +come into her presence and sit absorbed in his own affairs within the +walls of her house. Sometimes she wanted him to talk and wished that she +had the power to lead him into the telling of little facts of his life. +She wanted to be told of his mother and father, of his boyhood in the +Pennsylvania town, of his dreams and his desires but for the most part +she was content to wait and only hoped that nothing would happen to +bring an end to her waiting. + +McGregor began to read books of history and became absorbed in the +figures of certain men, all soldiers and leaders of soldiers who stalked +across the pages wherein was written the story of man's life. The +figures of Sherman, Grant, Lee, Jackson, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, +and Wellington seemed to him to stand starkly up among the other figures +in the books and going to the Public Library at the noon hour he got +books concerning these men and for a time lost interest in the study of +law and devoted himself to contemplation of the breakers of laws. + +There was something beautiful about McGregor in those days. He was as +virginal and pure as a chunk of the hard black coal out of the hills of +his own state and like the coal ready to burn himself out into +power. Nature had been kind to him. He had the gift of silence and of +isolation. All about him were other men, perhaps as strong physically +as himself and with better trained minds who were being destroyed and he +was not being destroyed. For the others life let itself run out in the +endless doing of little tasks, the thinking of little thoughts and the +saying of groups of words over and over endlessly like parrots that sit +in cages and earn their bread by screaming two or three sentences to +passers by. + +It is a terrible thing to speculate on how man has been defeated by his +ability to say words. The brown bear in the forest has no such power and +the lack of it has enabled him to retain a kind of nobility of bearing +sadly lacking in us. On and on through life we go, socialists, dreamers, +makers of laws, sellers of goods and believers in suffrage for women and +we continuously say words, worn-out words, crooked words, words without +power or pregnancy in them. + +The matter is one to be thought of seriously by youths and maidens +inclined to garrulousness. Those who have the habit of it will never +change. The gods who lean over the rim of the world to laugh at us have +marked them for their barrenness. + +And yet the word must run on. McGregor, the silent, wanted his word. He +wanted his true note as an individual to ring out above the hubbub of +voices and then he wanted to use the strength and the virility within +himself to carry his word far. What he did not want was that his mouth +become foul and his brain become numb with the saying of the words and +the thinking of the thoughts of other men and that he in his turn become +a mere toiling food-consuming chattering puppet to the gods. + +For a long time the miner's son wondered what power lay in the men whose +figures stood up so boldly in the pages of the books he read. He tried +to think the matter out as he sat in Edith's room or walked by himself +through the streets. In the warehouse he looked with new curiosity at +the men who worked in the great rooms piling and unpiling apple barrels +and the boxes of eggs and fruit When he came into one of the rooms the +men who had been standing in groups idly talking of their own affairs +began to run busily about. They no longer chattered but as long as he +remained worked desperately, furtively watching as he stood staring at +them. + +McGregor wondered. He tried to fathom the mystery of the power that made +them willing to work until their bodies were bent and stooped, that made +them unashamed to be afraid and that left them in the end mere slaves to +words and formulas. + +The perplexed young man who watched the men in the warehouse began to +think that the passion for reproduction might have something to do with +the matter. Perhaps his constant association with Edith awakened the +thought. His own loins were heavy with the seeds of children and only +his absorption in the thought of finding himself kept him from devoting +himself to the feeding of his lusts. One day he had a talk concerning +the matter with a at the warehouse. The talk came about in this way. + +In the warehouse the men came in at the door in the morning, drifting +in like flies that wander in at the open windows on a summer day. With +downcast eyes they shuffled across the long floor, white with lime. +Morning after morning they came in at the door and went silently to +their places looking at the floor and scowling. A slender bright-eyed +young man who acted as shipping clerk during the day sat in a little +coop and to him the men as they passed called out their numbers. From +time to time the shipping clerk who was an Irishman tried to joke with +one of them, tapping sharply upon his desk with a pencil as though +to compel attention. "They are no good," he said to himself, when in +response to his sallies they only smiled vaguely. "Although they get +but a dollar and a half a day they are overpaid!" Like McGregor he had +nothing but contempt for the men whose numbers he put in the book. Their +stupidity he took as a compliment to himself. "We are the kind who get +things done," he thought as he put the pencil back of his ear and closed +the book. In his mind the futile pride of the middle class man flamed +up. In his contempt for the workers he forgot also to have contempt for +himself. + +One morning McGregor and the shipping clerk stood upon a board platform +facing the street and the shipping clerk talked of parentage. "The +wives of the workers here have children as cattle have calves," said +the Irishman. Moved by some hidden sentiment within himself he added +heartily. "Oh well, what's a man for? It's nice to see kids around the +house. I've got four kids myself. You should see them play about in the +garden at my place in Oak Park when I come home in the evening." + +McGregor thought of Edith Carson and a faint hunger began to grow within +him. A desire that was later to come near to upsetting the purpose of +his life began to make itself felt. With a growl he fought against the +desire and confused the Irishman by making an attack upon him. "Well how +are you any better?" he asked bluntly. "Do you think your children any +more important than theirs? You may have a better mind but their bodies +are better and your mind hasn't made you a very striking figure as far +as I can see." + +Turning away from the Irishman who had begun to sputter with wrath +McGregor went up an elevator to a distant part of the building to think +of the Irishman's words. From time to time he spoke sharply to a workman +who loitered in one of the passages between the piles of boxes and +barrels. Under his hand the work in the warehouse had begun to take on +order and the little grey-haired superintendent who had employed him +rubbed his hands with delight. + +In a corner by a window stood McGregor wondering why he also did not +want to devote his life to being the father of children. In the dim +light across the face of the window a fat old spider crawled slowly. In +the hideous body of the insect there was something that suggested to the +mind of the struggling thinker the sloth of the world. Vaguely his mind +groped about trying to get hold of words and ideas to express what +was in his brain. "Ugly crawling things that look at the floor," he +muttered. "If they have children it is without order or orderly purpose. +It is an accident like the accident of the fly that falls into the net +built by the insect here. The coming of the children is like the coming +of the flies, it feeds a kind of cowardice in men. In the children men +hope vainly to see done what they have not the courage to try to do." + +With an oath McGregor smashed with his heavy leather glove the fat thing +wandering aimlessly across the light. "I must not be confused by little +things. There is still going on the attempt to force me into the hole +in the ground. There is a hole here in which men live and work just as +there is in the mining town from which I came." + + * * * * * + +Hurrying out of his room that evening McGregor went to see Edith. He +wanted to look at her and to think. In the little room at the back he +sat for an hour trying to read a book and then for the first time shared +his thoughts with her. "I am trying to discover why men are of so little +importance," he said suddenly. "Are they mere tools for women? Tell me +that. Tell me what women think and what they want?" + +Without waiting for an answer he turned again to the reading of the +book. "Oh well," he added "it doesn't need to bother me. I won't let any +women lead me into being a reproductive tool for her." + +Edith was alarmed. She took McGregor's outburst as a declaration of war +against herself and her influence and her hands began to tremble. Then +a new thought came to her. "He needs money to get on in the world," she +told herself and a little thrill of joy ran through her as she thought +of her own carefully guarded hoard. She wondered how she could offer it +to him so that there would be no danger of a refusal. + +"You're all right," said McGregor, preparing to depart. "You do not +interfere with a man's thoughts." + +Edith blushed and like the workmen in the warehouse looked at the floor. +Something in his words startled her and when he was gone she went to +her desk and taking out her bankbook turned its pages with new pleasure. +Without hesitation she who indulged herself in nothing would have given +all to McGregor. + +And out into the street went the man, thinking of his own affairs. He +dismissed from his mind the thoughts of women and children and began +again to think of the stirring figures of history that had made so +strong an appeal to him. As he passed over one of the bridges he stopped +and stood leaning over the rail to look at the black water below. "Why +has thought never succeeded in replacing action?" he asked himself. "Why +are the men who write books in some way less full of meaning than the +men who do things?" + +McGregor was staggered by the thought that had come to him and wondered +if he had started on a wrong trail by coming to the city and trying to +educate himself. For an hour he stood in the darkness and tried to think +things out. It began to rain but he did not mind. Into his brain began +to creep a dream of a vast order coming out of disorder. He was like one +standing in the presence of some gigantic machine with many intricate +parts that had begun to run crazily, each part without regard to the +purpose of the whole. "There is danger in thinking too," he muttered +vaguely. "Everywhere there is danger, in labour, in love and in +thinking. What shall I do with myself?" + +McGregor turned about and threw up his hands. A new thought swept like +a broad path of light across the darkness of his mind. He began to see +that the soldiers who had led thousands of men into battle had appealed +to him because in the working out of their purposes they had used human +lives with the recklessness of gods. They had found the courage to do +that and their courage was magnificent. Away down deep in the hearts of +men lay sleeping a love of order and they had taken hold of that love. +If they had used it badly did that matter? Had they not pointed the way? + +Back into McGregor's mind came a night scene in his home town. Vividly +he saw in fancy the poor unkempt little street facing the railroad +tracks and the groups of striking miners huddled in the light before +the door of a saloon while in the road a body of soldiers marched past, +their uniforms looking grey and their faces grim in the uncertain light. +"They marched," whispered McGregor. "That's what made them seem so +powerful. They were just ordinary men but they went swinging along, all +as one man. Something in that fact ennobled them. That's what Grant knew +and what Caesar knew. That's what made Grant and Caesar seem so big. +They knew and they were not afraid to use their knowledge. Perhaps +they did not bother to think how it would all come out. They hoped for +another kind of man to do the thinking. Perhaps they did not think of +anything at all but just went ahead and tried to do each his own part. + +"I will do my part here," shouted McGregor. "I will find the way." His +body shook and his voice roared along the footpath of the bridge. Men +stopped to look back at the big shouting figure. Two women walking past +screamed and ran into the roadway. McGregor walked rapidly away toward +his own room and his books. He did not know how he would be able to use +the new impulse that had come to him but as he swung along through dark +streets and past rows of dark buildings he thought again of the great +machine running crazily and without purpose and was glad he was not +a part of it. "I will keep myself to myself and be ready for what +happens," he said, burning with new courage. + + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + + +When McGregor had secured the place in the apple-warehouse and went home +to the house in Wycliff Place with his first week's pay, twelve dollars, +in his pocket he thought of his mother, Nance McGregor, working in the +mine offices in the Pennsylvania town and folding a five dollar bill +sent it to her in a letter. "I will begin to take care of her now," he +thought and with the rough sense of equity in such matters, common to +labouring people, had no intention of giving himself airs. "She has fed +me and now I will begin to feed her," he told himself. + +The five dollars came back. "Keep it. I don't want your money," the +mother wrote. "If you have money left after your expenses are paid begin +to fix yourself up. Better get a new pair of shoes or a hat. Don't +try to take care of me. I won't have it. I want you to look out for +yourself. Dress well and hold up your head, that's all I ask. In the +city clothes mean a good deal. In the long run it will mean more to me +to see you be a real man than to be a good son." + +Sitting in her rooms over the vacant bake-shop in Coal Creek Nance began +to get new satisfaction out of the contemplation of herself as a woman +with a son in the city. In the evening she thought of him moving along +the crowded thoroughfares among men and women and her bent little old +figure straightened with pride. When a letter came telling of his work +in the night school her heart jumped and she wrote a long letter filled +with talk of Garfield and Grant and of Lincoln lying by the burning pine +knot reading his books. It seemed to her unbelievably romantic that her +son should some day be a lawyer and stand up in a crowded court room +speaking thoughts out of his brain to other men. She thought that if +this great red-haired boy, who at home had been so unmanageable and so +quick with his fists, was to end by being a man of books and of brains +then she and her man, Cracked McGregor, had not lived in vain. A sweet +new sense of peace came to her. She forgot her own years of toil and +gradually her mind went back to the silent boy sitting on the steps with +her before her house in the year after her husband's death while she +talked to him of the world, and thus she thought of him, a quiet eager +boy, going about bravely there in the distant city. + +Death caught Nance McGregor off her guard. After one of her long days of +toil in the mine office she awoke to find him sitting grim and expectant +beside her bed. For years she in common with most of the women of the +coal town had been afflicted with what is called "trouble with the +heart." Now and then she had "bad spells." On this spring evening she +got into bed and sitting propped among the pillows fought out her fight +alone like a worn-out animal that has crept into a hole in the woods. + +In the middle of the night the conviction came to her that she would +die. Death seemed moving about in the room and waiting for her. In the +street two drunken men stood talking, their voices concerned with their +own human affairs coming in through the window and making life seem very +near and dear to the dying woman. "I've been everywhere," said one of +the men. "I've been in towns and cities I don't even remember the names +of. You ask Alex Fielder who keeps a saloon in Denver. Ask him if Gus +Lamont has been there." + +The other man laughed. "You've been in Jake's drinking too much beer," +he jeered. + +Nance heard the two men stumble off down the street, the traveller +protesting against the unbelief of his friend. It seemed to her that +life with all of its colour sound and meaning was running away from her +presence. The exhaust of the engine over at the mine rang in her ears. +She thought of the mine as a great monster lying asleep below the +ground, its huge nose stuck into the air, its mouth open to eat men. In +the darkness of the room her coat, flung over the back of a chair, took +the shape and outline of a face, huge and grotesque, staring silently +past her into the sky. + +Nance McGregor gasped and struggled for breath. She clutched the +bedclothes with her hands and fought grimly and silently. She did not +think of the place to which she might go after death. She was trying +hard not to go there. It had been her habit of life to fight not to +dream dreams. + +Nance thought of her father, drunk and throwing his money about in the +old days before her marriage, of the walks she as a young girl had taken +with her lover on Sunday afternoons and of the times when they had gone +together to sit on the hillside overlooking the farming country. As in a +vision the dying woman saw the broad fertile land spread out before her +and blamed herself that she had not done more toward helping her man in +the fulfilment of the plans she and he had made to go there and live. +Then she thought of the night when her boy came and of how, when they +went to bring her man from the mine, they found him apparently dead +under the fallen timbers so that she thought life and death had visited +her hand in hand in one night. + +Nance sat stiffly up in bed. She thought she heard the sound of heavy +feet on the stairs. "That will be Beaut coming up from the shop," she +muttered and fell back upon the pillow dead. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Beaut McGregor went home to Pennsylvania to bury his mother and on a +summer afternoon walked again on the streets of his native town. From +the station he went at once to the empty bake-shop, above which he had +lived with his mother but he did not stay there. For a moment he stood +bag in hand listening to the voices of the miners' wives in the room +above and then put the bag behind an empty box and hurried away. The +voices of women broke the stillness of the room in which he stood. +Their thin sharpness hurt something within him and he could not bear the +thought of the equally thin sharp silence he knew would fall upon the +women who were attending his mother's body in the room above when he +came into the presence of the dead. + +Along Main Street he went to a hardware store and from there went to +the mine office. Then with a pick and shovel on his shoulder he began to +climb the hill up which he had walked with his father when he was a lad. +On the train homeward bound an idea had come to him. "I will her among +the bushes on the hillside that looks down into the fruitful valley," +he told himself. The details of a religious discussion between two +labourers that had gone on one day during the noon hour at the warehouse +had come into his mind and as the train ran eastward he for the first +time found himself speculating on the possibility of a life after death. +Then he brushed the thoughts aside. "Anyway if Cracked McGregor does +come back it is there you will find him, sitting on the log on the +hillside," he thought. + +With the tools on his shoulder McGregor climbed the long hillside road, +now deep with black dust. He was going to dig the grave for the burial +of Nance McGregor. He did not glare at the miners who passed swinging +their dinner-pails as they had done in the old days but looked at the +ground and thought of the dead woman and a little wondered what place a +woman would yet come to occupy in his own life. On the hillside the +wind blew sharply and the great boy just emerging into manhood worked +vigorously making the dirt fly. When the hole had grown deep he stopped +and looked to where in the valley below a man who was hoeing corn +shouted to a woman who stood on the porch of a farm house. Two cows that +stood by a fence in a field lifted up their heads and bawled lustily. +"It is the place for the dead to lie," whispered McGregor. "When my own +time comes I shall be brought up here." An idea came to him. "I will +have father's body moved," he told himself. "When I have made some +money I will have that done. Here we shall all lie in the end, all of us +McGregors." + +The thought that had come to McGregor pleased him and he was pleased +also with himself for thinking the thought. The male in him made him +throw back his shoulders. "We are two of a feather, father and me," he +muttered, "two of a feather and mother has not understood either of us. +Perhaps no woman was ever intended to understand us." + +Jumping out of the hole he strode over the crest of the hill and began +the descent toward the town. It was late afternoon and the sun had +gone down behind clouds. "I wonder if I understand myself, if any +one understands," he thought as he went swiftly along with the tools +clanking on his shoulder. + +McGregor did not want to go back to the town and to the dead woman in +the little room. He thought of the miners' wives, attendants to the +dead, who would sit with crossed hands looking at him and turned out of +the road to sit on the fallen log where once on a Sunday afternoon he +had sat with the black-haired boy who worked in the poolroom and where +the daughter of the undertaker had come to sit beside him. + +And then up the long hill came the woman herself. As she drew near he +recognised her tall figure and for some reason a lump came into his +throat She had seen him depart from the town with the pick and shovel on +his shoulder and after waiting what she thought an interval long enough +to still the tongues of gossip had followed. "I wanted to talk with +you," she said, climbing over logs and coming to sit beside him. + +For a long time the man and woman sat in silence and stared at the town +in the valley below. McGregor thought she had grown more pale than ever +and looked at her sharply. His mind, more accustomed to look critically +at women than had been the mind of the boy who had once sat talking +to her on the same log, began to inventory her body. "She is already +becoming stooped," he thought. "I would not want to make love to her +now." + +Along the log toward him moved the undertaker's daughter and with a +swift impulse toward boldness slipped a thin hand into his. She began to +talk of the dead woman lying in the upstairs room in the town. "We have +been friends since you went away," she explained. "She liked to talk of +you and I liked that too." + +Made bold by her own boldness the woman hurried on. "I do not want +you to misunderstand me," she said. "I know I can't get you. I'm not +thinking of that." + +She began to talk of her own affairs and of the dreariness of life with +her father but McGregor's mind could not centre itself on her talk. When +they started down the hill he had the impulse to take her in his arms +and carry her as Cracked McGregor had once carried him but was so +embarrassed that he did not offer to help her. He thought that for the +first time some one from his native town had come close to him and he +watched her stooped figure with an odd new feeling of tenderness. "I +won't be alive long, maybe not a year. I've got the consumption," she +whispered softly as he left her at the entrance to the hallway leading +up to her home, and McGregor was so stirred by her words that he turned +back and spent another hour wandering alone on the hillside before he +went to see the body of his mother. + + * * * * * + +In the room above the bakery McGregor sat at an open window and looked +down into the dimly lighted street. In a corner of the room lay his +mother in a coffin and two miners' wives sat in the darkness behind him. +All were silent and embarrassed. + +McGregor leaned out of the window and watched a group of miners who +gathered at a corner. He thought of the undertaker's daughter, now +nearing death, and wondered why she had suddenly come so close to him. +"It is not because she is a woman, I know that," he told himself and +tried to dismiss the matter from his mind by watching the people in the +street below. + +In the mining town a meeting was being held. A box lay at the edge of +the sidewalk and upon it climbed that same young Hartnet who had once +talked to McGregor and who made his living by gathering birds' eggs and +trapping squirrels in the hills. He was frightened and talked rapidly. +Presently he introduced a large man with a flat nose who, when he had in +turn climbed upon the box, began to tell stories and anecdotes designed +to make the miners laugh. + +McGregor listened. He wished the undertaker's daughter were there to sit +in the darkened room beside him. He thought he would like to tell her of +his life in the city and of how disorganised and ineffective all modern +life seemed to him. Sadness invaded his mind and he thought of his dead +mother and of how this other woman would presently die. "It's just as +well. Perhaps there is no other way, no orderly march toward an orderly +end. Perhaps one has to die and return to nature to achieve that," he +whispered to himself. + +In the street below the man upon the box, who was a travelling socialist +orator, began to talk of the coming social revolution. As he talked it +seemed to McGregor that his jaw had become loose from much wagging and +that his whole body was loosely put together and without force. The +speaker danced up and down on the box and his arms flapped about and +these also seemed loose, not a part of the body. + +"Vote with us and the thing is done," he shouted. "Are you going to let +a few men run things forever? Here you live like beasts paying tribute +to your masters. Arouse yourselves. Join us in the struggle. You +yourselves can be masters if you will only think so." + +"You will have to do something more than think," roared McGregor, as +he leaned far out at the window. Again as always when he had heard men +saying words he was blind with anger. Sharply he remembered the walks +he had sometimes taken at night in the city streets and the air of +disorderly ineffectiveness all about him. And here in the mining town it +was the same. On every side of him appeared blank empty faces and loose +badly knit bodies. + +"Mankind should be like a great fist ready to smash and to strike. +It should be ready to knock down what stands in its way," he cried, +astonishing the crowd in the street and frightening into something like +hysterics the two women who sat with him beside the dead woman in the +darkened room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The funeral of Nance McGregor was an event in Coal Creek. In the minds +of the miners she stood for something. Fearing and hating the husband +and the tall big-fisted son they had yet a tenderness for the mother +and wife. "She lost her money handing us out bread," they said as they +pounded on the bar in the saloon. Word ran about among them and they +returned again and again to the subject. The fact that she had lost her +man twice--once in the mine when the timber fell and clouded his brain, +and then later when his body lay black and distorted near the door to +the McCrary cut after the dreadful time of the fire in the mine--was +perhaps forgotten but the fact that she had once kept a store and that +she had lost her money serving them was not forgotten. + +On the day of the funeral the miners came up out of the mine and stood +in groups in the open street and in the vacant bake shop. The men of the +night shift had their faces washed and had put white paper collars about +their necks. The man who owned the saloon locked the front door and +putting the keys into his pocket stood on the side-walk looking silently +at the windows of Nance McGregor's rooms. Out along the runway from +the mines came other miners--men of the day shift. Setting their dinner +pails on the stone along the front of the saloon and crossing the +railroad they kneeled and washed their blackened faces in the red stream +that flowed at the foot of the embankment The voice of the preacher, a +slender wasp-like young man with black hair and dark shadows under his +eyes, floated out to the listening men. A train of loaded coke cars +rumbled past along the back of the stores. + +McGregor sat at the head of the coffin dressed in a new black suit. +He stared at the wall back of the head of the preacher, not hearing, +thinking his own thoughts. + +Back of McGregor sat the undertaker's pale daughter. She leaned forward +until she touched the back of the chair in front and sat with her face +buried in a white handkerchief. Her weeping cut across the voice of the +preacher in the closely crowded little room filled with miners' wives +and in the midst of his prayer for the dead she was taken with a violent +fit of coughing and had to get up and hurry out of the room. + +After the services in the rooms above the bake shop a procession formed +on Main Street. Like awkward boys the miners fell into groups and walked +along behind the black hearse and the carriage in which sat the dead +woman's son with the minister. The men kept looking at each other and +smiling sheepishly. There had been no arrangement to follow the body +to its grave and when they thought of the son and the attitude he had +always maintained toward them they wondered whether or not he wanted +them to follow. + +And McGregor was unconscious of all this. He sat in the carriage beside +the minister and with unseeing eyes stared over the heads of the horses. +He was thinking of his life in the city and of what he should do there +in the future, of Edith Carson, sitting in the cheap dance hall and +of the evenings he had spent with her, of the barber on the park bench +talking of women and of his life with his mother when he was a boy in +the mining town. + +As the carriage climbed slowly up the hill followed by the miners +McGregor began to love his mother. For the first time he realised that +her life was full of meaning and that in her woman's way she had been +quite as heroic in her years of patient toil as had been her man Cracked +McGregor when he ran to his death in the burning mine. McGregor's hands +began to tremble and his shoulders straightened. He became conscious of +the men, the dumb blackened children of toil dragging their weary legs +up the hill. + +For what? McGregor stood up in the carriage and turning about looked at +the men. Then he fell upon his knees on the carriage seat and watched +them eagerly, his soul crying out to something he thought must be hidden +away among the black mass of them, something that was the keynote of +their lives, something for which he had not looked and in which he had +not believed. + +McGregor, kneeling in the open carriage at the top of the hill and +watching the marching men slowly toiling upward, had of a sudden one +of those strange awakenings that are the reward of stoutness in stout +souls. A strong wind lifted the smoke from the coke ovens and blew it +up the face of the hill on the farther side of the valley and the wind +seemed to have lifted also some of the haze that had covered his eyes. +At the foot of the hill along the railroad he could see the little +stream, one of the blood red streams of the mine country, and the dull +red houses of the miners. The red of the coke ovens, the red sun setting +behind the hills to the west and last of all the red stream flowing like +a river of blood down through the valley made a scene that burned itself +into the brain of the miner's son. A lump came into his throat and for +a moment he tried vainly to get back his old satisfying hate of the town +and the miners but it would not come. Long he looked down the hill +to where the miners of the night shift marched up the hill after the +carriage and the slowly moving hearse. It seemed to him that they like +himself were marching up out of the smoke and the little squalid houses +away from the shores of the blood red river into something new. What? +McGregor shook his head slowly like an animal in pain. He wanted +something for himself, for all these men. It seemed to him that he would +gladly lie dead like Nance McGregor to know the secret of that want. + +And then as though in answer to the cry out of his heart the file of +marching men fell into step. An instantaneous impulse seemed to run +through the ranks of stooped toiling figures. Perhaps they also looking +backward had caught the magnificence of the picture scrawled across +the landscape in black and red and had been moved by it so that their +shoulders straightened and the long subdued song of life began to sing +in their bodies. With a swing the marching men fell into step. Into the +mind of McGregor flashed a thought of another day when he had stood upon +this same hill with the half crazed man who stuffed birds and sat upon +a log by the roadside reading the Bible and how he had hated these men +because they did not march with orderly precision like the soldiers who +came to subdue them. In a flash he knew that he who had hated the miners +hated them no more. With Napoleonic insight he read a lesson into the +accident of the men's falling into step behind his carriage. A big grim +thought flashed into his brain. "Some day a man will come who will swing +all of the workers of the world into step like that," he thought. "He +will make them conquer, not one another but the terrifying disorder +of life. If their lives have been wrecked by disorder it is not their +fault. They have been betrayed by the ambitions of their leaders, all +men have betrayed them." McGregor thought that his mind swept down over +the men, that the impulses of his mind like living things ran among +them, crying to them, touching them, caressing them. Love invaded +his spirit and made his body tingle. He thought of the workers in the +Chicago warehouse and of the millions of others workers who in that +great city, in all cities, everywhere, went at the end of the day +shuffling off along the streets to their houses carrying with them no +song, no hope, nothing but a few paltry dollars with which to buy food +and keep the endless hurtful scheme of things alive. "There is a curse +on my country," he cried. "Everyone has come here for gain, to grow +rich, to achieve. Suppose they should begin to want to live here. +Suppose they should quit thinking of gain, leaders and followers of +leaders. They are children. Suppose like children they should begin +to play a bigger game. Suppose they could just learn to march, nothing +else. Suppose they should begin to do with their bodies what their minds +are not strong enough to do--to just learn the one simple thing, to +march, whenever two or four or a thousand of them get together, to +march." + +McGregor's thoughts moved him so that he wanted to yell. Instead +his face grew stern and he tried to command himself. "No, wait," he +whispered. "Train yourself. Here is something to give point to your +life. Be patient and wait." Again his thoughts swept away, running down +to the advancing men. Tears came into his eyes. "Men have taught them +that big lesson only when they wanted to kill. This must be different. +Some one must teach them the big lesson just for their own sakes, +that they also may know. They must march fear and disorder and +purposelessness away. That must come first." + +McGregor turned and compelled himself to sit quietly beside the minister +in the carriage. He became bitter against the leaders of men, the +figures in old history that had once loomed so big in his mind. + +"They have half taught them the secret only to betray them," he +muttered. "The men of books and of brains have done the same. That +loose-jawed fellow in the street last night--there must be thousands +of such, talking until their jaws hang loose like worn-out gates. Words +mean nothing but when a man marches with a thousand other men and is +not doing it for the glory of some king, then it will mean something. He +will know then that he is a part of something real and he will catch the +rhythm of the mass and glory in the fact that he is a part of the +mass and that the mass has meaning. He will begin to feel great and +powerful." McGregor smiled grimly. "That is what the great leaders of +armies have known," he whispered. "And they have sold men out. They have +used that knowledge to subdue men, to make them serve their own little +ends." + +McGregor continued to look back at the men and in an odd sort of way +to wonder at himself and the thought that had come to him. "It can be +done," he presently said aloud. "It will be done by some one, sometime. +Why not by me?" + +They buried Nance McGregor in the deep hole dug by her son before +the log on the hillside. On the morning of his arrival he had secured +permission of the mining company who owned the land to make this the +burial place of the McGregors. + +When the service over the grave was finished he looked about him at the +miners, standing uncovered along the hill and in the road leading down +into the valley, and felt that he should like to tell them what was in +his mind. He had an impulse to jump upon the log beside the grave and in +the presence of the green fields his father loved and across the grave +of Nance McGregor shout to them saying, "Your cause shall be my cause. +My brain and strength shall be yours. Your enemies I shall smite with +my naked fist." Instead he walked rapidly past them and topping the hill +went down toward the town into the gathering night. + +McGregor could not sleep on that last night he was ever to spend in Coal +Creek. When darkness came he went along the street and stood at the +foot of the stairs leading to the home of the undertaker's daughter. The +emotions that had swept over him during the afternoon had subdued his +spirit and he wanted to be with some one who would also be subdued +and quiet. When the woman did not come down the stairs to stand in the +hallway as she had done in his boyhood he went up and knocked at her +door. Together they went along Main Street and climbed the hill. + +The undertaker's daughter walked with difficulty and was compelled to +stop and sit upon a stone by the roadside. When she attempted to rise +McGregor gathered her into his arms and when she protested patted her +thin shoulder with his big hand and whispered to her. "Be quiet," he +said. "Do not talk about anything. Just be quiet." + +The nights in the hills above mining towns are magnificent. The long +valleys, cut and slashed by the railroads and made ugly by the squalid +little houses of the miners are half lost in the soft blackness. Out +of the darkness sounds emerge. Coal cars creak and protest as they are +pushed along rails. Voices cry out. With a long reverberating rattle one +of the mine cars dumps its load down a metal chute into a car standing +on the railroad tracks. In the winter little fires are started along the +tracks by the workmen who are employed about the tipple and on summer +nights the moon comes out and touches with wild beauty the banks of +black smoke that drift upward from the long rows of coke ovens. + +With the sick woman in his arms McGregor sat in silence on the hillside +above Coal Creek and let new thoughts and new impulses play with his +spirit. The love for the figure of his mother that had come to him +during the afternoon returned and he took the woman of the mine country +into his arms and held her closely against his breast. + +The struggling man in the hills of his own country, who was trying to +clear his soul of the hatred of men bred in him by the disorder of life, +lifted his head and pressed the body of the undertaker's daughter hard +against his own body. The woman, understanding his mood, picked with her +thin fingers at his coat and wished she might die there in the darkness +in the arms of the man she loved. When he became conscious of her +presence and relaxed the grip of his arms about her shoulders she lay +still and waited for him to forget again and again to press her tightly +and let her feel in her worn-out body his massive strength and virility. + +"It is a job. It is something big I can try to do," he whispered to +himself and in fancy saw the great disorderly city on the western plains +rocked by the swing and rhythm of men, aroused and awakening with their +bodies a song of new life. + + + + + +BOOK IV + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Chicago is a vast city and millions of people live within the limits of +its influence. It stands at the heart of America almost within sound +of the creaking green leaves of the corn in the vast corn fields of the +Mississippi Valley. It is inhabited by hordes of men of all nations who +have come across the seas or out of western corn--shipping towns to make +their fortunes. On all sides men are busy making fortunes. + +In little Polish villages the word has been whispered about, "In America +one gets much money," and adventurous souls have set forth only to land +at last, a little perplexed and disconcerted, in narrow ill--smelling +rooms in Halstead Street in Chicago. + +In American villages the tale has been told. Here it has not been +whispered but shouted. Magazines and newspapers have done the job. The +word regarding the making of money runs over the land like a wind among +the corn. The young men listen and run away to Chicago. They have vigour +and youth but in them has been builded no dream no tradition of devotion +to anything but gain. + +Chicago is one vast gulf of disorder. Here is the passion for gain, +the very spirit of the bourgeoise gone drunk with desire. The result is +something terrible. Chicago is leaderless, purposeless, slovenly, down +at the heels. + +And back of Chicago lie the long corn fields that are not disorderly. +There is hope in the corn. Spring comes and the corn is green. It shoots +up out of the black land and stands up in orderly rows. The corn grows +and thinks of nothing but growth. Fruition comes to the corn and it is +cut down and disappears. Barns are filled to bursting with the yellow +fruit of the corn. + +And Chicago has forgotten the lesson of the corn. All men have +forgotten. It has never been told to the young men who come out of the +corn fields to live in the city. + +Once and once only in modern times the soul of America was stirred. +The Civil War swept like a purifying fire through the land. Men marched +together and knew the feel of shoulder to shoulder action. Brown stout +bearded figures returned after the war to the villages. The beginning of +a literature of strength and virility arose. + +And then the time of sorrow and of stirring effort passed and prosperity +returned. Only the aged are now cemented together by the sorrow of that +time and there has been no new national sorrow. + +It is a summer evening in America and the citizens sit in their houses +after the effort of the day. They talk of the children in school or of +the new difficulty of meeting the high prices of food stuff. In cities +the bands play in the parks. In villages the lights go out and one hears +the sound of hurrying horses on distant roads. + +A thoughtful man walking in the streets of Chicago on such an evening +sees women in white shirt waists and men with cigars in their mouths +who sit on the porches of the houses. The man is from Ohio. He owns a +factory in one of the large industrial towns there and has come to +the city to sell his product. He is a man of the better sort, quiet, +efficient, kindly. In his own community every one respects him and he +respects himself. Now he walks and gives himself over to thoughts. He +passes a house set among trees where a man cuts grass by the streaming +light from a window. The song of the lawn mower stirs the walker. He +idles along the street and looks in through the windows at Prints upon +the walls. A white--clad woman sits playing on a piano. "Life is +good," he says, lighting a cigar; "it climbs on and up toward a kind of +universal fairness." + +And then in the light from a street lamp the walker sees a man +staggering along the sidewalk, muttering and helping himself with his +hands upon a wall. The sight does not greatly disturb the pleasant +satisfying thoughts that stir in his mind. He has eaten a good dinner +at the hotel, he knows that drunken men are often but gay money-spending +dogs who to-morrow morning will settle down to their work feeling +secretly better for the night of wine and song. + +My thoughtful man is an American with the disease of comfort and +prosperity in his blood. He strolls along and turns a corner. He is +satisfied with the cigar he smokes and, he decides, satisfied with the +age in which he lives. "Agitators may howl," he says, "but on the whole +life is good, and as for me I am going to spend my life attending to the +business in hand." + +The walker has turned a corner into a side street. Two men emerge from +the door of a saloon and stand upon the sidewalk under a light. They +wave their arms up and down. Suddenly one of them springs forward and +with a quick forward thrust of his body and the flash of a clenched fist +in the lamp light knocks his companion into the gutter. Down the street +he sees rows of tall smoke-begrimed brick buildings hanging black +and ominous against the sky. At the end of a street a huge mechanical +apparatus lifts cars of coal and dumps them roaring and rattling into +the bowels of a ship that lies tied in the river. + +The walker throws his cigar away and looks about. A man walks before +him in the silent street. He sees the man raise his fist to the sky +and notes with a shock the movement of the lips and the hugeness and +ugliness of the face in the lamplight. + +Again he goes on, hurrying now, around another corner into a street +filled with pawn shops, clothing stores and the clamour of voices. In +his mind floats a picture. He sees two boys, clad in white rompers, +feeding clover to a tame rabbit in a suburban back lawn and wishes he +were at home in his own place. In his fancy the two sons are walking +under apple trees and laughing and tusseling for a great bundle of newly +pulled sweet smelling clover. The strange looking red man with the huge +face he has seen in the street is looking at the two children over a +garden wall. There is a threat in the look and the threat alarms him. +Into his mind comes the notion that the man who looks over the wall +wants to destroy the future of his children. + +The night advances. Down a stairway beside a clothing store comes a +woman with gleaming white teeth who is clad in a black dress. She makes +a Peculiar little jerking movement with her head to the walker. A patrol +wagon with clanging bells rushes through the street, two blue clad +policemen sitting stiffly in the seat. A boy--he can't be above +six--runs along the street pushing soiled newspapers under the noses of +idlers on the corners, his shrill childish voice rises above the din of +the trolley cars and the clanging notes of the patrol wagon. + +The walker throws his cigar into the gutter and climbing the steps of a +street car goes back to his hotel. His fine reflective mood is gone. He +half wishes that something lovely might come into American life but the +wish does not persist. He is only irritated and feels that a pleasant +evening has been in some way spoiled. He is wondering if he will be +successful in the business that brought him to the city. As he turns out +the light in his room and putting his head upon the pillow listens to +the noises of the city merged now into a quiet droning roar he thinks of +the brick factory on the banks of the river in Ohio and as he falls +into sleep the face of the red-haired man lowers at him from the factory +door. + + * * * * * + +When McGregor returned to the city after the burial of his mother he +began at once to try to put his idea of the marching men into form. +For a long time he did not know how to begin. The idea was vague and +shadowy. It belonged to the nights in the hills of his own country and +seemed a little absurd when he tried to think of it in the daylight of +North State Street in Chicago. + +McGregor felt that he had to prepare himself. He believed that he could +study books and learn much from men's ideas expressed in books without +being overwhelmed by their thoughts. He became a student and quit +the place in the apple-warehouse to the secret relief of the little +bright-eyed superintendent who had never been able to get himself up to +the point of raging at this big red fellow as he had raged at the German +before McGregor's time. The warehouse man felt that during the meeting +on the corner before the saloon on the day McGregor began to work for +him something had happened. The miner's son had unmanned him. "A man +ought to be boss in his own place," he sometimes muttered to himself, +as he walked in the passageways among rows of piled apple barrels in +the upper part of the warehouse wondering why the presence of McGregor +irritated him. + +From six o'clock in the evening until two in the morning McGregor now +worked as night-cashier in a restaurant on South State Street below Van +Buren and from two until seven in the morning he slept in a room whose +windows looked down into Michigan Boulevard. On Thursday he was +free, his place being taken for the evening by the man who owned the +restaurant, a small excitable Irishman by the name of Tom O'Toole. + +McGregor got his chance to become a student through the bank account +belonging to Edith Carson. The opportunity arose in this way. On a +summer evening after his return from Pennsylvania he sat with her in the +darkened store back of the closed screen door. McGregor was morose and +silent. On the evening before he had tried to talk to several men at the +warehouse about the Marching Men and they had not understood. He blamed +his inability with words and sat in the half darkness with his face in +his hands and looked up the street saying nothing and thinking bitter +thoughts. + +The idea that had come to him made him half drunk with its possibilities +and he knew that he must not let it make him drunk. He wanted to begin +forcing men to do the simple thing full of meaning rather than the +disorganised ineffective things and he had an ever-present inclination +to arise, to stretch himself, to run into the streets and with his great +arms see if he could not sweep the people before him, starting them on +the long purposeful march that was to be the beginning of the rebirth of +the world and that was to fill with meaning the lives of men. Then when +he had walked the fever out of his blood and had frightened the people +in the streets by the grim look in his face he tried to school himself +to sit quietly waiting. + +The woman sitting beside him in a low rocking chair began trying to tell +him of something that had been in her mind. Her heart jumped and she +talked slowly, pausing between sentences to conceal the trembling of her +voice. "Would it help you in what you want to do if you could quit at +the warehouse and spend your days in study?" she asked. + +McGregor looked at her and nodded his head absent-mindedly. He thought +of the nights in his room when the hard heavy work of the day in the +warehouse seemed to have benumbed his brain. + +"Besides the business here I have seventeen hundred dollars in the +savings bank," said Edith, turning aside to conceal the eager hopeful +look in her eyes. "I want to invest it. I do not want it lying there +doing nothing. I want you to take it and make a lawyer of yourself." + +Edith sat rigid in her chair waiting for his answer. She felt that she +had put him to a test. In her mind was a new hope. "If he takes it he +will not be walking out at the door some night and never coming back." + +McGregor tried to think. He had not tried to explain to her his new +notion of life and did not know how to begin. + +"After all why not stick to my plan and be a lawyer?" he asked himself. +"That might open the door. I'll do that," he said aloud to the woman. +"Both you and mother have talked of it so I'll give it a trial. Yes, +I'll take the money." + +Again he looked at her as she sat before him flushed and eager and was +touched by her devotion as he had been touched by the devotion of +the undertaker's daughter in Coal Creek. "I don't mind being under +obligations to you," he said; "I don't know any one else I would take it +from." + +In the street later the troubled man walked about trying to make new +plans for the accomplishment of his purpose. He was annoyed by what he +thought to be the dulness of his own brain and he thrust his fist up +into the air to look at it in the lamplight. "I'll get ready to use that +intelligently," he thought; "a man wants trained brains backed up by a +big fist in the struggle I'm going into." + +It was then that the man from Ohio walked past with his hands in his +pockets and attracted his attention. To McGregor's nostrils came the +odour of rich fragrant tobacco. He turned and stood staring at the +intruder on his thoughts. "That's what I am going to fight," he growled; +"the comfortable well-to-do acceptance of a disorderly world, the +smug men who see nothing wrong with a world like this. I would like to +frighten them so that they throw their cigars away and run about like +ants when you kick over ant hills in the field." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +McGregor began to attend some classes at Chicago University and walked +about among the massive buildings, erected for the most part through the +bounty of one of his country's leading business men, wondering why the +great centre of learning seemed so little a part of the city. To him +the University seemed something entirely apart, not in tune with its +surrounding. It was like an expensive ornament worn on the soiled hand +of a street urchin. He did not stay there long. + +One day he got into disfavour with the professor in one of the classes. +He sat in a room among other students, his mind busy with thoughts of +the future and of how he might get his movement of the marching men +under way. In a chair beside him sat a large girl with blue eyes and +hair like yellow wheat. She like McGregor was unconscious of what was +going on about her and sat with half-closed eyes watching him. In the +corners of her eyes lurked a gleam of amusement. She drew sketches of +his huge mouth and nose on a pad of Paper. + +At McGregor's left with his legs sprawled into the aisle sat a youth who +was thinking of the yellow-haired girl and planning a campaign against +her. His father was a manufacturer of berry boxes in a brick building on +the West Side and he wished he were in school in another city so that +it would not be necessary to live at home. All day he thought of the +evening meal and of the coming of his father, nervous and tired, to +quarrel with his mother about the management of the servants. Now he was +trying to evolve a plan for getting money from his mother with which to +enjoy a dinner at a downtown restaurant. With delight he contemplated +such an evening with a box of cigarettes on the table and the +yellow-haired girl sitting opposite him under red lights. He was +a typical American youth of the upper middle class and was in the +University only because he was in no hurry to begin his life in the +commercial world. + +In front of McGregor sat another typical student, a pale nervous young +man who drummed with his fingers on the back of a book. He was very +serious about acquiring learning and when the professor paused in his +talk he threw up his hands and asked a question. When the professor +smiled he laughed loudly. He was like an instrument on which the +professor struck chords. + +The professor, a short man with a bushy black beard, heavy shoulders +and large powerful eye-glasses, spoke in a shrill voice surcharged with +excitement. + +"The world is full of unrest," he said; "men are struggling like chicks +in the shell. In the hinterland of every man's mind uneasy thoughts +stir. I call your attention to what is going on in the Universities of +Germany." + +The professor paused and glared about. McGregor was so irritated by +what he took to be the wordiness of the man that he could not restrain +himself. He felt as he had felt when the socialist orator talked on the +streets of Coal Creek. With an oath he arose and kicked out his foot to +push his chair away. The pad of paper fell out of the large girl's lap +and scattered its leaves about the floor. A light burned in McGregor's +blue eyes. As he stood in the classroom before the startled class his +head, big and red, had something of nobility about it like the head of +a fine beast. His voice rumbled out of his throat and the girl looked at +him, her mouth standing open. + +"We go from room to room hearing talk," began McGregor. "On the street +corners downtown in the evenings and in towns and villages men talk +and talk. Books are written, jaws wag. The jaws of men are loose. They +wabble about--saying nothing." + +McGregor's excitement grew. "If there is all this unrest why does it not +come to something?" he demanded. "Why do not you who have trained brains +strive to find the secret of order in the midst of this disorder? Why is +something not done?" + +The professor ran up and down on the platform. "I do not know what you +mean," he cried nervously. McGregor turned slowly and stared at the +class. He tried to explain. "Why do not men lead their lives like men?" +he asked. "They must be taught to march, hundreds of thousands of men. +Do you not think so?" + +McGregor's voice rose and his great fist was raised. "The world should +become a great camp," he cried. "The brains of the world should be +at the organisation of mankind. Everywhere there is disorder and men +chatter like monkeys in a cage. Why should some man not begin the +organisation of a new army? If there are men who do not understand what +is meant let them be knocked down." + +The professor leaned forward and peered through his spectacles at +McGregor. "I understand your kind," he said, and his voice trembled. +"The class is dismissed. We deprecate violence here." + +The professor hurried through a door and down a long hallway with the +class chattering at his heels. McGregor sat in his chair in the empty +class room and stared at the wall. As the professor hurried away he +muttered to himself: "What's getting in here? What's getting into our +schools?" + + * * * * * + +Late on the following afternoon McGregor sat in his room thinking of +what had happened in the class. He had decided that he would not spend +any more time at the University but would devote himself entirely to the +study of law. Several young men came in. + +Among the students at the University McGregor had seemed very old. +Secretly he was much admired and had often been the subject of talk. +Those who had now come to see him wanted him to join a Greek Letter +Fraternity. They sat about his room, on the window sill and on a trunk +by the wall. They smoked pipes and were boyishly eager and enthusiastic. +A glow shone in the cheeks of the spokesman--a clean-looking youth +with black curly hair and round pink--and--white cheeks, the son of a +Presbyterian minister from Iowa. + +"You have been picked by our fellows to be one of us," said the +spokesman. "We want you to become an Alpha Beta Pi. It is a grand +fraternity with chapters in the best schools in the country. Let me tell +you." + +He began reeling off a list of names of statesmen, college professors, +business men and well known athletes who belonged to the order. + +McGregor sat by the wall looking at his guests and wondering what he +would say. He was a little amused and half hurt and felt like a man who +has had a Sunday School scholar stop him on the street to ask him about +the welfare of his soul. He thought of Edith Carson waiting for him in +her store on Monroe Street, of the angry miners standing in the saloon +in Coal Creek plotting to break into the restaurant while he sat with +the hammer in his hands waiting for battle, of old Mother Misery walking +at the heels of the soldiers' horses through the streets of the +mining village, and last of all of the terrible certainty that these +bright-eyed boys would be destroyed, swallowed up by the huge commercial +city in which they were to live. + +"It means a lot to be one of us when a chap gets out into the world," +the curly-haired youth said. "It helps you get on, get in with the right +people. You can't go on without men you know. You ought to get in with +the best fellows." He hesitated and looked at the floor. "I don't mind +telling you," he said with an outburst of frankness, "that one of our +stronger men--Whiteside, the mathematician--wanted us to have you. He +said you were worth while. He thought you ought to see us and get to +know us and that we ought to see and get to know you." + +McGregor got up and took his hat from a nail on the wall. He felt the +utter futility of trying to express what was in his mind and walked down +the stairs to the street with the file of boys following in embarrassed +silence and stumbling in the darkness of the hallway at his heels. +At the street door he stopped and faced them, struggling to put his +thoughts into words. + +"I can't do what you ask," he said. "I like you and like your asking me +to come in with you, but I'm going to quit the University." His voice +softened. "I would like to have you for friends," he added. "You say a +man needs to know people after awhile. Well, I would like to know you +while you are what you are now. I don't want to know you after you +become what you will become." + +McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalk +and went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face and +he knew he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened. "I +hate hitting boys," he thought as he hurried away to his evening's work +at the restaurant. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When McGregor was admitted to the bar and ready to take his place among +the thousands of young lawyers scattered over the Chicago loop district +he half drew back from beginning the practice of his profession. To +spend his life quibbling over trifles with other lawyers was not what +he wanted. To have his place in life fixed by his ability in quibbling +seemed to him hideous. + +Night after night he walked alone in the streets thinking of the +matter. He grew angry and swore. Sometimes he was so stirred by the +meaninglessness of whatever way of life offered itself that he was +tempted to leave the city and become a tramp, one of the hordes of +adventurous dissatisfied souls who spend their lives drifting back and +forth along the American railroads. + +He continued to work in the South State Street restaurant that got its +patronage from the underworld. In the evenings from six until twelve +trade was quiet and he sat reading books and watching the restless +thrashing crowds that passed the window. Sometimes he became so absorbed +that one of the guests sidled past and escaped through the door without +paying his bill. In State Street the people moved up and down nervously, +wandering here and there, going without purpose like cattle confined in +a corral. Women in cheap imitations of the gowns worn by their sisters +two blocks away in Michigan Avenue and with painted faces leered at the +men. In gaudily lighted store-rooms that housed cheap suggestive shows +pianos kept up a constant din. + +In the eyes of the people who idled away the evenings in South State +Street was the vacant purposeless stare of modern life accentuated and +made horrible. With the stare went the shuffling walk, the wagging jaw, +the saying of words meaning nothing. On the wall of a building +opposite the door of the restaurant hung a banner marked "Socialist +Headquarters." There where modern life had found well-nigh perfect +expression, where there was no discipline and no order, where men +did not move, but drifted like sticks on a sea-washed beach, hung the +socialist banner with its promise of the co-operative commonwealth. + +McGregor looked at the banner and at the moving people and was lost +in meditation. Walking from behind the cashier's desk he stood in the +street by the door and stared about. A fire began to burn in his eyes +and the fists that were thrust into his coat pockets were clenched. +Again as when he was a boy in Coal Creek he hated the people. The fine +love of mankind that had its basis in a dream of mankind galvanised by +some great passion into order and meaning was lost. + +In the restaurant after midnight trade briskened Waiters and bartenders +from fashionable restaurants of the loop district began to drop in to +meet friends from among the women of the town. When a woman came in +she walked up to one of these young men. "What kind of a night have you +had?" they asked each other. + +The visiting waiters stood about and talked in low tones. As they +talked they absentmindedly practised the art of withholding money from +customers, a source of income to them. They played with coins, pitched +them into the air, palmed them, made them appear and disappear with +marvellous rapidity. Some of them sat on stools along the counter eating +pie and drinking cups of hot coffee. + +A cook clad in a long dirty apron came into the room from the kitchen +and putting a dish on the counter stood eating its contents. He tried to +win the admiration of the idlers by boasting. In a blustering voice he +called familiarly to women seated at tables along the wall. At some time +in his life the cook had worked for a travelling circus and he talked +continually of his adventures on the road, striving to make himself a +hero in the eyes of his audience. + +McGregor read the book that lay before him on the counter and tried to +forget the squalid disorder of his surroundings. Again he read of the +great figures of history, the soldiers and statesmen who have been +leaders of men. When the cook asked him a question or made some remark +intended for his ears he looked up, nodded and read again. When a +disturbance started in the room he growled out a command and the +disturbance subsided. From time to time well dressed middle-aged men, +half gone in drink, came and leaned over the counter to whisper to him. +He made a motion with his hand to one of the women sitting at the tables +along the wall and idly playing with toothpicks. When she came to him he +pointed to the man and said, "He wants to buy you a dinner." + +The women of the underworld sat at the tables and talked of McGregor, +each secretly wishing he might become her lover. They gossiped like +suburban wives, filling their talk with vague reference to things he had +said. They commented upon his clothes and his reading. When he looked at +them they smiled and stirred uneasily about like timid children. + +One of the women of the underworld, a thin woman with hollow red cheeks, +sat at a table talking with the other women of the raising of white +leghorn chickens. She and her husband, a fat old roan, a waiter in a +loop restaurant, had bought a ten-acre farm in the country and she was +helping to pay for it with the money made in the streets in the evening. +A small black-eyed woman who sat beside the chicken raiser reached up +to a raincoat hanging on the wall and taking a piece of white cloth from +the pocket began to work out a design in pale blue flowers for the front +of a shirtwaist. A youth with unhealthy looking skin sat on a stool by +the counter talking to a waiter. + +"The reformers have raised hell with business," the youth boasted as he +looked about to be sure of listeners. "I used to have four women working +for me here in State Street in World's Fair year and now I have only one +and she crying and sick half the time." + +McGregor stopped reading the book. "In every city there is a vice +spot, a place from which diseases go out to poison the people. The +best legislative brains in the world have made no progress against this +evil," it said. + +He closed the book, threw it away from him and looked at his big fist +lying on the counter and at the youth talking boastfully to the waiter. +A smile played about the corners of his mouth. He opened and closed his +fist reflectively. Then taking a law book from a shelf below the counter +he began reading again, moving his lips and resting his head upon his +hands. + +McGregor's law office was upstairs over a secondhand clothing store in +Van Buren Street. There he sat at his desk reading and waiting and at +night he returned to the State Street restaurant. Now and then he went +to the Harrison Street police station to hear a police court trial and +through the influence of O'Toole was occasionally given a case that +netted him a few dollars. He tried to think that the years spent in +Chicago were years of training. In his own mind he knew what he wanted +to do but did not know how to begin. Instinctively he waited. He saw the +march and countermarch of events in the lives of the people tramping on +the sidewalks below his office window, saw in his mind the miners of the +Pennsylvania village coming down from the hills to disappear below +the ground, looked at the girls hurrying through the swinging doors of +department stores in the early morning, wondering which of them would +presently sit idling with toothpicks in O'Toole's and waited for the +word or the stir on the surface of that sea of humanity that would be +a sign to him. To an onlooker he might have seemed but another of the +wasted men of modern life, a drifter on the sea of things--but it was +not so. The people plunging through the streets afire with earnestness +concerning nothing had not succeeded in sucking him into the whirlpool +of commercialism in which they struggled and into which year after year +the best of America's youth was drawn. + +The idea that had come into his mind as he sat on the hill above the +mining town grew and grew. Day and night he dreamed of the actual +physical phenomena of the men of labour marching their way into power +and of the thunder of a million feet rocking the world and driving the +great song of order purpose and discipline into the soul of Americans. + +Sometimes it seemed to him that the dream would never be more than a +dream. In the dusty little office he sat and tears came into his eyes. +At such times he was convinced that mankind would go on forever along +the old road, that youth would continue always to grow into manhood, +become fat, decay and die with the great swing and rhythm of life a +meaningless mystery to them. "They will see the seasons and the planets +marching through space but they will not march," he muttered, and went +to stand by the window and stare down into the dirt and disorder of the +street below. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In the office McGregor occupied in Van Buren Street there was another +desk besides his own. The desk was owned by a small man with an +extraordinary long moustache and with grease spots on the lapel of his +coat. In the morning he came in and sat in his chair with his feet on +his desk. He smoked long black stogies and read the morning papers. +On the glass panel of the door was the inscription, "Henry Hunt, +Real Estate Broker." When he had finished with the morning papers he +disappeared, returning tired and dejected late in the afternoon. + +The real estate business of Henry Hunt was a myth. Although he bought +and sold no property he insisted on the title and had in his desk a +pile of letterheads setting forth the kind of property in which he +specialised. He had a picture of his daughter, a graduate of the Hyde +Park High School, in a glass frame on the wall. When he went out at the +door in the morning he paused to look at McGregor and said, "If any one +comes in about property tend to them for me. I'll be gone for a while." + +Henry Hunt was a collector of tithes for the political bosses of +the first ward. All day he went from place to place through the ward +interviewing women, checking their names off a little red book he +carried in his pocket, promising, demanding, making veiled threats. In +the evening he sat in his flat overlooking Jackson Park and listened to +his daughter play on the piano. With all his heart he hated his place +in life and as he rode back and forth to town on the Illinois Central +trains he stared at the lake and dreamed of owning a farm and living +a free life in the country. In his mind he could see the merchants +standing gossiping on the sidewalk before the stores in an Ohio village +where he had lived as a boy and in fancy saw himself again a boy, +driving cows through the village street in the evening and making a +delightful little slap slap with his bare feet in the deep dust. + +It was Henry Hunt in his secret office as collector and lieutenant +to the "boss" of the first ward who shifted the scenes for McGregor's +appearance as a public character in Chicago. + +One night a young man--son of one of the city's plunging millionaire +wheat speculators--was found dead in a little blind alley back of a +resort known as Polk Street Mary's place. He lay crumpled up against +a board fence quite dead and with a bruise on the side of his head. A +policeman found him and dragged him to the street light at the corner of +the alley. + +For twenty minutes the policeman had been standing under the light +swinging his stick. He had heard nothing. A young man came up, touched +him on the arm and whispered to him. When he turned to go down the alley +the young man ran away up the street. + + * * * * * + +The powers that rule the first ward in Chicago were furious when the +identity of the dead man became known. The "boss," a mild-looking +blue-eyed little man in a neat grey suit and with a silky moustache, +stood in his office opening and closing his fists convulsively. Then +he called a young man and sent for Henry Hunt and a well known police +official. + +For some weeks the newspapers of Chicago had been conducting a campaign +against vice. Swarms of reporters had over-run the ward. Daily they +issued word pictures of life in the underworld. On the front pages of +the papers with senators and governors and millionaires who had divorced +their wives, appeared also the names of Ugly Brown Chophouse Sam and +Carolina Kate with descriptions of their places, their hours of closing +and the class and quantity of their patronage. A drunken man rolled on +the floor at the back of a Twenty-second Street saloon and robbed of his +pocketbook had his picture on the front page of the morning papers. + +Henry Hunt sat in his office on Van Buren Street trembling with fright. +He expected to see his name in the paper and his occupation disclosed. + +The powers that ruled the First--quiet shrewd men who knew how to make +and to take profits, the very flower of commercialism--were frightened. +They saw in the prominence of the dead man a real opportunity for their +momentary enemies the press. For weeks they had been sitting quietly, +weathering the storm of public disapproval. In their minds they thought +of the ward as a kingdom in itself, something foreign and apart from +the city. Among their followers were men who had not been across the Van +Buren Street line into foreign territory for years. + +Suddenly through the minds of these men floated a menace. Like the small +soft-speaking boss the ward gripped its fist conclusively. Through the +streets and alleys ran a cry, a warning. Like birds of prey disturbed in +their nesting places they fluttered, uttering cries. Throwing his stogie +into the gutter Henry Hunt ran through the ward. From house to house he +uttered his cry--"Lay low! Pull off nothing." + +The little boss in his office at the front of his saloon looked from +Henry Hunt to the police official. "It is no time for hesitation," he +said. "It will prove a boon if we act quickly. We have got to arrest +and try that murderer and do it now. Who is our man? Quick. Let's have +action." + +Henry Hunt lighted a fresh stogie. He played nervously with the ends of +his fingers and wished he were out of the ward and safely out of range +of the prying eyes of the press. In fancy he could hear his daughter +screaming with horror at the sight of his name spread in glaring letters +before the world and thought of her with a flush of abhorrence on her +young face turning from him forever. In his terror his mind darted here +and there. A name sprang to his lips. "It might have been Andy Brown," +he said, puffing at the stogie. + +The little boss whirled his chair about. He began picking up the papers +scattered about his desk. When he spoke his voice was again soft and +mild. "It was Andy Brown," he said. "Whisper the word about. Let a +_Tribune_ man locate Brown for you. Handle this right and you will save +your own scalp and get the fool papers off the back of the First." + + * * * * * + +The arrest of Brown brought respite to the ward. The prediction of the +shrewd little boss made good. The newspapers dropped the clamorous +cry for reform and began demanding instead the life of Andrew Brown. +Newspaper artists rushed into police headquarters and made hurried +sketches to appear an hour later blazoned across the face of extras +on the streets. Grave scientific men got their pictures printed at the +heads of articles on "Criminal Characteristics of the Head and Face." + +An adept and imaginative writer for an afternoon paper spoke of Brown as +a Jekyll and Hyde of the Tenderloin and hinted at other murders by +the same hand. From the comparatively quiet life of a not markedly +industrious yeggman Brown came out of the upper floor of a State Street +lodging house to stand stoically before the world of men--a storm centre +about which swirled and eddied the wrath of an aroused city. + +The thought that had flashed into the mind of Henry Hunt as he sat in +the office of the soft-voiced boss was the making of an opportunity for +McGregor. For months he and Andrew Brown had been friends. The yeggman, +a strongly built slow talking man, looked like a skilled mechanic of a +locomotive engineer. Coming into O'Toole's in the quiet hours between +eight and twelve he sat eating his evening meal and talking in a half +bantering humorous vein to the young lawyer. In his eyes lurked a kind +of hard cruelty tempered by indolence. It was he who gave McGregor the +name that still clings to him in that strange savage land--"Judge Mac, +the Big 'un." + +When he was arrested Brown sent for McGregor and offered to give him +charge of his case. When the young lawyer refused he was insistent. In +a cell at the county jail they talked it over. By the door stood a guard +watching them. McGregor peered into the half darkness and said what he +thought should be said. "You are in a hole," he began. "You don't want +me, you want a big name. They're all set to hang you over there." He +waved his hand in the direction of the First. "They're going to hand you +over as an answer to a stirred up city. It's a job for the biggest and +best criminal lawyer in town. Name the man and I'll get him for you and +help raise the money to pay him." + +Andrew Brown got up and walked to McGregor. Looking down at him he spoke +quickly and determinedly. "You do what I say," he growled. "You take +this case. I didn't do the job. I was asleep in my room when it was +pulled off. Now you take the case. You won't clear me. It ain't in the +cards. But you get the job just the same." + +He sat down again upon the iron cot at the corner of the cell. His voice +became slow and had in it a touch of cynical humour. "Look here, Big +'un," he said, "the gang's picked my number out of the hat. I'm going +across but there's good advertising in the job for some one and you get +it." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The trial of Andrew Brown was both an opportunity and a test for +McGregor. For a number of years he had lived a lonely life in Chicago. +He had made no friends and his mind had not been confused by the endless +babble of small talk on which most of us subsist. Evening after evening +he had walked alone through the streets and had stood at the door of the +State Street restaurant a solitary figure aloof from life. Now he was to +be drawn into the maelstrom. In the past he had been let alone by life. +The great blessing of isolation had been his and in his isolation he had +dreamed a big dream. Now the quality of the dream and the strength of +its hold upon him was to be tested. + +McGregor was not to escape the influence of the life of his day. +Deep human passion lay asleep in his big body. Before the time of his +Marching Men he had yet to stand the most confusing of all the modern +tests of men, the beauty of meaningless women and the noisy clamour of +success that is equally meaningless. + +On the day of his conversation with Andrew Brown in the old Cook County +jail on Chicago's North Side we are therefore to think of McGregor as +facing these tests. After the talk with Brown he walked along the street +and came to the bridge that led over the river into the loop district. +In his heart he knew that he was facing a fight and the thought thrilled +him. With a new lift to his shoulders he walked over the bridge. He +looked at the people and again let his heart be filled with contempt for +them. + +He wished that the fight for Brown were a fight with fists. Boarding a +west side car he sat looking out through the car window at the passing +crowd and imagined himself among them, striking right and left, gripping +throats, demanding the truth that would save Brown and set himself up +before the eyes of men. + +When McGregor got to the Monroe Street millinery store it was evening +and Edith was preparing to go out to the evening meal. He stood looking +at her. In his voice rang a note of triumph. Out of his contempt for the +men and women of the underworld came boastfulness. "They have given me +a job they think I can't do," he said. "I'm to be Brown's counsel in the +big murder case." He put his hands on her frail shoulders and pulled her +to the light. "I'm going to knock them over and show them," he boasted. +"They think they're going to hang Brown--the oily snakes. Well they +didn't count on me. Brown doesn't count on me. I'm going to show them." +He laughed noisily in the empty shop. + +At a little restaurant McGregor and Edith talked of the test he was to +go through. As he talked she sat in silence and looked at his red hair. + +"Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart," she said, thinking of +herself. + + * * * * * + +America is the land of murders. Day after day in cities and towns and +on lonely country roads violent death creeps upon men. Undisciplined and +disorderly in their way of life the citizens can do nothing. After each +murder they cry out for new laws which, when they are written into the +books of laws, the very lawmaker himself breaks. Harried through life +by clamouring demands, their days leave them no time for the quietude +in which thoughts grow. After days of meaningless hurry in the city they +jump upon trains or street cars and hurry through their favourite paper +to the ball game, the comic pictures and the market reports. + +And then something happens. The moment arrives. A murder that might have +got a single column on an inner page of yesterday's paper today spreads +its terrible details over everything. + +Through the streets hurry the restless scurrying newsboys, stirring the +crowds with their cries. The men who have passed impatiently the tales +of a city's shame snatch the papers and read eagerly and exhaustively +the story of a crime. + +And into the midst of such a maelstrom of rumours, hideous impossible +stories and well-laid plans to defeat the truth, McGregor hurled +himself. Day after day he wandered through the vice district south of +Van Buren Street. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and saloon hangers-on +looked at him and smiled knowingly. As the days passed and he made no +progress he became desperate. One day an idea came to him. "I'll go to +the good looking woman at the settlement house," he told himself. "She +won't know who killed the boy but she can find out. I'll make her find +out." + + * * * * * + +In Margaret Ormsby McGregor was to know what was to him a new kind of +womanhood, something sure, reliant, hedged about and prepared as a +good soldier is prepared, to have the best of it in the struggle for +existence. Something he had not known was yet to make its cry to the +man. + +Margaret Ormsby like McGregor himself had not been defeated by life. She +was the daughter of David Ormsby, head of the great plough trust with +headquarters in Chicago, a man who because of a certain fine assurance +in his attitude toward life had been called "Ormsby the Prince" by his +associates. Her mother Laura Ormsby was small nervous and intense. + +With a self-conscious abandonment, lacking just a shade of utter +security, Margaret Ormsby, beautiful in body and beautifully clad, went +here and there among the outcasts of the First Ward. She like all +women was waiting for an opportunity of which she did not talk even to +herself. She was something for the single-minded and primitive McGregor +to approach with caution. + +Hurrying along a narrow street lined with cheap saloons McGregor went in +at the door of the settlement house and sat in a chair at a desk facing +Margaret Ormsby. He knew something of her work in the First Ward and +that she was beautiful and self-possessed. He was determined that she +should help him. Sitting in the chair and looking at her across the +flat-top desk he choked back into her throat the terse sentences with +which she was wont to greet visitors. + +"It is all very well for you to sit there dressed up and telling me what +women in your position can do and can't do," he said, "but I've come +here to tell you what you will do if you are of the kind that want to be +useful." + +The speech of McGregor was a challenge which Margaret, the modern +daughter of one of our modern great men, could not well let pass. Had +she not brazened out her timidity to go calmly among prostitutes and +sordid muttering drunkards, serene in her consciousness of business-like +purpose? "What is it you want?" she asked sharply. + +"You have just two things that will help me," said McGregor; "your +beauty and your virginity. These things are a kind of magnet, drawing +the women of the street to you. I know. I've heard them talk. + +"There are women who come in here who know who it was killed that boy in +the passageway and why it was done," McGregor went on. "You're a fetish +with these women. They are children and they come in here to look at +you as children peep around curtains at guests sitting in the parlour of +their houses. + +"Well I want you to call these children into the room and let them tell +you family secrets. The whole ward here knows the story of that killing. +The air is filled with it. The men and women keep trying to tell me, but +they're afraid. The police have them scared and they half-tell me and +then run away like frightened animals. + +"I want them to tell you. You don't count with the police down here. +They think you're too beautiful and too good to touch the real life of +these people. None of them--the bosses or the police--are watching you. +I'll keep kicking up dust and you get the information I want. You can do +the job if you're any good." + +After McGregor's speech the woman sat in silence and looked at him. For +the first time she had met a man who overwhelmed her and was in no way +diverted by her beauty nor her self--possession. A hot wave, half anger, +half admiration, swept over her. + +McGregor stared at the woman and waited. "I've got to have facts," he +said. "Give me the story and the names of those who know the story and +I'll make them tell. I have some facts now--got them by bullying a girl +and by choking a bartender in an alley. Now I want you in your way to +put me in the way of getting more facts. You make the women talk and +tell you and then you tell me." + +When McGregor had gone Margaret Ormsby got up from her desk in the +settlement house and walked across the city toward her father's office. +She was startled and frightened. In a moment and by the speech and +manner of this brutal young lawyer she had been made to realise that she +was but a child in the hands of the forces that played about her in +the First Ward. Her self--possession was shaken. "If they are +children--these women of the town--then I am a child, a child swimming +with them in a sea of hate and ugliness." + +A new thought came into her mind. "But he is no child--that McGregor. He +is a child of nothing. He stands on a rock unshaken." + +She tried to become indignant because of the blunt frankness of the +man's speech. "He talked to me as he would have talked to a woman of the +streets," she thought. "He was not afraid to assume that at bottom we +are alike, just playthings in the hands of the man who dares." + +In the street she stopped and looked about. Her body trembled and she +realised that the forces about her had become living things ready to +pounce upon her. "Anyway, I will do what I can. I will help him. I will +have to do that," she whispered to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The clearing of Andrew Brown made a sensation in Chicago. At the trial +McGregor was able to introduce one of those breath-taking dramatic +climaxes that catch the attention of the mob. At the tense dramatic +moment of the trial a frightened hush fell upon the court room and that +evening in their houses men turned instinctively from the reading of the +papers to look at their beloved sitting about them. A chill of fear ran +over the bodies of women. For a moment Beaut McGregor had given them a +peep under the crust of civilisation that awoke an age-old trembling in +their hearts. In his fervour and impatience McGregor had cried out, not +against the incidental enemies of Brown but against all modern society +and its formlessness. To the listeners it seemed that he shook mankind +by the throat and that by the power and purposefulness of his own +solitary figure he revealed the pitiful weakness of his fellows. + +In the court room McGregor had sat, grim and silent, letting the State +build up its case. In his face was a challenge. His eyes looked out +from beneath swollen eyelids. For weeks he had been as tireless as +a bloodhound running through the First Ward and building his case. +Policemen had seen him emerge from alleyways at three in the morning, +the soft spoken boss hearing of his activities had eagerly questioned +Henry Hunt, a bartender in a dive on Polk Street had felt the grip of a +hand at his throat and a trembling girl of the town had knelt before him +in a little dark room begging protection from his wrath. In the court +room he sat waiting and watching. + +When the special counsel for the State, a man of great name in the +courts, had finished his insistent persistent cry for the blood of +the silent unemotional Brown, McGregor acted. Springing to his feet he +shouted hoarsely across the silent court room to a large woman sitting +among the witnesses. "They have tricked you Mary," he roared. "The tale +about the pardon after the excitement dies is a lie. They're stringing +you. They're going to hang Andy Brown. Get up there and tell the naked +truth or his blood be on your hands." + +A furor arose in the crowded court room. Lawyers sprang to their feet, +objecting, protesting. Above the noise arose a hoarse accusing voice. +"Keep Polk Street Mary and every woman from her place in here," he +shouted. "They know who killed your man. Put them back there on the +stand. They'll tell. Look at them. The truth is coming out of them." + +The clamour in the room subsided. The silent red-haired attorney, the +joke of the case, had scored. Walking in the streets at night the words +of Edith Carson had come back into his brain, and with the help +of Margaret Ormsby he had been able to follow a clue given by her +suggestion. + +"Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart." + +In a moment he saw the message the women of the underworld, patrons of +O'Toole's, had been trying to convey to him. Polk Street Mary was the +sweetheart of Andy Brown. Now in the silent court room the voice of +a woman arose broken with sobs. To the listening crowd in the packed +little room came the story of the tragedy in the darkened house before +which stood the policeman idly swinging his night stick--the story of a +girl from an Illinois village procured and sold to the broker's son--of +the desperate struggle in the little room between the eager lustful man +and the frightened brave-hearted girl--of the blow with the chair in +the hands of the girl that brought death to the man--of the women of +the house trembling on the stairs and the body hastily pitched into the +passageway. + +"They told me they would get Andy off when this blew over," wailed the +woman. + + * * * * * + +McGregor went out of the court room into the street. The glow of victory +was on him and he strode along with his heart beating high. His way led +over a bridge into the North Side and in his wanderings he passed the +apple warehouse where he had made his start in the city and where he had +fought with the German. When night came he walked in North Clark Street +and heard the newsboys shouting of his victory. Before him danced a new +vision, a vision of himself as a big figure in the city. Within himself +he felt the power to stand forth among men, to outwit them and outfight +them, to get for himself power and place in the world. + +The miner's son was half drunk with the new sense of achievement that +swept in on him. Out of Clark Street he went and walked east along +a residence street to the lake. By the lake he saw a street of great +houses surrounded by gardens and the thought came that at some time he +might have such a house of his own. The disorderly clatter of modern +life seemed very far away. When he came to the lake he stood in the +darkness thinking of the useless rowdy of the mining town suddenly +become a great lawyer in the city and the blood ran swiftly through his +body. "I am to be one of the victors, one of the few who emerge," +he whispered to himself and with a jump of the heart thought also of +Margaret Ormsby looking at him with her fine questioning eyes as +he stood before the men in the court room and by the force of his +personality pushed his way through a fog of lies to victory and truth. + + + + + +BOOK V + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Margaret Ormsby was a natural product of her age and of American social +life in our times. As an individual she was lovely. Although her father +David Ormsby the plough king had come up to his position and his wealth +out of obscurity and poverty and had known during his early life what +it was to stand face to face with defeat, he had made it his business to +see that his daughter had no such experience. The girl had been sent +to Vassar, she had been taught to catch the fine distinction between +clothes that are quietly and beautifully expensive and clothes that +merely look expensive, she knew how to enter a room and how to leave a +room and had also a strong well trained body and an active mind. Added +to these things she had, without the least knowledge of life, a vigorous +and rather high handed confidence in her ability to meet life. + +During the years spent in the eastern college Margaret had made up her +mind that whatever happened she was not going to let her life be dull or +uninteresting. Once when a girl friend from Chicago came to the college +to visit her the two went for a day out of doors and sat down upon a +hillside to talk things over. "We women have been fools," Margaret had +declared. "If Father and Mother think that I am going to come home and +marry some stick of a man they are mistaken. I have learned to smoke +cigarettes and have had my share of a bottle of wine. That may not +mean anything to you. I do not think it amounts to much either but it +expresses something. It fairly makes me ill when I think of how men +have always patronised women. They want to keep evil things away from +us--Bah! I am sick of that idea and a lot of the other girls here feel +the same way. What right have they? I suppose some day some little +whiffit of a business man will set himself up to take care of me. He had +better not. I tell you there is a new kind of women growing up and I am +going to be one of them. I am going to adventure, to taste life strongly +and deeply. Father and Mother might as well make up their minds to +that." + +The excited girl had walked up and down before her companion, a mild +looking young woman with blue eyes, and had raised her hands above her +head as though to strike a blow. Her body was like the body of a fine +young animal standing alert to meet an enemy and her eyes reflected the +intoxication of her mood. "I want all of life," she cried; "I want the +lust and the strength and the evil of it. I want to be one of the new +women, the saviours of our sex." + +Between David Ormsby and his daughter there was an unusual bond. Six +foot three, blue eyed, broad shouldered, his presence had a strength +and dignity which marked him out among men and the daughter sensed his +strength. She was right in that. In his way the man was inspired. Under +his eye the trivialities of plough-making had become the details of a +fine art. In the factory he never lost the air of command which inspires +confidence. Foremen running into the office filled with excitement +because of a break in the machinery or an accident to a workman returned +to do his bidding quietly and efficiently. Salesmen going from village +to village to sell ploughs became under his influence filled with +the zeal of missionaries carrying the gospel to the unenlightened. +Stockholders of the plough company rushing to him with rumours of coming +business disaster stayed to write checks for new assessments on their +stock. He was a man who gave men back their faith in business and their +faith in men. + +To David plough-making was an end in life. Like other men of his type +he had other interests but they were secondary. In secret he thought +of himself as capable of a broader culture than most of his daily +associates and without letting it interfere with his efficiency tried to +keep in touch with the thoughts and movements of the world by reading. +After the longest and hardest day in the office he sometimes spent half +the night over a book in his room. + +As Margaret Ormsby grew into womanhood she was a constant source of +anxiety to her father. To him it seemed that she had passed from an +awkward and rather jolly girlhood into a peculiarly determined new kind +of womanhood over night. Her adventurous spirit worried him. One day he +had sat in his office reading a letter announcing her homecoming. The +letter seemed no more than a characteristic outburst from an impulsive +girl who had but yesterday fallen asleep at evening in his arms. It +confused him to think that an honest ploughmaker should have a letter +from his little girl talking of the kind of living that he believed +could only lead a woman to destruction. + +And then the next day there sat beside him at his table a new and +commanding figure demanding his attention. David got up from the table +and hurried away to his room. He wanted to readjust his thoughts. On his +desk was a photograph brought home by the daughter from school. He had +the common experience of being told by the photograph what he had been +trying to grasp. Instead of a wife and child there were two women in the +house with him. + +Margaret had come out of college a thing of beauty in face and figure. +Her tall straight well-trained body, her coal-black hair, her soft brown +eyes, the air she had of being prepared for life's challenge caught +and held the attention of men. There was in the girl something of her +father's bigness and not a little of the secret blind desires of her +mother. To an attentive household on the night of her arrival she +announced her intention of living her life fully and vividly. "I am +going to know things I can not get from books," she said. "I am going to +touch life at many corners, getting the taste of things in my mouth. You +thought me a child when I wrote home saying that I wouldn't be cooped +up in the house and married to a tenor in the church choir or to an +empty-headed young business man but now you are going to see. I am going +to pay the price if necessary, but I am going to live." + +In Chicago Margaret set about the business of living as though nothing +were needed but strength and energy. In a characteristic American way +she tried to hustle life. When the men in her own set looked confused +and shocked by the opinions she expressed she got out of her set and +made the common mistake of supposing that those who do not work and who +talk rather glibly of art and of freedom are by that token free men and +artists. + +Still she loved and respected her father. The strength in him made an +appeal to the native strong-thing in her. To a young socialist writer +who lived in the settlement house where she presently went to live +and who sought her out to sit by her desk berating men of wealth and +position she showed the quality of her ideals by pointing to David +Ormsby. "My father, the leader of an industrial trust, is a better man +than all of the noisy reformers that ever lived," she declared. "He +makes ploughs anyway--makes them well--millions of them. He does not +spend his time talking and running his ringers through his hair. He +works and his work has lightened the labours of millions while the +talkers sit thinking noisy thoughts and getting round-shouldered." + +In truth Margaret Ormsby was puzzled. Had she been allowed by a common +fellowship in living to be a real sister to all other women and to know +their common heritage of defeat, had she like her father when he was a +boy but known what it was to walk utterly broken and beaten in the face +of men and then to rise again and again to battle with life she would +have been splendid. + +She did not know. To her mind any kind of defeat had in it a touch of +something like immorality. When she saw all about her only a vast mob of +defeated and confused human beings trying to make headway in the +midst of a confused social organisation she was beside herself with +impatience. + +The distraught girl turned to her father and tried to get hold of the +keynote of his life; "I want you to tell me things," she said, but the +father not understanding only shook his head. It did not occur to him to +talk to her as to a fine man friend and a kind of bantering half serious +companionship sprang up between them. The ploughmaker was happy in the +thought that the jolly girl he had known before his daughter went to +college had come back to live with him. + +After Margaret went to the settlement house she lunched with her father +almost every day. The hour together in the midst of the din that filled +their lives became for them both a treasured privilege. Day after day +they sat for an hour in a fashionable down-town eating place renewing +and strengthening their comradeship, laughing and talking amid the +crowds, delightful in their intimacy. With each other they playfully +took on the air of the two men of affairs, each in turn treating the +work of the other as something to be passed over lightly. Secretly +neither believed as he talked. + +In her effort to get hold of and move the sordid human wrecks floating +in and out of the door of the settlement house Margaret thought of her +father at his desk directing the making of ploughs. "It is clean and +important work," she thought. "He is a big and effective man." + +At his desk in the office of the plough trust David thought of his +daughter in the settlement house at the edge of the First Ward. "She +is a white shining thing amid dirt and ugliness," he thought "Her whole +life is like the life of her mother during the hours when she once lay +bravely facing death for the sake of a new life." + +On the day of her meeting with McGregor, father and daughter sat as +usual in the restaurant. Men and women passed up and down the long +carpeted aisles and looked at them admiringly. A waiter stood at +Ormsby's shoulder anxious for the generous tip. Into the air that hung +over them, the little secret atmosphere of comradeship they cherished +so carefully, was thrust the sense of a new personality. Floating in +Margaret's mind beside the quiet noble face of her father, with its +stamp of ability and kindliness, was another face--the face of the man +who had talked to her in the settlement house, not as Margaret Ormsby +daughter of David Ormsby of the plough trust but as a woman who could +serve his ends and whom he meant should serve. The vision in her mind +haunted her and she listened indifferently to the talk of her father. +She felt that the stern face of the young lawyer with its strong mouth +and its air of command was as something impending and tried to get back +the feeling of dislike she had felt when first he thrust himself in at +the settlement house door. She succeeded only in recalling certain firm +lines of purpose that offset and tempered the brutality of his face. + +Sitting there in the restaurant opposite her father, where day after +day they had tried so hard to build a real partnership in existence, +Margaret suddenly burst into tears. + +"I have met a man who has compelled me to do what I did not want to do," +she explained to the astonished man and then smiled at him through the +tears that glistened in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In Chicago the Ormsbys lived in a large stone house in Drexel Boulevard. +The house had a history. It was owned by a banker who was a large +stockholder and one of the directors of the plough trust. Like all +men who knew him well the banker admired and respected the ability and +integrity of David Ormsby. When the ploughmaker came to the city from +a town in Wisconsin to be the master of the plough trust he offered him +the house to use. + +The house had come to the banker from his father, a grim determined old +money-making merchant of a past generation who had died hated by half +Chicago after toiling sixteen hours daily for sixty years. In his old +age the merchant had built the house to express the power wealth had +given him. It had floors and woodwork cunningly wrought of expensive +woods by workmen sent to Chicago by a firm in Brussels. In the long +drawing room at the front of the house hung a chandelier that had cost +the merchant ten thousand dollars. The stairway leading to the floor +above was from the palace of a prince in Venice and had been bought for +the merchant and brought over seas to the house in Chicago. + +The banker who inherited the house did not want to live in it. Even +before the death of his father and after his own unsuccessful marriage +he lived at a down town club. In his old age the merchant, retired from +business, lived in the house with another old man, an inventor. He +could not rest although he had given up business with that end in view. +Digging a trench in the lawn at the back of the house he with his friend +spent his days trying to reduce the refuse of one of his factories to +something having commercial value. Fires burned in the trench and at +night the grim old man, hands covered with tar, sat in the house under +the chandelier. After the death of the merchant the house stood empty, +staring at passers-by in the street, its walks and paths overgrown with +weeds and rank grass. + +David Ormsby fitted into his house. Walking through the long halls or +sitting smoking his cigar in an easy chair on the wide lawn he looked +arrayed and environed. The house became a part of him like a well-made +and intelligently worn suit of clothes. Into the drawing room under the +ten thousand dollar chandelier he moved a billiard table and the click +of ivory balls banished the churchliness of the place. + +Up and down the stairway moved American girls, friends of Margaret, +their skirts rustling and their voices running through the huge +rooms. In the evening after dinner David played billiards. The careful +calculation of the angles and the English interested him. Playing in the +evening with Margaret or with a man friend the fatigue of the day passed +and his honest voice and reverberating laugh brought a smile to the +lips of people passing in the street. In the evening David brought his +friends to sit in talk with him on the wide verandas. At times he went +alone to his room at the top of the house and buried himself in books. +On Saturday evenings he had a debauch and with a group of friends from +town sat at a card table in the long parlour playing poker and drinking +highballs. + +Laura Ormsby, Margaret's mother, had never seemed a real part of the +life about her. Even as a child the daughter had thought her hopelessly +romantic. Life had treated her too well and from every one about her she +expected qualities and reactions which in her own person she would not +have tried to achieve. + +David had already begun to rise when he married her, the slender +brown-haired daughter of a village shoemaker, and even in those days the +little plough company with its ownership scattered among the merchants +and farmers of the vicinity had started under his hand to make progress +in the state. People already spoke of its master as a coming man and of +Laura as the wife of a coming man. + +To Laura this was in some way unsatisfactory. Sitting at home and doing +nothing she had still a passionate wish to be known as a character, an +individual, a woman of action. On the street as she walked beside her +husband, she beamed upon people but when the same people spoke, calling +them a handsome couple, a flush rose to her cheeks and a flash of +indignation ran through her brain. + +Laura Ormsby lay awake in her bed at night thinking of her life. She had +a world of fancies in which she at such times lived. In her dream +world a thousand stirring adventures came to her. She imagined a letter +received through the mail, telling of an intrigue in which David's name +was coupled with that of another woman and lay abed quietly hugging the +thought. She looked at the face of the sleeping David tenderly. "Poor +hard-pressed boy," she muttered. "I shall be resigned and cheerful and +lead him gently back to his old place in my heart." + +In the morning after a night spent in this dream world Laura looked at +David, so cool and efficient, and was irritated by his efficiency. +When he playfully dropped his hand upon her shoulder she drew away and +sitting opposite him at breakfast watched him reading the morning paper +all unconscious of the rebel thoughts in her mind. + +Once after she had moved to Chicago and after Margaret's return from +college Laura had the faint suggestion of an adventure. Although it +turned out tamely it lingered in her mind and in some way sweetened her +thoughts. + +She was alone on a sleeping car coming from New York. A young man sat +in a seat opposite her and the two fell into talk. As she talked Laura +imagined herself eloping with the young man and under her lashes looked +sharply at his weak and pleasant face. She kept the talk alive as others +in the car crawled away for the night behind the green swaying curtains. + +With the young man Laura discussed ideas she had got from reading Ibsen +and Shaw. She grew bold and daring in the advancing of opinions and +tried to stir the young man to some overt speech or action that might +arouse her indignation. + +The young man did not understand the middle-aged woman who sat beside +him and talked so boldly. He knew of but one prominent man named Shaw +and that man had been governor of Iowa and later a member of the cabinet +of President McKinley. It startled him to think that a prominent member +of the Republican party should have such thoughts or express such +opinions. He talked of fishing in Canada and of a comic opera he had +seen in New York and at eleven o'clock yawned and disappeared behind +the green curtains. As the young man lay in his berth he muttered to +himself, "Now what did that woman want?" A thought came into his mind +and he reached up to where his trousers swung in a little hammock above +the window and looked to see that his watch and pocket-book were still +there. + +At home Laura Ormsby nursed the thought of the talk with the strange +man on the train. In her mind he became something romantic and daring, +a streak of light across what she was pleased to think of as her sombre +life. + +Sitting at dinner she talked of him describing his charms. "He had +a wonderful mind and we sat late into the night talking," she said, +watching the face of David. + +When she had spoken Margaret looked up and said laughingly, "Have a +heart Dad. Here is romance. Do not be blind to it. Mother is trying to +scare you about an alleged love affair." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +One evening three weeks after the great murder trial McGregor took a +long walk in the streets of Chicago and tried to plan out his life. He +was troubled and disconcerted by the event that had crowded in upon the +heels of his dramatic success in the court room and more than troubled +by the fact that his mind constantly played with the dream of having +Margaret Ormsby as his wife. In the city he had become a power and +instead of the names and the pictures of criminals and keepers of +disorderly houses his name and his picture now appeared on the front +pages of newspapers. Andrew Leffingwell, the political representative +in Chicago of a rich and successful publisher of sensational newspapers, +had visited him in his office and had proposed to make him a political +figure in the city. Finley a noted criminal lawyer had offered him a +partnership. The lawyer, a small smiling man with white teeth, had not +asked McGregor for an immediate decision. In a way he had taken the +decision for granted. Smiling genially and rolling a cigar across +McGregor's desk he had spent an hour telling stories of famous court +room triumphs. + +"One such triumph is enough to make a man," he declared. "You have no +idea how far such a success will carry you. The word of it keeps running +through men's minds. A tradition is built up. The remembrance of it acts +upon the minds of jurors. Cases are won for you by the mere connection +of your name with the case." + +McGregor walked slowly and heavily through the streets without seeing +the people. In Wabash Avenue near Twenty-third Street he stopped in a +saloon and drank beer. The saloon was in a room below the level of +the sidewalk and the floor was covered with sawdust. Two half drunken +labourers stood by the bar quarrelling. One of the labourers who was a +socialist continually cursed the army and his words started McGregor to +thinking of the dream he had so long held and that now seemed fading. +"I was in the army and I know what I am talking about," declared the +socialist. "There is nothing national about the army. It is a privately +owned thing. Here it is secretly owned by the capitalists and in Europe +by the aristocracy. Don't tell me--I know. The army is made up of bums. +If I'm a bum I became one then. You will see fast enough what fellows +are in the army if the country is ever caught and drawn into a great +war." + +Becoming excited the socialist raised his voice and pounded on the bar. +"Hell, we don't know ourselves at all," he cried. "We never have been +tested. We call ourselves a great nation because we are rich. We are +like a fat boy who has had too much pie. Yes sir--that's what we are +here in America and as far as our army goes it is a fat boy's plaything. +Keep away from it." + +McGregor sat in the corner of the saloon and looked about. Men came in +and went out at the door. A child carried a pail down the short flight +of steps from the street and ran across the sawdust floor. Her voice, +thin and sharp, pierced through the babble of men's voices. "Ten cents' +worth--give me plenty," she pleaded, raising the pail above her head and +putting it on the bar. + +The confident smiling face of Finley the lawyer came back into +McGregor's mind. Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the +lawyer looked upon men as pawns in a great game and like the ploughmaker +his intentions were honourable and his purpose clear. He was intent upon +making much of his life, being successful. If he played the game on the +side of the criminal that was but a chance. Things had fallen out so. In +his mind was something else--the expression of his own purpose. + +McGregor rose and went out of the saloon. In the street men stood about +in groups. At Thirty-ninth Street a crowd of youths scuffling on the +sidewalk pushed against the tall muttering man who passed with his hat +in his hand. He began to feel that he was in the midst of something +too vast to be moved by the efforts of any one man. The pitiful +insignificance of the individual was apparent. As in a long procession +the figures of the individuals who had tried to rise out of the ruck of +American life passed before him. With a shudder he realised that for the +most part the men whose names filled the pages of American history meant +nothing. The children who read of their deeds were unmoved. Perhaps they +had only increased the disorder. Like the men passing in the street they +went across the face of things and disappeared into the darkness. + +"Perhaps Finley and Ormsby are right," he whispered. "They get what +they can, they have the good sense to know that life runs quickly like +a flying bird passing an open window. They know that if a man thinks of +anything else he is likely to become another sentimentalist and spend +his life being hypnotised by the wagging of his own jaw." + + * * * * * + +In his wanderings McGregor came to an out-of-door restaurant and garden +far out on the south side. The garden had been built for the amusement +of the rich and successful. Upon a little platform a band played. +Although the garden was walled about it was open to the sky and above +the laughing people seated at the tables shone the stars. + +McGregor sat alone at a little table on a balcony beneath a shaded +light. Below him along a terrace were other tables occupied by men and +women. On a platform in the centre of the garden dancers appeared. + +McGregor who had ordered a dinner left it untouched. A tall graceful +girl, strongly suggestive of Margaret Ormsby, danced upon the platform. +With infinite grace her body gave expression to the movements of the +dance and like a thing blown by the wind she moved here and there in the +arms of her partner, a slender youth with long black hair. In the figure +of the dancing woman there was expressed much of the idealism man +has sought to materialise in women and McGregor was thrilled by it. A +sensualism so delicate that it did not appear to be sensualism began +to invade him. With a new hunger he looked forward to the time when he +would again see Margaret. + +Upon the platform in the garden appeared other dancers. The lights at +the tables were turned low. From the darkness laughter arose. McGregor +stared about. The people seated at the tables on the terrace caught and +held his attention and he began looking sharply at the faces of the men. +How cunning they were, these men who had been successful in life. Were +they not after all the wise men? Behind the flesh that had grown so +thick upon their bones what cunning eyes. There was a game of life and +they had played it. The garden was a part of the game. It was beautiful +and did not all that was beautiful in the world end by serving them? The +arts of men, the thoughts of men, the impulses toward loveliness that +came into the minds of men and women, did not all these things work +solely to lighten the hours of the successful? The eyes of the men at +the tables as they looked at the women who danced were not too greedy. +They were filled with assurance. Was it not for them that the dancers +turned here and there revealing their grace? If life was a struggle had +they not been successful in the struggle? + +McGregor arose from the table and left his food untouched. Near the +entrance to the gardens he stopped and leaning against a pillar looked +again at the scene before him. Upon the platform appeared a whole troupe +of women-dancers. They were dressed in many-coloured garments and danced +a folk dance. As McGregor watched a light began to creep back into his +eyes. The women who now danced were unlike her who had reminded him +of Margaret Ormsby. They were short of stature and there was something +rugged in their faces. Back and forth across the platform they moved +in masses. By their dancing they were striving to convey a message. +A thought came to McGregor. "It is the dance of labour," he muttered. +"Here in this garden it is corrupted but the note of labour is not +lost. There is a hint of it left in these figures who toil even as they +dance." + +McGregor moved away from the shadows of the pillar and stood, hat in +hand, beneath the garden lights waiting as though for a call out of the +ranks of the dancers. How furiously they worked. How the bodies twisted +and squirmed. Out of sympathy with their efforts sweat appeared on the +face of the man who stood watching. "What a storm must be going on just +below the surface of labour," he muttered. "Everywhere dumb brutalised +men and women must be waiting for something, not knowing what they want. +I will stick to my purpose but I will not give up Margaret," he said +aloud, turning and half running out of the garden and into the street. + +In his sleep that night McGregor dreamed of a new world, a world of soft +phrases and gentle hands that stilled the rising brute in man. It was +a world-old dream, the dream out of which such women as Margaret Ormsby +have been created. The long slender hands he had seen lying on the desk +in the settlement house now touched his hands. Uneasily he rolled about +in bed and desire came to him so that he awakened. On the Boulevard +people still passed up and down. McGregor arose and stood in the +darkness by the window of his room watching. A theatre had just spat +forth its portion of richly dressed men and women and when he had opened +the window the voices of the women came clear and sharp to his ears. + +The distracted man stared into the darkness and his blue eyes were +troubled. The vision of the disordered and disorganised band of miners +marching silently in the wake of his mother's funeral into whose lives +he by some supreme effort was to bring order was disturbed and shattered +by the more definite and lovely vision that had come to him. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +During the days since she had seen McGregor Margaret had thought of him +almost constantly. She weighed and balanced her own inclinations and +decided that if the opportunity came she would marry the man whose force +and courage had so appealed to her. She was half disappointed that the +opposition she had seen in her father's face when she had told him +of McGregor and had betrayed herself by her tears did not become more +active. She wanted to fight, to defend the man she had secretly chosen. +When nothing was said of the matter she went to her mother and tried to +explain. "We will have him here," the mother said quickly. "I am giving +a reception next week. I will make him the chief figure. Let me have his +name and address and I will attend to the matter." + +Laura arose and went into the house. A shrewd gleam came into her eyes. +"He will act like a fool before our people," she told herself. "He is a +brute and will be made to look like a brute." She could not restrain her +impatience and sought out David. "He is a man to fear," she said; "he +would stop at nothing. You must think of some way to put an end to +Margaret's interest in him. Do you know of a better plan than to have +him here where he will look the fool?" + +David took the cigar from his lips. He felt annoyed and irritated that +an affair concerning Margaret had been brought forward for discussion. +In his heart he also feared McGregor. "Let it alone," he said sharply. +"She is a woman grown and has more judgment and good sense than any +other woman I know." He got up and threw the cigar over the veranda into +the grass. "Women are not understandable," he half shouted. "They do +inexplicable things, have inexplicable fancies. Why do they not go +forward along straight lines like a sane man? I years ago gave up +understanding you and now I am being compelled to give up understanding +Margaret." + + * * * * * + +At Mrs. Ormsby's reception McGregor appeared arrayed in the black suit +he had purchased for his mother's funeral. His flaming red hair and +rude countenance arrested the attention of all. About him on all sides +crackled talk and laughter. As Margaret had been alarmed and ill at ease +in the crowded court room where a fight for life went on, so he among +these people who went about uttering little broken sentences and +laughing foolishly at nothing, felt depressed and uncertain. In the +midst of the company he occupied much the same position as a new and +ferocious animal safely caught and now on caged exhibition. They thought +it clever of Mrs. Ormsby to have him and he was, in not quite the +accepted sense, the lion of the evening. The rumour that he would be +there had induced more than one woman to cut other engagements and +come to where she could take the hand of and talk with this hero of +the newspapers, and the men shaking his hand, looked at him sharply and +wondered what power and what cunning lay in him. + +In the newspapers after the murder trial a cry had sprung up about the +person of McGregor. Fearing to print in full the substance of his speech +on vice, its ownership and its significance, they had filled their +columns with talk of the man. The huge Scotch lawyer of the Tenderloin +was proclaimed as something new and startling in the grey mass of the +city's population. Then as in the brave days that followed the man +caught irresistibly the imagination of writing men, himself dumb in +written or spoken words except in the heat of an inspired outburst when +he expressed perfectly that pure brute force, the lust for which sleeps +in the souls of artists. + +Unlike the men the beautifully gowned women at the reception had no fear +of McGregor. They saw in him something to be tamed and conquered and +they gathered in groups to engage him in talk and return the inquiring +stare in his eyes. They thought that with such an unconquered soul +about, life might take on new fervour and interest. Like the women who +sat playing with toothpicks in O'Toole's restaurant, more than one of +the women at Mrs. Ormsby's reception had a half unconscious wish that +such a man might be her lover. + +One after another Margaret brought forward the men and women of her +world to couple their names with McGregor's and try to establish him +in the atmosphere of assurance and ease that pervaded the house and the +people. He stood by the wall bowing and staring boldly about and thought +that the confusion and distraction of mind that had followed his +first visit to Margaret at the settlement house was being increased +immeasurably with every passing moment. He looked at the glittering +chandelier on the ceiling and at the people moving about--the men at +ease, comfortable--the women with wonderfully delicate expressive hands +and with their round white necks and shoulders showing above their gowns +and a feeling of utter helplessness pervaded him. Never before had he +been in a company so feminine. He thought of the beautiful women about +him, seeing them in his direct crude and forceful way merely as females +at work among males, carrying forward some purpose. "With all the softly +suggestive sensuality of their dress and their persons they must in some +way have sapped the strength and the purpose of these men who move among +them so indifferently," he thought. Within himself he knew of nothing to +set up as a defence against what he believed such beauty must become +to the man who lived with it. Its power he thought must be something +monumental and he looked with admiration at the quiet face of Margaret's +father, moving among his guests. + +McGregor went out of the house and stood in the half darkness on the +veranda. When Mrs. Ormsby and Margaret followed he looked at the older +woman and sensed her antagonism. The old love of battle swept in on him +and he turned and stood in silence looking at her. "The fine lady," he +thought, "is no better than the women of the First Ward. She has an idea +I will surrender without a fight." + +Out of his mind went the fear of the assurance and stability of +Margaret's people that had almost overcome him in the house. The +woman who had all her life thought of herself as one waiting only the +opportunity to appear as a commanding figure in affairs made by her +presence a failure of the effort to submerge McGregor. + + * * * * * + +On the veranda stood the three people. McGregor the silent became the +talkative. Seized with one of the inspirations that were a part of his +nature he threw talk about, sparring and returning thrust for thrust +with Mrs. Ormsby. When he thought that the time had come for him to get +at the thing that was in his mind he went into the house and presently +came out carrying his hat. The quality of harshness that crept into his +voice when he was excited or determined startled Laura Ormsby. Looking +down at her, he said, "I am going to take your daughter for a walk in +the street. I want to talk with her." + +Laura hesitated and smiled uncertainly. She determined to speak out, to +be like the man crude and direct. When she had her mind fixed and ready +Margaret and McGregor were already half way down the gravel walk to the +gate and the opportunity to distinguish herself had passed. + + * * * * * + +McGregor walked beside Margaret, absorbed in thoughts of her. "I am +engaged in a work here," he said, waving his hand vaguely toward the +city. "It is a big work and it takes a lot out of me. I have not come +to see you, because I've been uncertain. I've been afraid you would +overcome me and drive thoughts of the work out of my head." + +By the iron gate at the end of the gravel walk they turned and faced +each other. McGregor leaned against the brick wall and looked at her. "I +want you to marry me," he said. "I think of you constantly. Thinking of +you I can only half do my work. I get to thinking that another man may +come and take you and I waste hour after hour being afraid." + +She put a trembling hand upon his arm and he thinking to check an +attempt at an answer before he had finished, hurried on. + +"There are things to be said and understood between us before I can come +to you as a suitor. I did not think I should feel toward a woman as +I feel toward you and I have certain adjustments to make. I thought I +could get along without your kind of women. I thought you were not for +me--with the work I have thought out to do in the world. If you will not +marry me I'll be glad to know now so that I can get my mind straightened +out." + +Margaret raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder. The act was a +kind of acknowledgment of his right to talk to her so directly. She +said nothing. Filled with a thousand messages of love and tenderness she +longed to pour into his ear she stood in silence on the gravel path with +her hand on his shoulder. + +And then an absurd thing happened. The fear that Margaret might come to +some quick decision that would affect all of their future together made +McGregor frantic. He did not want her to speak and wished his own words +unsaid. "Wait. Not now," he cried and threw up his hand intending to +take her hand. His fist struck the arm that lay on his shoulder and it +in turn knocked his hat flying into the road. McGregor started to run +after it and then stopped. He put his hand to his head and appeared +lost in thought. When he turned again to pursue the hat Margaret, unable +longer to control herself, shouted with laughter. + +Hatless, McGregor walked up Drexel Boulevard in the soft stillness of +the summer night. He was annoyed at the outcome of the evening and in +his heart half wished that Margaret had sent him away defeated. His arms +ached to have her against his breast but his mind kept presenting one +after another the objections to marriage with her. "Men are submerged +by such women and forget their work," he told himself. "They sit looking +into the soft brown eyes of their beloved, thinking of happiness. A man +should go about his work thinking of that. The fire that runs through +the veins of his body should light his mind. One wants to take the love +of woman as an end in life and the woman accepts that and is made happy +by it." He thought with gratitude of Edith in her shop on Monroe Street. +"I do not sit in my room at night dreaming of taking her in my arms and +pouring kisses on her lips," he whispered. + + * * * * * + +In the door of her house Mrs. Ormsby had stood watching McGregor and +Margaret. She had seen them stop at the end of the walk. The figure of +the man was lost in shadows and that of Margaret stood alone, outlined +against a distant light. She saw Margaret's hand thrust out--was she +clutching his sleeve--and heard the murmur of voices. And then the man +precipitating himself into the street. His hat catapulted ahead of him +and a quick outburst of half-hysterical laughter broke the stillness. + +Laura Ormsby was furious. Although she hated McGregor she could not bear +the thought that laughter should break the spell of romance. "She is +just like her father," she muttered. "At least she might show some +spirit and not be like a wooden thing, ending her first talk with a +lover with a laugh like that." + +As for Margaret she stood in the darkness trembling with happiness. She +imagined herself going up the dark stairway to McGregor's office in +Van Buren Street where once she had gone to take him news of the murder +case--laying her hand upon his shoulder and saying, "Take me in your +arms and kiss me. I am your woman. I want to live with you. I am ready +to renounce my people and my world and to live your life for your sake." +Margaret, standing in the darkness before the huge old house in Drexel +Boulevard, imagined herself with Beaut McGregor--living with him as his +wife in a small apartment over a fish market on a West Side street. Why +a fish market she could not have said. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Edith Carson was six years older than McGregor and lived entirely within +herself. Hers was one of those natures that do not express themselves +in words. Although at his coming into the shop her heart beat high no +colour came to her cheeks and her pale eyes did not flash back into his +a message. Day after day she sat in her shop at work, quiet, strong in +her own kind of faith, ready to give her money, her reputation, and if +need be her life to the working out of her own dream of womanhood. She +did not see in McGregor the making of a man of genius as did Margaret +and did not hope to express through him a secret desire for power. She +was a working woman and to her he represented all men. In her secret +heart she thought of him merely as the man--her man. + +And to McGregor Edith was companion and friend. He saw her sitting year +after year in her shop, putting money into the savings bank, keeping a +cheerful front before the world, never assertive, kindly, in her own way +sure of herself. "We could go on forever as we are now and she be none +the less pleased," he told himself. + +One afternoon after a particularly hard week of work he went out to her +place to sit in her little workroom and think out the matter of marrying +Margaret Ormsby. It was a quiet season in Edith's trade and she was +alone in the shop serving a customer. McGregor lay down upon the little +couch in the workroom. For a week he had been speaking to gatherings of +workmen night after night and later had sat in his own room thinking of +Margaret. Now on the couch with the murmur of voices in his ears he fell +asleep. + +When he awoke it was late in the night and on the floor by the side of +the couch sat Edith with her ringers in his hair. + +McGregor opened his eyes quietly and looked at her. He could see a tear +running down her cheek. She was staring straight ahead at the wall of +the room and by the dim light that came through a window he could see +the drawn cords of her little neck and the knot of mouse coloured hair +on her head. + +McGregor closed his eyes quickly. He felt like one who has been aroused +out of sleep by a dash of cold water across his breast. It came over +him with a rush that Edith Carson had been expecting something from +him--something he was not prepared to give. + +She got up after a time and crept quietly away into the shop and with +a great clatter and bustle he arose also and began calling loudly. He +demanded the time and complained about a missed appointment. Turning +up the gas, Edith walked with him to the door. On her face sat the old +placid smile. McGregor hurried away into the darkness and spent the rest +of the night walking in the streets. + +The next day he went to Margaret Ormsby at the settlement house. With +her he used no art. Driving straight to the point he told her of the +undertaker's daughter sitting beside him on the eminence above Coal +Creek, of the barber and his talk of women on the park bench and how +that had led him to that other woman kneeling on the floor in the +little frame house, his fists in her hair and of Edith Carson whose +companionship had saved him from all of these. + +"If you can't hear all of this and still want life with me," he said, +"there is no future for us together. I want you. I'm afraid of you and +afraid of my love for you but still I want you. I've been seeing your +face floating above the audiences in the halls where I've been at work. +I've looked at babies in the arms of workingmen's wives and wanted to +see my babe in your arms. I care more for what I am doing than I do for +you but I love you." + +McGregor arose and stood over her. "I love you with my arms aching to +close about you, with my brain planning the triumph of the workers, with +all of the old perplexing human love that I had almost thought I would +never want. + +"I can't bear this waiting. I can't bear this not knowing so that I can +tell Edith. I can't have my mind filled with the need of you just as men +are beginning to catch the infection of an idea and are looking to me +for clear-headed leadership. Take me or let me go and live my life." + +Margaret Ormsby looked at McGregor. When she spoke her voice was as +quiet as the voice of her father telling a workman in the shop what to +do with a broken machine. + +"I am going to marry you," she said simply. "I am full of the thought of +it. I want you, want you so blindly that I think you can't understand." + +She stood up facing him and looked into his eyes. + +"You must wait," she said. "I must see Edith, I myself must do that. All +these years she has served you--she has had that privilege." + +McGregor looked across the table into the beautiful eyes of the woman he +loved. + +"You belong to me even if I do belong to Edith," he said. + +"I will see Edith," Margaret answered again. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +McGregor left the telling of the story of his love to Margaret. Edith +Carson who knew defeat so well and who had in her the courage of defeat +was to meet defeat at his hands through the undefeated woman and he let +himself forget the whole matter. For a month he had been trying to get +workingmen to take up the idea of the Marching Men without success and +after the talk with Margaret he kept doggedly at the work. + +And then one evening something happened that aroused him. The Marching +Men idea that had become more than half intellectualised became again a +burning passion and the matter of his life with women got itself cleared +up swiftly and finally. + +It was night and McGregor stood upon the platform of the Elevated +Railroad at State and Van Buren Streets. He had been feeling guilty +concerning Edith and had been intending to go out to her place but +the scene in the street below fascinated him and he remained standing, +looking along the lighted thoroughfare. + +For a week there had been a strike of teamsters in the city and that +afternoon there had been a riot. Windows had been smashed and several +men injured. Now the evening crowds gathered and speakers climbed upon +boxes to talk. Everywhere there was a great wagging of jaws and waving +of arms. McGregor grew reminiscent. Into his mind came the little mining +town and he saw himself again a boy sitting in the darkness on the steps +before his mother's bake shop and trying to think. Again in fancy he +saw the disorganised miners tumbling out of the saloon to stand on the +street swearing and threatening and again he was filled with contempt +for them. + +And then in the heart of the great western city the same thing happened +that had happened when he was a boy in Pennsylvania. The officials of +the city, having decided to startle the striking teamsters by a display +of force, sent a regiment of state troops marching through the streets. +The soldiers were dressed in brown uniforms. They were silent. As +McGregor looked down they turned out of Polk Street and came with +swinging measured tread up State Street past the disorderly mobs on the +sidewalk and the equally disorderly speakers on the curb. + +McGregor's heart beat so that he nearly choked. The men in the uniforms, +each in himself meaning nothing, had become by their marching together +all alive with meaning. Again he wanted to shout, to run down into the +street and embrace them. The strength in them seemed to kiss, as with +the kiss of a lover, the strength within himself and when they had +passed and the disorderly jangle of voices broke out again he got on a +car and went out to Edith's with his heart afire with resolution. + +Edith Carson's millinery shop was in the hands of a new owner. She had +sold out and fled. McGregor stood in the show room looking about him at +the cases filled with their feathery finery and at the hats along the +wall. The light from a street lamp that came in at the window started +millions of tiny motes dancing before his eyes. + +Out of the room at the back of the shop--the room where he had seen the +tears of suffering in Edith's eyes--came a woman who told him of Edith's +having sold the business. She was excited by the message she had to +deliver and walked past the waiting man, going to the screen door to +stand with her back to him and look up the street. + +Out of the corners of her eyes the woman looked at him. She was a small +black-haired woman with two gleaming gold teeth and with glasses on her +nose. "There has been a lovers' quarrel here," she told herself. + +"I have bought the store," she said aloud. "She told me to tell you that +she had gone." + +McGregor did not wait for more but hurried past the woman into the +street. In his heart was a feeling of dumb aching loss. On an impulse he +turned and ran back. + +Standing in the street by the screen door he shouted hoarsely. "Where +did she go?" he demanded. + +The woman laughed merrily. She felt that she was getting with the shop a +flavour of romance and adventure very attractive to her. Then she walked +to the door and smiled through the screen. "She has only just left," she +said. "She went to the Burlington station. I think she has gone West. I +heard her tell the man about her trunk. She has been around here for two +days since I bought the shop. I think she has been waiting for you to +come. You did not come and now she has gone and perhaps you won't find +her. She did not look like one who would quarrel with a lover." + +The woman in the shop laughed softly as McGregor hurried away. "Now who +would think that quiet little woman would have such a lover?" she asked +herself. + +Down the street ran McGregor and raising his hand stopped a passing +automobile. The woman saw him seated in the automobile talking to a +grey-haired man at the wheel and then the machine turned and disappeared +up the street at a law-breaking pace. + +McGregor had again a new light on the character of Edith Carson. "I can +see her doing it," he told himself--"cheerfully telling Margaret that +it didn't matter and all the time planning this in the back of her head. +Here all of these years she has been leading a life of her own. The +secret longings, the desires and the old human hunger for love and +happiness and expression have been going on under her placid exterior as +they have under my own." + +McGregor thought of the busy days behind him and realised with shame how +little Edith had seen of him. It was in the days when his big movement +of The Marching Men was just coming into the light and on the night +before he had been in a conference of labour men who had wanted him to +make a public demonstration of the power he had secretly been building +up. Every day his office was filled with newspaper men who asked +questions and demanded explanations. And in the meantime Edith had been +selling her shop to that woman and getting ready to disappear. + +In the railroad station McGregor found Edith sitting in a corner with +her face buried in the crook of her arm. Gone was the placid exterior. +Her shoulders seemed narrower. Her hand, hanging over the back of the +seat in front of her, was white and lifeless. + +McGregor said nothing but snatched up the brown leather bag that sat +beside her on the floor and taking her by the arm led her up a flight of +stone steps to the street. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the Ormsby household father and daughter sat in the darkness on the +veranda. After Laura Ormsby's encounter with McGregor there had been +another talk between her and David. Now she had gone on a visit to her +home-town in Wisconsin and father and daughter sat together. + +To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. "It is not +a matter of good sense," he had said; "one can not pretend there is a +prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and may some +day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that will bring +either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret. He may end his +life in jail." + + * * * * * + +McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front door +of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the hearty +voice of David. "Come and sit out here," he said. + +McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got up +and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart she +sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people. Her +voice trembled with alarm. "Come in," she said, turning and leading the +way into the house. + +The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and +called to David. "We want you in here with us," he said harshly. + +In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw +its light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the +floor. + +"I've made a mistake," said McGregor. "I've been going on and on making +a mistake." He turned to Margaret. "We didn't count on something here. +There is Edith. She isn't what we thought." + +Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt +that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he loved +to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over and then +go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion. + +To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She +also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also looked +at the floor. To herself she was saying, "He is going to take himself +away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear him +say that." In the doorway stood David. "He is going to give me back +Margaret," he thought, and his heart danced with happiness. + +McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. His +blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning them +and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. "If I am +clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream," he thought. "If I fail +in this I shall fail in everything." Turning he took hold of the sleeve +of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two men +stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to her he +continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The action +caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through him. "Here +is a man," he told himself. + +"You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is +now and you see what it has done to her," said McGregor. + +The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky +white. McGregor threw up his hands. + +"Wait," he said, "a man and woman can't live together for years and then +part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent. They +find they love each other. I've found out that though I want you, I love +Edith. She loves me. Look at her." + +Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice +came the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. "Oh, we'll +be married, Margaret and I," he said; "her beauty has won me. I follow +beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right." + +He turned to Edith and stood staring at her. + +"You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we +looked into each other's eyes. We ached with it--each wanting the other. +You are made to endure. You would get over anything and be cheerful +after a while. You know that--don't you?" + +The eyes of Edith came up level with his own. + +"Yes I know," she said. + +Margaret Ormsby jumped up from her chair, her eyes swimming. + +"Stop," she cried. "I do not want you. I would never marry you now. You +belong to her. You are Edith's." + +McGregor's voice became soft and quiet. + +"Oh, I know," he said; "I know! I know! But I want children. Look at +Edith. Do you think she could bear children to me?" + +A change came over Edith Carson. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders +straightened. + +"That's for me to say," she cried, springing forward and clutching his +arm. "That is between me and God. If you intend to marry me come now and +do it. I was not afraid to give you up and I'm not afraid that I shall +die bearing children." + +Dropping McGregor's arm Edith ran across the room and stood before +Margaret. "How do you know you are more beautiful or can bear more +beautiful children?" she demanded. "What do you mean by beauty anyway? I +deny your beauty." She turned to McGregor. "Look," she cried, "she does +not stand the test." + +Pride swept over the woman that had come to life within the body of the +little milliner. With calm eyes she stared at the people in the room +and when she looked again toward Margaret there was a challenge in her +voice. + +"Beauty has to endure," she said swiftly. "It has to be daring. It has +to outlive long years of life and many defeats." A hard look came into +her eyes as she challenged the daughter of wealth. "I had the courage to +be defeated and I have the courage to take what I want," she said. "Have +you that courage? If you have take this man. You want him and so do I. +Take his arm and walk away with him. Do it now, here before my eyes." + +Margaret shook her head. Her body trembled and her eyes looked wildly +about. She turned to David Ormsby. "I did not know that life could +be like this," she said. "Why didn't you tell me? She is right. I am +afraid." + +A light came into McGregor's eyes and he turned quickly about. "I see," +he said, looking sharply at Edith, "you have also your purpose." Turning +again he looked into the eyes of David. + +"There is something to be decided here. It is perhaps the supreme +test of a man's life. One struggles to keep a thought in mind, to be +impersonal, to see that life has a purpose outside his own purpose. You +have perhaps made that struggle. You see I'm making it now. I'm going to +take Edith and go back to work." + +At the door McGregor stopped and put out his hand to David who took it +and looked at the big lawyer respectfully. + +"I'm glad to see you go," said the ploughmaker briefly. + +"I'm glad to be going," said McGregor, understanding that there was +nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind of +David Ormsby. + + + + + +BOOK VI + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The Marching Men Movement was never a thing to intellectualise. For +years McGregor tried to get it under way by talking. He did not succeed. +The rhythm and swing that was at the heart of the movement hung fire. +The man passed through long periods of depression and had to drive +himself forward. And then after the scene with Margaret and Edith in the +Ormsby house came action. + +There was a man named Mosby about whose figure the action for a time +revolved. He was bartender for Neil Hunt, a notorious character of South +State Street, and had once been a lieutenant in the army. Mosby was what +in modern society is called a rascal. After West Point and a few years +at some isolated army post he began to drink and one night during a +debauch and when half crazed by the dullness of his life he shot a +private through the shoulder. He was arrested and put on his honour not +to escape but did escape. For years he drifted about the world a haggard +cynical figure who got drunk whenever money came his way and who would +do anything to break the monotony of existence. + +Mosby was enthusiastic about the Marching Men idea. He saw in it an +opportunity to worry and alarm his fellow men. He talked a union of +bartenders and waiters to which he belonged into giving the idea a +trial and in the morning they began to march up and down in the strip of +parkland that faced the lake at the edge of the First Ward. "Keep your +mouths shut," commanded Mosby. "We can worry the officials of this town +like the devil if we work this right. When you are asked questions say +nothing. If the police try to arrest us we will swear we are only doing +it for the sake of exercise." + +Mosby's plan worked. Within a week crowds began to gather in the morning +to watch the Marching Men and the police started to make inquiry. Mosby +was delighted. He threw up his job as bartender and recruited a motley +company of young roughs whom he induced to practise the march step +during the afternoons. When he was arrested and dragged into court +McGregor acted as his lawyer and he was discharged. "I want to get +these men out into the open," Mosby declared, looking very innocent and +guileless. "You can see for yourself that waiters and bartenders get +pale and stoop-shouldered at their work and as for these young roughs +isn't it better for society to have them out there marching about than +idling in bar rooms and planning God knows what mischief?" + +A grin appeared over the face of the First Ward. McGregor and Mosby +organised another company of marchers and a young man who had been a +sergeant in a company of regulars was induced to help with the drilling. +To the men themselves it was all a joke, a game that appealed to the +mischievous boy in them. Everybody was curious and that gave the +thing tang. They grinned as they marched up and down. For a while they +exchanged gibes with the spectators but McGregor put a stop to that. +"Be silent," he said, going about among the men during the rest periods. +"That's the best thing to do. Be silent and attend to business and your +marching will be ten times as effective." + +The Marching Men Movement grew. A young Jewish newspaper man, half +rascal, half poet, wrote a scare-head story for one of the Sunday +papers announcing the birth of the Republic of Labour. The story was +illustrated by a drawing showing McGregor leading a vast horde of men +across an open plain toward a city whose tall chimneys belched forth +clouds of smoke. Beside McGregor in the picture and arrayed in a gaudy +uniform was Mosby the ex-army officer. In the article he was called the +war lord of "The secret republic growing up within a great capitalistic +empire." + +It had begun to take form--the movement of the Marching Men. Rumours +began to run here and there. There was a question in men's eyes. Slowly +at first it began to rumble through their minds. There was the tap of +feet clicking sharply on pavements. Groups formed, men laughed, the +groups disappeared only to again reappear. In the sun before factory +doors men stood talking, half understanding, beginning to sense the fact +that there was something big in the wind. + +At first the movement did not get anywhere with the ranks of labour. +There would be a meeting, perhaps a series of meetings in one of the +little halls where labourers gather to attend to the affairs of their +unions. McGregor would speak. His voice harsh and commanding could be +heard in the streets below. Merchants came out of the stores and stood +in the doorways listening. Young fellows who smoked cigarettes stopped +looking at passing girls and gathered in crowds below the open windows. +The slow working brain of labour was being aroused. + +After a time a few young men, fellows who worked at the saws in a box +factory and others who ran machines in a factory where bicycles were +made, volunteered to follow the lead of the men of the First Ward. On +summer evenings they gathered in vacant lots and marched back and forth +looking at their feet and laughing. + +McGregor insisted upon the training. He never had any intention of +letting his Marching Men Movement become merely a disorganised band of +walkers such as we have all seen in many a labour parade. He meant that +they should learn to march rhythmically, swinging along like veterans. +He was determined that the thresh of feet should come finally to sing +a great song, carrying the message of a powerful brotherhood into the +hearts and brains of the marchers. + +McGregor gave all of his time to the movement. He made a scant living by +the practice of his profession but gave it no thought. The murder case +had brought him other cases and he had taken a partner, a ferret-eyed +little man who worked out the details of what cases came to the firm and +collected the fees, half of which he gave to the partner who was intent +upon something else. Day after day, week after week, month after month, +McGregor went up and down the city, talking to workers, learning to +talk, striving to make his idea understood. + +One evening in September he stood in the shadow of a factory wall +watching a group of men who marched in a vacant lot. The movement had +become by that time really big. A flame burned in his heart at the +thought of what it might become. It was growing dark and the clouds +of dust raised by the feet of the men swept across the face of the +departing sun. In the field before him marched some two hundred men, the +largest company he had been able to get together. For a week they had +stayed at the marching evening after evening and were beginning a little +to understand the spirit of it. Their leader on the field, a tall square +shouldered man, had once been a captain in the State Militia and now +worked as engineer in a factory where soap was made. His commands rang +out sharp and crisp on the evening air. "Fours right into line," he +cried. The words were barked forth. The men straightened their shoulders +and swung out vigorously. They had begun to enjoy the marching. + +In the shadow of the factory wall McGregor moved uneasily about. He felt +that this was the beginning, the real birth of his movement, that these +men had really come out of the ranks of labour and that in the breasts +of the marching figures there in the open space understanding was +growing. + +He muttered and walked back and forth. A young man, a reporter on one of +the city's great daily papers, leaped from a passing street car and came +to stand near him. "What's up here? What's this going on? What's it all +about? You better tell me," he said. + +In the dim light McGregor raised his fists above his head and talked +aloud. "It's creeping in among them," he said. "The thing that can't be +put into words is getting itself expressed. Something is being done here +in this field. A new force is coming into the world." + +Half beside himself McGregor ran up and down swinging his arms. Again +turning to the reporter who stood by a factory wall--a rather dandified +figure he was with a tiny moustache--he shouted: + +"Don't you see?" he cried. His voice was harsh. "See how they march! +They are finding out what I mean. They have caught the spirit of it!" + +McGregor began to explain. He talked hurriedly, his words coming forth +in short broken sentences. "For ages there has been talk of brotherhood. +Always men have babbled of brotherhood. The words have meant nothing. +The words and the talking have but bred a loose-jawed race. The jaws of +men wabble about but the legs of these men do not wabble." + +He again walked up and down, dragging the half-frightened man along the +deepening shadow of the factory wall. + +"You see it begins--now in this field it begins. The legs and the feet +of men, hundreds of legs and feet make a kind of music. Presently there +will be thousands, hundreds of thousands. For a time men will cease to +be individuals. They will become a mass, a moving all-powerful mass. +They will not put their thoughts into words but nevertheless there will +be a thought growing up in them. They will of a sudden begin to realise +that they are a part of something vast and mighty, a thing that moves, +that is seeking new expression. They have been told of the power of +labour but now, you see, they will become the power of labour." + +Swept along by his own words and perhaps by something rhythmical in the +moving mass of men McGregor became feverishly anxious that the dapper +young man should understand. "Do you remember--when you were a boy--some +man who had been a soldier telling you that the men who marched had +to break step and go in a disorderly mob across a bridge because their +orderly stride would have shaken the bridge to pieces?" + +A shiver ran over the body of the young man. In his off hours he was +a writer of plays and stories and his trained dramatic sense caught +quickly the import of McGregor's words. Into his mind came a scene on +a village street of his own place in Ohio. In fancy he saw the village +fife and drum corps marching past. His mind recalled the swing and the +cadence of the tune and again as when he was a boy his legs ached to run +out among the men and go marching away. + +Filled with excitement he began also to talk. "I see," he cried; "you +think there is a thought in that, a big thought that men have not +understood?" + +On the field the men, becoming bolder as they became less +self-conscious, came sweeping by, their bodies falling into a long +swinging stride. + +The young man pondered. "I see. I see. Every one who stood watching as +I did when the fife and drum corps went past felt what I felt. They were +hiding behind a mask. Their legs also tingled and the same wild militant +thumping went on in their hearts. You have found that out, eh? You mean +to lead labour that way?" + +With open mouth the young man stared at the field and at the moving mass +of men. He became oratorical in his thoughts. "Here is a big man," he +muttered. "Here is a Napoleon, a Caesar of labour come to Chicago. He is +not like the little leaders. His mind is not sicklied over with the pale +cast of thought. He does not think that the big natural impulses of +men are foolish and absurd. He has got hold of something here that will +work. The world had better watch this man." + +Half beside himself he walked up and down at the edge of the field, his +body trembling. + +Out of the ranks of the marching men came a workman. In the field words +arose. A petulant quality came into the voice of the captain who gave +commands. The newspaper man listened anxiously. "That's what will spoil +everything. The men will begin to lose heart and will quit," he thought, +leaning forward and waiting. + +"I've worked all day and I can't march up and down here all night," +complained the voice of the workman. + +Past the shoulder of the young man went a shadow. Before his eyes on +the field, fronting the waiting ranks of men, stood McGregor. His fist +shot out and the complaining workman crumpled to the ground. + +"This is no time for words," said the harsh voice. "Get back in +there. This is not a game. It's the beginning of men's realisation of +themselves. Get in there and say nothing. If you can't march with us get +out. The movement we have started can pay no attention to whimperers." + +Among the ranks of men a cheer arose. By the factory wall the excited +newspaper man danced up and down. At a word of command from the captain +the line of marching men again swept down the field and he watched them +with tears standing in his eyes. "It's going to work," he cried. "It's +bound to work. At last a man has come to lead the men of labor." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John Van Moore a young Chicago advertising man went one afternoon to +the offices of the Wheelright Bicycle Company. The company had both its +factory and offices far out on the west side. The factory was a huge +brick affair fronted by a broad cement sidewalk and a narrow green lawn +spotted with flower beds. The building used for offices was smaller and +had a veranda facing the street. Up the sides of the office building +vines grew. + +Like the reporter who had watched the Marching Men in the field by the +factory wall John Van Moore was a dapper young man with a moustache. +In his leisure hours he played a clarinet. "It gives a man something to +cling to," he explained to his friends. "One sees life going past +and feels that he is not a mere drifting log in the stream of things. +Although as a musician I amount to nothing, it at least makes me dream." + +Among the men in the advertising office where he worked Van Moore was +known as something of a fool, redeemed by his ability to string words +together. He wore a heavy black braided watch chain and carried a cane +and he had a wife who after marriage had studied medicine and with whom +he did not live. Sometimes on a Saturday evening the two met at some +restaurant and sat for hours drinking and laughing. When the wife had +gone to her own place the advertising man continued the fun, going from +saloon to saloon and making long speeches setting forth his philosophy +of life. "I am an individualist," he declared, strutting up and down and +swinging the cane about. "I am a dabbler, an experimenter if you will. +Before I die it is my dream that I will discover a new quality in +existence." + +For the bicycle company the advertising man was to write a booklet +telling in romantic and readable form the history of the company. +When finished the booklet would be sent out to those who had answered +advertisements put into magazines and newspapers. The company had +a process of manufacture peculiar to Wheelright bicycles and in the +booklet this was to be much emphasised. + +The manufacturing process in regard to which John Van Moore was to +wax eloquent had been conceived in the brain of a workman and was +responsible for the company's success. Now the workman was dead and the +president of the company had decided that he would take credit for the +idea. He had thought a good deal of the matter and had decided that in +truth the notion must have been more than a little his own. "It must +have been so," he told himself, "otherwise it would not have worked out +so well." + +In the offices of the bicycle company the president, a grey gross man +with tiny eyes, walked up and down a long room heavily carpeted. In +reply to questions asked by the advertising man, who sat at a table with +a pad of paper before him, he raised himself on his toes, put a thumb +in the armhole of his vest and told a long rambling tale of which he was +the hero. + +The tale concerned a purely imaginary young workman who spent all of the +earlier years of his life labouring terribly. At evening he ran quickly +from the shop where he was employed and going without sleep toiled +for long hours in a little garret. When the workman had discovered the +secret that made successful the Wheelright bicycle he opened a shop and +began to reap the reward of his efforts. + +"That was me. I was that fellow," cried the fat man who in reality +had bought his interest in the bicycle company after the age of forty. +Tapping himself on the breast he paused as though overcome with feeling. +Tears came into his eyes. The young workman had become a reality to him. +"All day I ran about the little shop crying 'Quality! Quality!' I do +that now. It is a fetish with me. I do not make bicycles for money but +because I am a workman with pride in my work. You may put that in the +book. You may quote me as saying that. A big point should be made of +my pride in my work." The advertising man nodded his head and scribbled +upon the pad of paper. Almost he could have written the story without +the visit to the factory. When the fat man was not looking he turned his +face to one side and listened attentively. With a whole heart he +wished the president would go away and leave him alone to wander in the +factory. + +On the evening before, John Van Moore had taken part in an adventure. +With a companion, a fellow who drew cartoons for the daily papers, he +had gone into a saloon and there had met another man of the newspapers. + +In the saloon the three men had sat until late into the night drinking +and talking. The second newspaper man--that same dapper fellow who had +watched the marchers by the factory wall--had told over and over the +story of McGregor and his Marchers. "I tell you there is something +growing up here," he had said. "I have seen this McGregor and I +know. You may believe me or not but the fact is that he has found +out something. There is an element in men that up to now has not been +understood--there is a thought hidden away within the breast of labour, +a big unspoken thought--it is a part of men's bodies as well as their +minds. Suppose this fellow has figured that out and understands it, eh!" + +Becoming more and more excited as he continued to drink the newspaper +man had been half wild in his conjectures as to what was to happen in +the world. Thumping with his fist upon a table wet with beer he had +addressed the writer of advertisements. "There are things that animals +know that have not been understood by men," he cried. "Consider the +bees. Have you thought that man has not tried to work out a collective +intellect? Why should man not try to work that out?" + +The newspaper man's voice became low and tense. "When you go into a +factory I want you to keep your eyes and your ears open," he said. "Go +into one of the great rooms where many men are at work. Stand perfectly +still. Don't try to think. Wait." + +Jumping out of his seat the excited man had walked up and down before +his companions. A group of men standing before the bar listened, their +glasses held half way to their lips. + +"I tell you there is already a song of labour. It has not got itself +expressed and understood but it is in every shop, in every field where +men work. In a dim way the men who work are conscious of the song +although if you talk of the matter they only laugh. The song is low +harsh rhythmical. I tell you it comes out of the very soul of labour. +It is akin to the thing that artists understand and that is called form. +This McGregor understands something of that. He is the first leader of +labour that has understood. The world shall hear from him. One of these +days the world shall ring with his name." + +In the bicycle factory John Van Moore looked at the pad of paper before +him and thought of the words of the half drunken man in the saloon. In +the great shop at his back there was the steady grinding roar of many +machines. The fat man, hypnotised by his own words, continued to walk up +and down telling of the hardship that had once confronted the imaginary +young workman and above which he had risen triumphant. "We hear much of +the power of labour but there has been a mistake made," he said. "Such +men as myself--we are the power. Do you see we have come out of the +mass? We stand forth." + +Stopping before the advertising man and looking down the fat man winked. +"You do not need to say that in the book. There is no need of quoting +me there. Our bicycles are being bought by workingmen and it would be +foolish to offend them but what I say is nevertheless true. Do not such +men as I, with our cunning brains and our power of patience build these +great modern organisations?" + +The fat man waved his arm toward the shops from which the roar of +machinery came. The advertising man absentmindedly nodded his head. He +was trying to hear the song of labour talked of by the drunken man. It +was quitting time and there was the sound of many feet moving about the +floor of the factory. The roar of the machinery stopped. + +Again the fat man walked up and down talking of the career of the +labourer who had come forth from the ranks of labour. From the factory +the men began filing out into the open. There was the sound of feet +scuffling along the wide cement sidewalk past the flowerbeds. + +Of a sudden the fat man stopped. The advertising man sat with pencil +suspended above the paper. From the walk below sharp commands rang out. +Again the sound of men moving about came in through the windows. + +The president of the bicycle company and the advertising man ran to the +window. There on the cement sidewalk stood the men of the company formed +into columns of fours and separated into companies. At the head of each +company stood a captain. The captains swung the men about. "Forward! +March!" they shouted. + +The fat man stood with his mouth open and looked at the men. "What's +going on down there? What do you mean? Quit that!" he bawled. + +A derisive laugh floated up through the window. + +"Attention! Forward, guide right!" shouted a captain. + +The men went swinging down the broad cement sidewalk past the window and +the advertising man. In their faces was something determined and grim. +A sickly smile flitted across the face of the grey-haired man and then +faded. The advertising man, without knowing just what was going on felt +that the older man was afraid. He sensed the terror in his face. In his +heart he was glad to see it. + +The manufacturer began to talk excitedly. "Now what's this?" he +demanded. "What's going on? What kind of a volcano are we men of affairs +walking over? Haven't we had enough trouble with labour? What are +they doing now?" Again he walked up and down past the table where the +advertising man sat looking at him. "We'll let the book go," he said. +"Come to-morrow. Come any time. I want to look into this. I want to find +out what's going on." + +Leaving the office of the bicycle company John Van Moore ran along the +street past stores and houses. He did not try to follow the Marching Men +but ran forward blindly, filled with excitement. He remembered the words +of the newspaper man about the song of labour, and was drunk with the +thought that he had caught the swing of it. A hundred times he had seen +men pouring out of factory doors at the end of the day. Always before +they had been just a mass of individuals. Each had been thinking of his +own affairs and each man had shuffled off into his own street and had +been lost in the dim alleyways between the tall grimy buildings. Now all +of this was changed. The men did not shuffle off alone but marched along +the street shoulder to shoulder. + +A lump came also into the throat of this man and he like that other by +the factory wall began to say words. "The song of labour is here. It has +begun to get itself sung!" he cried. + +John Van Moore was beside himself. The face of the fat man pale with +terror came back into his mind. On the sidewalk before a grocery store +he stopped and shouted with delight. Then he began dancing wildly about, +startling a group of children who with fingers in their mouths stood +with staring eyes watching. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +All through the early months of that year in Chicago, rumours of a new +and not understandable movement among labourers ran about among men of +affairs. In a way the labourers understood the undercurrent of terror +their marching together had inspired and like the advertising man +dancing on the sidewalk before the grocery were made happy by it. Grim +satisfaction dwelt in their hearts. Remembering their boyhoods and +the creeping terror that invaded their fathers' houses in times of +depression they were glad to spread terror among the homes of the rich +and the well-to-do. For years they had been going through life blindly, +striving to forget age and poverty. Now they felt that life had a +purpose, that they were marching toward some end. When in the past they +had been told that power dwelt in them they had not believed. "He is +not to be trusted," thought the man at the machine looking at the man at +work at the next machine. "I have heard him talk and at bottom he is a +fool." + +Now the man at the machine did not think of his brother at the next +machine. In his dreams at night he was beginning to have a new vision. +Power had breathed its message into his brain. Of a sudden he saw +himself as a part of a giant walking in the world. "I am like a drop of +blood running through the veins of labour," he whispered to himself. "In +my own way I am adding strength to the heart and the brain of labour. I +have become a part of this thing that has begun to move. I will not talk +but will wait. If this marching is the thing then I will march. Though I +am weary at the end of the day that shall not stop me. Many times I +have been weary and was alone. Now I am a part of something vast. This I +know, that a consciousness of power has crept into my brain and although +I be persecuted I shall not surrender what I have gained." + +In the offices of the plough trust a meeting of men of affairs was +called. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the movement going +on among the workers. At the plough works it had broken out. No more at +evening did the men shuffle along, like a disorderly mob but marched in +companies along the brick-paved street that ran by the factory door. + +At the meeting David Ormsby had been as always quiet and self-possessed. +A halo of kindly intent hung over him and when a banker, one of the +directors of the company, had finished a speech he arose and walked up +and down, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. The banker was a +fat man with thin brown hair and delicate hands. As he talked he held a +pair of yellow gloves and beat with them on a long table at the centre +of the room. The soft thump of the gloves upon the table made a chorus +to the things he had to say. David motioned for him to be seated. "I +will myself go to see this McGregor," he said, walking across the room +and putting an arm about the shoulder of the banker. "Perhaps there is +as you say a new and terrible danger here but I do not think so. For +thousands, no doubt for millions of years, the world has gone on its way +and I do not think it is to be stopped now. + +"It has been my fortune to see and to know this McGregor," added David +smiling at the others in the room. "He is a man and not a Joshua to make +the sun stand still." + +In the office in Van Buren Street, David, the grey and confident, stood +before the desk at which sat McGregor. "We will get out of here if you +do not mind," he said. "I want to talk to you and I would not like being +interrupted. I have a fancy that we talk out of doors." + +The two men went in a street car to Jackson Park and, forgetting to +dine, walked for an hour along the paths under the trees. The wind from +the lake had chilled the air and the park was deserted. + +They went to stand on a pier that ran out into the lake. On the pier +David tried to begin the talk that was the object of their being +together but felt that the wind and the water that beat against the +piling of the pier made talk too difficult. Although he could not have +told why, he was relieved by the necessity of delay. Into the park they +went again and found a seat upon a bench facing a lagoon. + +In the presence of the silent McGregor David felt suddenly embarrassed +and awkward. "By what right do I question him?" he asked himself and in +his mind could find no answer. A half dozen times he started to say what +he had come to say but stopped and his talk ran off into trivialities. +"There are men in the world you have not taken into consideration," +he said finally, forcing himself to begin. With a laugh he went on, +relieved that the silence had been broken. "You see the very inner +secret of strong men has been missed by you and others." + +David Ormsby looked sharply at McGregor. "I do not believe that you +believe we are after money, we men of affairs. I trust you see beyond +that. We have our purpose and we keep to our purpose quietly and +doggedly." + +Again David looked at the silent figure sitting in the dim light and +again his mind ran out, striving to penetrate the silence. "I am not +a fool and perhaps I know that the movement you have started among the +workers is something new. There is power in it as in all great ideas. +Perhaps I think there is power in you. Why else should I be here?" + +Again David laughed uncertainly. "In a way I am in sympathy with you," +he said. "Although all through my life I have served money I have not +been owned by it. You are not to suppose that men like me have not +something beyond money in mind." + +The old plough maker looked away over McGregor's shoulder to where the +leaves of the trees shook in the wind from the lake. "There have been +men and great leaders who have understood the silent competent servants +of wealth," he said half petulantly. "I want you to understand these +men. I should like to see you become such a one yourself--not for the +wealth it would bring but because in the end you would thus serve all +men. You would get at truth thus. The power that is in you would be +conserved and used more intelligently." + +"To be sure, history has taken little or no account of the men of whom +I speak. They have passed through life unnoticed, doing great work +quietly." + +The plough maker paused. Although McGregor had said nothing the older +man felt that the interview was not going as it should. "I should like +to know what you have in mind, what in the end you hope to gain for +yourself or for these men," he said somewhat sharply. "There is after +all no point to our beating about the bush." + +McGregor said nothing. Arising from the bench he began again to walk +along the path with Ormsby at his side. + +"The really strong men of the world have had no place in history," +declared Ormsby bitterly. "They have not asked that. They were in Rome +and in Germany in the time of Martin Luther but nothing is said of them. +Although they do not mind the silence of history they would like other +strong men to understand. The march of the world is a greater thing than +the dust raised by the heels of some few workers walking through the +streets and these men are responsible for the march of the world. You +are making a mistake. I invite you to become one of us. If you plan to +upset things you may get yourself into history but you will not really +count. What you are trying to do will not work. You will come to a bad +end." + +When the two men emerged from the park the older man had again the +feeling that the interview had not been a success. He was sorry. The +evening he felt had marked for him a failure and he was not accustomed +to failures. "There is a wall here that I cannot penetrate," he thought. + +Along the front of the park beneath a grove of trees they walked in +silence. McGregor seemed not to have heard the words addressed to him. +When they came to where a long row of vacant lots faced the park he +stopped and stood leaning against a tree to look away into the park, +lost in thought. + +David Ormsby also became silent. He thought of his youth in the little +village plough factory, of his efforts to get on in the world, of the +long evenings spent reading books and trying to understand the movements +of men. + +"Is there an element in nature and in youth that we do not understand +or that we lose sight of?" he asked. "Are the efforts of the patient +workers of the world always to be abortive? Can some new phase of life +arise suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of men +like me as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us individuality, +the right to stand forth, the right to work things out and to control?" + +The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree. +Again he was irritated and kept lighting cigars which after two or three +puffs he threw away. In the bushes at the back of the bench insects +began to sing. The wind coming now in gentle gusts swayed slowly the +branches of the trees overhead. + +"Is there an eternal youth in the world, a state out of which men pass +unknowingly, a youth that forever destroys, tearing down what has been +built?" he asked. "Are the mature lives of strong men of so little +account? Have you like the empty fields that bask in the sun in the +summer the right to remain silent in the presence of men who have had +thoughts and have tried to put their thoughts into deeds?" + +Still saying nothing McGregor pointed with his finger along the road +that faced the park. From a side street a body of men swung about a +corner, coming with long strides toward the two. As they passed beneath +a street lamp that swung gently in the wind their faces flashing in and +out of the light seemed to be mocking David Ormsby. For a moment anger +burned in him and then something, perhaps the rhythm of the moving mass +of men, brought a gentler mood. The men swinging past turned another +corner and disappeared beneath the structure of an elevated railroad. + +The ploughmaker walked away from McGregor. Something in the interview, +terminating thus with, the presence of the marching figures had he felt +unmanned him. "After all there is youth and the hope of youth. What he +has in mind may work," he thought as he climbed aboard a street car. + +In the car David put his head out at the window and looked at the long +line of apartment buildings that lined the streets. He thought again of +his own youth and of the evenings in the Wisconsin village when, himself +a youth, he went with other young men singing and marching in the +moonlight. + +In a vacant lot he again saw a body of the Marching Men moving back and +forth and responding quickly to the commands given by a slender young +man who stood on the sidewalk beneath a street lamp and held a stick in +his hand. + +In the car the grey-haired man of affairs put his head down upon the +back of the seat in front. Half unconscious of his own thoughts his mind +began to dwell upon the figure of his daughter. "Had I been Margaret I +should not have let him go. No matter what the cost I should have clung +to the man," he muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +It is difficult not to be of two minds about the manifestation now +called, and perhaps rightly, "The Madness of the Marching Men." In +one mood it comes back to the mind as something unspeakably big and +inspiring. We go each of us through the treadmill of our lives caught +and caged like little animals in some vast menagerie. In turn we love, +marry, breed children, have our moments of blind futile passion and +then something happens. All unconsciously a change creeps over us. Youth +passes. We become shrewd, careful, submerged in little things. Life, +art, great passions, dreams, all of these pass. Under the night sky +the suburbanite stands in the moonlight. He is hoeing his radishes and +worrying because the laundry has torn one of his white collars. The +railroad is to put on an extra morning train. He remembers that fact +heard at the store. For him the night becomes more beautiful. For ten +minutes longer he can stay with the radishes each morning. There is much +of man's life in the figure of the suburbanite standing absorbed in his +own thoughts in the midst of his radishes. + +And so about the business of our lives we go and then of a sudden +there comes again the feeling that crept over us all in the year of the +Marching Men. In a moment we are again a part of the moving mass. The +old religious exaltation, strange emanation from the man McGregor, +returns. In fancy we feel the earth tremble under the feet of the +men--the marchers. With a conscious straining of the mind we strive to +grasp the processes of the mind of the leader during that year when men +sensed his meaning, when they saw as he saw the workers--saw them massed +and moving through the world. + +My own mind, striving feebly to follow that greater and simpler mind, +gropes about. I remember sharply the words of a writer who said that men +make their own gods and realise that I myself saw something of the birth +of such a god. For he was near to being a god then--our McGregor. The +thing he did rumbles in the minds of men yet. His long shadow will fall +across men's thoughts for ages. The tantalising effort to understand his +meaning will tempt us always into endless speculation. + +Only last week I met a man--he was a steward in a club and lingered +talking to me by a cigar case in an empty billiard-room--who suddenly +turned away to conceal from me two large tears that had jumped into his +eyes because of a kind of tenderness in my voice at the mention of the +Marching Men. + +Another mood comes. It may be the right mood. I see sparrows jumping +about in an ordinary roadway as I walk to my office. From the maple +trees the little winged seeds come fluttering down before my eyes. A +boy goes past sitting in a grocery wagon and over-driving a rather bony +horse. As I walk I overtake two workmen shuffling along. They remind +me of those other workers and I say to myself that thus men have +always shuffled, that never did they swing forward into that world-wide +rhythmical march of the workers. + +"You were drunk with youth and a kind of world madness," says my normal +self as I go forward again, striving to think things out. + +Chicago is still here--Chicago after McGregor and the Marching Men. The +elevated trains still clatter over the frogs at the turning into Wabash +Avenue; the surface cars clang their bells; the crowds pour up in the +morning from the runway leading to the Illinois Central trains; life +goes on. And men in their offices sit in their chairs and say that the +thing that happened was abortive, a brain storm, a wild outbreak of the +rebellious the disorderly and the hunger in the minds of men. + +What begging of the question. The very soul of the Marching Men was a +sense of order. That was the message of it, the thing that the world has +not come up to yet. Men have not learned that we must come to understand +the impulse toward order, have that burned into our consciousness, +before we move on to other things. There is in us this madness for +individual expression. For each of us the little moment of running +forward and lifting our thin childish voices in the midst of the great +silence. We have not learned that out of us all, walking shoulder to +shoulder, there might arise a greater voice, something to make the +waters of the very seas to tremble. + +McGregor knew. He had a mind not sick with much thinking of trifles. +When he had a great idea he thought it would work and he meant to see +that it did work. + +Mightily was he equipped. I have seen the man in halls talking, his +huge body swaying back and forth, his great fists in the air, his voice +harsh, persistent, insistent--with something of the quality of the drums +in it--beating down into the upturned faces of the men crowded into the +stuffy little places. + +I remember that newspaper men used to sit in their little holes and +write saying of him that the times made McGregor. I do not know about +that. The city caught fire from the man at the time of that terrible +speech of his in the court room when Polk Street Mary grew afraid and +told the truth. There he stood, the raw untried red-haired miner from +the mines and the Tenderloin, facing an angry court and a swarm of +protesting lawyers and uttering that city-shaking philippic against the +old rotten first ward and the creeping cowardice in men that lets vice +and disease go on and pervade all modern life. It was in a way another +"J'Accuse!" from the lips of another Zola. Men who heard it have told +me that when he had finished in the whole court no man spoke and no man +dared feel guiltless. "For the moment something--a section, a cell, +a figment, of men's brains opened--and in that terrible illuminating +instant they saw themselves as they were and what they had let life +become." + +They saw something else, or thought they did, saw McGregor a new force +for Chicago to reckon with. After the trial one young newspaper man +returned to his office and running from desk to desk yelled in the +faces of his brother reporters: "Hell's out for noon. We've got a big +red-haired Scotch lawyer up here on Van Buren Street that is a kind of a +new scourge of the world. Watch the First Ward get it." + +But McGregor never looked at the First Ward. That wasn't bothering him. +From the court room he went to march with men in a new field. + +Followed the time of waiting and of patient quiet work. In the evenings +McGregor worked at the law cases in the bare room in Van Buren Street. +That queer bird Henry Hunt still stayed with him, collecting tithes for +the gang and going to his respectable home at night--a strange triumph +of the small that had escaped the tongue of McGregor on that day +in court when so many men had their names bruited to the world in +McGregor's roll call--the roll call of the men who were but merchants, +brothers of vice, the men who should have been masters in the city. + +And then the movement of the Marching Men began to come to the surface. +It got into the blood of men. That harsh drumming voice began to shake +their hearts and their legs. + +Everywhere men began to see and hear of the Marchers. From lip to lip +ran the question, "What's going on?" + +"What's going on?" How that cry ran over Chicago. Every newspaper man in +town got assignments on the story. The papers were loaded with it every +day. All over the city they appeared, everywhere--the Marching Men. + +There were leaders enough! The Cuban War and the State Militia had +taught too many men the swing of the march step for there not to be at +least two or three competent drill masters in every little company of +men. + +And there was the marching song the Russian wrote for McGregor. Who +could forget it? Its high pitched harsh feminine strain rang in the +brain. How it went pitching and tumbling along in that wailing calling +endless high note. It had strange breaks and intervals in the rendering. +The men did not sing it. They chanted it. There was in it just the weird +haunting something the Russians know how to put into their songs and +into the books they write. It isn't the quality of the soil. Some of our +own music has that. But in this Russian song there was something else, +something world-wide and religious--a soul, a spirit. Perhaps it is +just the spirit that broods over that strange land and people. There was +something of Russia in McGregor himself. + +Anyway the marching song was the most persistently penetrating thing +Americans had ever heard. It was in the streets, the shops, the offices, +the alleys and in the air overhead--the wail--half shout. No noise could +drown it. It swung and pitched and rioted through the air. + +And there was the fellow who wrote the music down for McGregor. He was +the real thing and he bore the marks of the shackles on his legs. He had +remembered the march from hearing the men sing it as they went over +the Steppes to Siberia, the men who were going up out of misery to more +misery. "It would come out of the air," he explained. "The guards would +run down the line of men to shout and strike out with their short +whips. 'Stop it!' they cried. And still it went on for hours, defying +everything, there on the cold cheerless plains." + +And he had brought it to America and put it to music for McGregor's +marchers. + +Of course the police tried to stop the marchers. Into a street they +would run crying "Disperse!" The men did disperse only to appear again +on some vacant lot working away at the perfection of the marching. Once +an excited squad of police captured a company of them. The same men were +back in line the next evening. The police could not arrest a hundred +thousand men because they marched shoulder to shoulder along the streets +and chanted a weird march song as they went. + +The whole thing was not an outbreak of labour. It was something +different from anything that had come into the world before. The unions +were in it but besides the unions there were the Poles, the Russian +Jews, the Hunks from the stockyards and the steel works in South +Chicago. They had their own leaders, speaking their own languages. And +how they could throw their legs into the march! The armies of the old +world had for years been training men for the strange demonstration that +had broken out in Chicago. + +The thing was hypnotic. It was big. It is absurd to sit writing of it +now in such majestic terms but you have to go back to the newspapers of +that day to realise how the imagination of men was caught and held. + +Every train brought writers tumbling into Chicago. In the evening fifty +of them would gather in the back room at Weingardner's restaurant where +such men congregate. + +And then the thing broke out all over the country, in steel towns like +Pittsburgh and Johnstown and Lorain and McKeesport and men working in +little independent factories in towns down in Indiana began drilling +and chanting the march song on summer evenings on the village baseball +ground. + +How the people, the comfortable well-fed middle class people were +afraid! It swept over the country like a religious revival, the creeping +dread. + +The writing men got to McGregor, the brain back of it all, fast enough. +Everywhere his influence appeared. In the afternoon there would be a +hundred newspaper men standing on the stairway leading up to the big +bare office in Van Buren Street. At his desk he sat, big and red and +silent. He looked like a man half asleep. I suppose the thing that was +in their minds had something to do with the way men looked at him but +in any case the crowd in Weingardner's agreed that there was in the man +something of the same fear-inspiring bigness there was in the movement +he had started and was guiding. + +It seems absurdly simple now. There he sat at his desk. The police might +have walked in and arrested him. But if you begin figuring that way the +whole thing was absurd. What differs it if men march coming from work, +swinging along shoulder to shoulder or shuffle aimlessly along, and what +harm can come out of the singing of a song? + +You see McGregor understood something that all of us had not counted +on. He knew that every one has an imagination. He was at war with men's +minds. He challenged something in us that we hardly realised was there. +He had been sitting there for years thinking it out. He had watched Dr. +Dowie and Mrs. Eddy. He knew what he was doing. + +A crowd of newspaper men went one night to hear McGregor at a big +outdoor meeting up on the North Side. Dr. Cowell was with them--the big +English statesman and writer who later was drowned on the _Titanic._ +He was a big man, physically and mentally, and was in Chicago to see +McGregor and try to understand what he was doing. + +And McGregor got him as he had all men. Out there under the sky the +men stood silent, Cowell's head sticking up above the sea of faces, and +McGregor talked. The newspaper men declared he could not talk. They +were wrong about that. McGregor had a way of throwing up his arms and +straining and shouting out his sentences, that got to the souls of men. + +He was a kind of crude artist drawing pictures on the mind. + +That night he talked about labour as always--labour personified--huge +crude old Labour. How he made the men before him see and feel the blind +giant who has lived in the world since time began and who still goes +stumbling blindly about, rubbing his eyes and lying down to sleep away +centuries in the dust of the fields and the factories. + +A man arose in the audience and climbed upon the platform beside +McGregor. It was a daring thing to do and men's knees trembled. While +the man was crawling up to the platform shouts arose. One has in mind +a picture of a bustling little fellow going into the house and into the +upper room where Jesus and his followers were having the last supper +together, going in there to wrangle about the price to be paid for the +wine. + +The man who got on the platform with McGregor was a socialist. He wanted +to argue. + +But McGregor did not argue with him. He sprang forward, it was a quick +tiger-like movement, and spun the socialist about, making him stand +small and blinking and comical before the crowd. + +Then McGregor began to talk. He made of the little stuttering arguing +socialist a figure representing all labour, made him the personification +of the old weary struggle of the world. And the socialist who went to +argue stood with tears in his eyes, proud of his position in men's eyes. + +All over the city McGregor talked of old Labour and how he was to be +built up and put before men's eyes by the movement of the Marching Men. +How our legs tingled to fall in step and go marching away with him. + +Out of the crowds there came the note of that wailing march. Some one +always started that. + +That night on the North Side Doctor Cowell got hold of the shoulder of a +newspaper man and led him to a car. He who knew Bismarck and who had sat +in council with kings went walking and babbling half the night through +the empty streets. + +It is amusing now to think of the things men said under the influence of +McGregor. Like old Doctor Johnson and his friend Savage they walked half +drunk through the streets swearing that whatever happened they would +stick to the movement. Doctor Cowell himself said things just as absurd +as that. + +And all over the country men were getting the idea--the Marching +Men--old Labour in one mass marching before the eyes of men--old Labour +that was going to make the world see--see and feel its bigness at last. +Men were to come to the end of strife--men united--Marching! Marching! +Marching! + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In all of the time of The Marching Men there was but one bit of written +matter from the leader McGregor. It had a circulation running into the +millions and was printed in every tongue spoken in America. A copy of +the little circular lies before me now. + +THE MARCHERS + + "They ask us what we mean. + Well, here is our answer. + We mean to go on marching. + We mean to march in the morning and in the evening when the sun + goes down. + On Sundays they may sit on their porches or shout at men playing + ball in a field + But we will march. + On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust + of country roads we will march. + Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry, + But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder. + We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble. + Shoulder to shoulder we will go--all of us-- + On and on forever. + We will not talk nor listen to talk. + We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to + march. + Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear. + We do not think and banter words. + We march. + Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards. + See, the inner parts of our hands are rough. + And still we march--we the workers." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Who will ever forget that Labour Day in Chicago? How they +marched!--thousands and thousands and more thousands! They filled the +streets. The cars stopped. Men trembled with the import of the impending +hour. + +Here they come! How the ground trembles! The chant chant chant of that +song! It must have been thus that Grant felt at the great review of the +veterans in Washington when all day long they marched past him, the men +of the Civil War, the whites of their eyes showing in the tan of their +faces. McGregor stood on the stone curbing above the tracks in Grant +Park. As the men marched they massed in there about him, thousands of +them, steel workers and iron workers and great red-necked butchers and +teamsters. + +And in the air wailed the marching song of the workers. + +All of the world that was not marching jammed into the buildings facing +Michigan Boulevard and waited. Margaret Ormsby was there. She sat +with her father in a carriage near where Van Buren Street ends at the +Boulevard. As the men kept crowding in about them she clutched nervously +at the sleeve of David Ormsby's coat. "He is going to speak," she +whispered and pointed. Her tense air of expectancy expressed much of the +feeling of the crowd. "See, listen, he is going to speak out." + +It must have been five in the afternoon when the men got through +marching. They were massed in there clear down to the Twelfth Street +Station of the Illinois Central. McGregor lifted his hands. In the hush +his harsh voice carried far. "We are at the beginning," he shouted and +silence fell upon the people. In the stillness one standing near her +might have heard Margaret Ormsby weeping softly. There was the gentle +murmur that always prevails where many people stand at attention. The +weeping of the woman was scarcely audible but it persisted like the +sound of little waves on a beach at the end of the day. + + + + + +BOOK VII + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The idea prevalent among men that the woman to be beautiful must be +hedged about and protected from the facts of life has done something +more than produce a race of women not physically vigorous. It has made +them deficient in strength of soul also. After the evening when +she stood facing Edith and when she had been unable to arise to the +challenge flung at her by the little milliner Margaret Ormsby was forced +to stand facing her own soul and there was no strength in her for the +test. Her mind insisted on justifying her failure. A woman of the people +placed in such a position would have been able to face it calmly. She +would have gone soberly and steadily about her work and after a +few months of pulling weeds in a field, trimming hats in a shop or +instructing children in a schoolroom would have been ready to thrust out +again, making another trial at life. Having met many defeats she would +have been armed and ready for defeat. Like a little animal in a +forest inhabited by other and larger animals she would have known the +effectiveness of lying perfectly still for a long period, making her +patience a part of her equipment for living. + +Margaret had decided that she hated McGregor. After the scene in her +house she gave up her work in the settlement house and for a long time +went about nursing her hatred. In the street as she walked about her +mind kept bringing accusations against him and in her room at night she +sat by the window looking at the stars and said strong words. "He is a +brute," she declared hotly, "a mere animal untouched by the culture that +makes for gentleness. There is something animal-like and horrible in +my nature that has made me care for him. I shall pluck it out. In the +future I shall make it my business to forget the man and all of the +dreadful lower strata of life that he represents." + +Filled with this idea Margaret went about among her own people and +tried to become interested in the men and women she met at dinners and +receptions. It did not work and when, after a few evenings spent in the +company of men absorbed in the getting of money, she found them only +dull creatures whose mouths were filled with meaningless words, her +irritation grew and she blamed McGregor for that also. "He had no right +to come into my consciousness and then take himself off," she declared +bitterly. "The man is more of a brute than I thought. He no doubt preys +upon everyone as he has preyed upon me. He is without tenderness, knows +nothing of the meaning of tenderness. The colourless creature he has +married will serve his body. That is what he wants. He does not want +beauty. He is a coward who dare not stand up to beauty and is afraid of +me." + +When the Marching Men Movement began to make a stir in Chicago Margaret +went on a visit to New York. For a month she lived with two women +friends at a big hotel near the sea and then hurried home. "I will see +the man and hear him talk," she told herself. "I cannot cure myself of +the consciousness of him by running away. Perhaps I am myself a coward. +I shall go into his presence. When I hear his brutal words and see again +the hard gleam that sometimes comes into his eyes I shall be cured." + +Margaret went to hear McGregor talk to a gathering of workingmen in a +West Side hall and came away more alive to him than ever. In the hall +she sat concealed in deep shadows by the door and waited with trembling +eagerness. + +On all sides of her were men crowded together. Their faces were washed +but the grime of the shops was not quite effaced. Men from the steel +mills with the cooked look that follows long exposure to intense +artificial heat, men of the building trades with their broad hands, big +men and small men, misshapen and straight, labouring men, all sat at +attention, waiting. + +Margaret noticed that as McGregor talked the lips of the working men +moved. Fists were clenched. Applause came quick and sharp like the +report of guns. + +In the shadows at the further side of the hall the black coats of the +workers made a blot out of which intense faces looked and across which +the flickering gas jets in the centre of the hall threw dancing lights. + +The words of the speaker were shot forth. The sentences seemed broken +and disconnected. As he talked giant pictures flashed through the minds +of the hearers. Men felt themselves big and exalted. A little steel +worker sitting near Margaret, who earlier in the evening had been abused +by his wife because he wanted to come to the meeting instead of helping +with the dishes at home, stared fiercely about. He thought he would like +to fight hand in hand with a wild animal in a forest. + +Standing on the narrow stage McGregor seemed a giant seeking expression. +His mouth worked, the sweat stood upon his forehead and he moved +restlessly up and down. At times, with his hands advanced and with the +eager forward crouch of his body, he was like a wrestler waiting to +grapple with an opponent. + +Margaret was deeply moved. Her years of training and of refinement were +stripped off and she felt that, like the women of the French Revolution, +she would like to go out into the streets and march screaming and +fighting in feminine rage for the things of this man's mind. + +McGregor had scarcely begun to talk. His personality, the big eager +something in him, had caught and held this audience as it had caught +and held other audiences in other halls and was to hold them night after +night for months. + +McGregor was something the men to whom he talked understood. He was +themselves become expressive and he moved them as no other leader had +ever moved them before. His very lack of glibness, the things in him +wanting expression and not getting expressed, made him seem like one of +them. He did not confuse their minds but drew for them great scrawling +pictures and to them he cried, "March!" and for marching he promised +them realisation of themselves. + +"I have heard men in colleges and speakers in halls talk of the +brotherhood of man," he cried. "They do not want such a brotherhood. +They would flee before it. But we will make by our marching such a +brotherhood that they will tremble and say to one another, 'See, Old +Labour is awake. He has found his strength.' They will hide themselves +and eat their words of brotherhood. + +"A clamour of voices will arise, many voices, crying out, 'Disperse! +Cease marching! I am afraid!' + +"This talk of brotherhood. The words mean nothing. Man cannot love man. +We do not know what they mean by such love. They hurt us and underpay +us. Sometimes one of us gets an arm torn off. Are we to lie in our beds +loving the man who gets rich from the iron machine that ripped the arm +from the shoulder? + +"On our knees and in our arms we have borne their children. On the +streets we see them--the petted children of our madness. See we have +let them run about misbehaving. We have given them automobiles and wives +with soft clinging dresses. When they have cried we have cared for them. + +"And they being children with the minds of children are confused. The +noise of affairs alarms them. They run about shaking their ringers and +commanding. They speak with pity of us--Labour--their father. + +"And now we will show them their father in his might. The little +machines they have in their factories are toys we have given them and +that for the time we leave in their hands. We do not think of the +toys nor the soft-bodied women. We make of ourselves a mighty army, a +marching army going along shoulder to shoulder. We can love that. + +"When they see us, hundreds of thousands of us, marching into their +minds and into their consciousness, then will they be afraid. And at the +little meetings they have when three or four of them sit talking, daring +to decide what things we shall have from life, there will be in their +minds a picture. We will stamp it there. + +"They have forgotten our power. Let us reawaken it. See, I shake Old +Labour by the shoulder. He arouses. He sits up. He thrusts his huge form +up from where he was asleep in the dust and the smoke of the mills. They +look at him and are afraid. See, they tremble and run away, falling over +each other. The did not know Old Labour was so big. + +"But you workers are not afraid. You are the arms and the legs and the +hands and the eyes of Labour. You have thought yourself small. You have +not got yourself into one mass so that I could shake and arouse you. + +"You must get that way. You must march shoulder to shoulder. You must +march so that you yourselves shall come to know what a giant you are. +If one of your number whines or complains or stands upon a box throwing +words about knock him down and keep marching. + +"When you have marched until you are one giant body then will happen a +miracle. A brain will grow in the giant you have made. + +"Will you march with me?" + +Like a volley from a battery of guns came the sharp reply from the eager +upturned faces of the audience. "We will! Let us march!" they shouted. + +Margaret Ormsby went out at the door and into the crowds on Madison +Street. As she walked in the press she lifted her head in pride that +a man possessed of such a brain and of the simple courage to try to +express such magnificent ideas through human beings had ever shown +favour toward her. Humbleness swept over her and she blamed herself for +the petty thoughts concerning him that had been in her mind. "It does +not matter," she whispered to herself. "Now I know that nothing matters, +nothing but his success. He must do this thing he has set out to do. He +must not be denied. I would give the blood out of my body or expose my +body to shame if that could bring him success." + +Margaret became exalted in her humbleness. When her carriage had taken +her to her house she ran quickly upstairs to her own room and knelt by +her bed. She started to pray but presently stopped and sprang to her +feet. Running to the window she looked off across the city. "He must +succeed," she cried again. "I shall myself be one of his marchers. I +will do anything for him. He is tearing the veil from my eyes, from all +men's eyes. We are children in the hands of this giant and he must not +meet defeat at the hands of children." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +On the day of the great demonstration, when McGregor's power over the +minds and the bodies of the men of labour sent hundreds of thousands +marching and singing in the streets, there was one man who was untouched +by the song of labour expressed in the threshing of feet. David Ormsby +had in his quiet way thought things out. He expected that the new +impetus given to solidity in the ranks of labour would make trouble for +him and his kind, that it would express itself finally in strikes and +in wide-spread industrial disturbance. He was not worried. In the end +he thought that the silent patient power of money would bring his people +the victory. On that day he did not go to his office but in the morning +stayed in his own room thinking of McGregor and of his daughter. Laura +Ormsby was out of the city but Margaret was at home. David believed +he had measured accurately the power of McGregor over her mind but +occasional doubts came to him. "Well the time has come to have it out +with her," he decided. "I must reassert my ascendency over her mind. +The thing that is going on here is really a struggle of minds. McGregor +differs from other leaders of labour as I differ from most leaders of +the forces of money. He has brains. Very well. I shall meet him on that +level. Then, when I have made Margaret think as I think, she will return +to me." + + * * * * * + +When he was still a small manufacturer in the Wisconsin town David +had been in the habit of driving out in the evening with his daughter. +During the drives he had been almost a lover in his attentions to the +child and now when he thought of the forces at work within her he was +convinced that she was still a child. Early in the afternoon he had a +carriage brought to the door and drove off with her to the city. "She +will want to see the man in the height of his power. If I am right in +thinking that she is still under the influence of his personality there +will be a romantic desire for that. + +"I will give her the chance," he thought proudly. "In this struggle I +ask no quarter from him and shall not make the common mistake of parents +in such cases. She is fascinated by the figure he has made of himself. +Showy men who stand out from the crowd have that power. She is still +under his influence. Why else her constant distraction and her want of +interest in other things? Now I will be with her when the man is most +powerful, when he shows to the greatest advantage, and then I will make +my fight for her. I will point out to her another road, the road along +which the real victors in life must learn to travel." + +Together David the quiet efficient representative of wealth and his +woman child sat in the carriage on the day of McGregor's triumph. For +the moment an impassable gulf seemed to separate them and with intense +eyes each watched the hordes of men who massed themselves about the +labour leader. At the moment McGregor seemed to have caught all men in +the sweep of his movement. Business men had closed their desks, labour +was exultant, writers and men given to speculation in thought walked +about dreaming of the realisation of the brotherhood of man. In the long +narrow treeless park the music made by the steady never-ending thresh of +feet arose to something vast and rhythmical. It was like a mighty chorus +come up out of the hearts of men. David was unmoved. Occasionally he +spoke to the horses and looked from the faces of the men massed about +him to his daughter's face. In the coarse faces of the men he thought +he saw only a crude sort of intoxication, the result of a new kind of +emotionalism. "It will not outlast thirty days of ordinary living in +their squalid surroundings," he thought grimly. "It is not the kind of +exaltation for Margaret. I can sing her a more wonderful song. I must +get myself ready for that." + +When McGregor arose to speak Margaret was overcome with emotions. +Dropping to her knees in the carriage she put her head down upon her +father's arm. For days she had been telling herself that in the future +of the man she loved there was no place for failure. Now again she +whispered to herself that this great sturdy figure must not be denied +the fulfilment of its purpose. When in the hush that followed the +massing of the labourers about him the harsh booming voice floated over +the heads of the people her body shook as with a chill. Extravagant +fancies invaded her mind and she wished it were possible for her to do +something heroic, something that would make her live again in the mind +of McGregor. She wanted to serve him, to give him something out of +herself, and thought wildly that there might yet come a time and a way +by which the beauty of her body could be laid like a gift before him. +The half mythical figure of Mary the lover of Jesus came into her mind +and she aspired to be such another. With her body shaken with emotions +she pulled at the sleeve of her father's coat. "Listen! It is going to +come now," she murmured. "The brain of labour is going to express the +dream of labour. An impulse sweet and lasting is going to come into the +world." + + * * * * * + +David Ormsby said nothing. When McGregor had begun to speak he touched +the horses with the whip and drove slowly along Van Buren Street past +the silent attentive ranks of men. When he had got into one of the +streets near the river a vast cheer arose. It seemed to shake the city +and the horses reared and leaped forward over the rough cobblestones. +With one hand David quieted them while with the other he gripped the +hand of his daughter. They drove over a bridge and into the West Side +and as they went the marching song of the workers rising up out of +thousands of throats rang in their ears. For a time the air seemed to +pulsate with it but as they went westward it grew continually less and +less distinct. At last when they had turned into a street lined by tall +factories it died out altogether. "That is the end of him for me and +mine," thought David and again set himself for the task he had to +perform. + +Through street after street David let the horses wander while he clung +to his daughter's hand and thought of what he wanted to say. Not all of +the streets were lined with factories. Some, and these in the evening +light were the most hideous, were bordered by the homes of workers. The +houses of the workers, jammed closely together and black with grime, +were filled with noisy life. Women sat in the doorways and children ran +screaming and shouting in the road. Dogs barked and howled. Everywhere +was dirt and disorder, the terrible evidence of men's failure in the +difficult and delicate art of living. In one of the streets a little +girl child who sat on the post of a fence made a ludicrous figure. As +David and Margaret drove past she beat with her heels against the sides +of the post and screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks and her dishevelled +hair was black with dirt. "I want a banana! I want a banana!" she +howled, staring at the blank walls of one of the houses. In spite of +herself Margaret was touched and her mind left the figure of McGregor. +By an odd chance the child on the post was the daughter of that +socialist orator who one night on the North Side had climbed upon a +platform to confront McGregor with the propaganda of the Socialist +Party. + +David turned the horses into a wide boulevard that ran south through the +factory district of the west. As they came out into the boulevard they +saw sitting on the sidewalk before a saloon a drunkard with a drum in +his hand. The drunkard beat upon the drum and tried to sing the marching +song of the workers but succeeded only in making a queer grunting noise +like a distressed animal. The sight brought a smile to David's lips. +"Already it has begun to disintegrate," he muttered. "I brought you into +this part of town on purpose," he said to Margaret. "I wanted you to see +with your own eyes how much the world needs the thing he is trying to +do. The man is terribly right about the need for discipline and order. +He is a big man doing a big thing and I admire his courage. He would be +a really big man had he the greater courage." + +On the boulevard into which they had turned all was quiet. The summer +sun was setting and over the roofs of buildings the west was ablaze with +light. They passed a factory surrounded by little patches of garden. +Some employer of labour had tried thus feebly to bring beauty into the +neighbourhood of the place where his men worked. David pointed with +the whip. "Life is a husk," he said, "and we men of affairs who take +ourselves so seriously because the fates have been good to us have odd +silly little fancies. See what this fellow has been at, patching away, +striving to create beauty on the shell of things. He is like McGregor +you see. I wonder if the man has made himself beautiful, if either he or +McGregor has seen to it that there is something lovely inside the husk +he wears around and that he calls his body, if he has seen through life +to the spirit of life. I do not believe in patching nor do I believe in +disturbing the shell of things as McGregor has dared to do. I have my +own beliefs and they are the beliefs of my kind. This man here, this +maker of little gardens, is like McGregor. He might better let men find +their own beauty. That is my way. I have, I want to think, kept myself +for the sweeter and more daring effort." + +David turned and looked hard at Margaret who had begun to be influenced +by his mood. She waited, looking with averted face at the sky over the +roofs of buildings. David began to talk of himself in relation to her +and her mother. A note of impatience came into his voice. + +"How far you have been carried away, haven't you?" he said sharply. +"Listen. I am not talking to you now as your father nor as Laura's +daughter. Let us be clear about that I love you and am in a contest +to win your love. I am McGregor's rival. I accept the handicap of +fatherhood. I love you. You see I have let something within myself +alight upon you. McGregor has not done that. He refused what you had +to offer but I do not. I have centred my life upon you and have done it +quite knowingly and after much thought. The feeling I have is something +quite special. I am an individualist but believe in the oneness of man +and woman. I would dare venture into but one other life beyond my own +and that the life of a woman. I have chosen to ask you to let me venture +so into your life. We will talk of it." + +Margaret turned and looked at her father. Later she thought that some +strange phenomena must have happened at the moment Something like a film +was torn from her eyes and she saw the man David, not as a shrewd and +calculating man of affairs, but as something magnificently young. Not +only was he strong and solid but in his face there was at the moment the +deep lines of thought and suffering she had seen on the countenance of +McGregor. "It is strange," she thought. "They are so unlike and yet the +two men are both beautiful." + +"I married your mother when I was a child as you are a child now," David +went on. "To be sure I had a passion for her and she had one for me. +It passed but it was beautiful enough while it lasted. It did not have +depth or meaning. I want to tell you why. Then I am going to make you +understand McGregor so that you may take your measure of the man. I am +coming to that. I have to begin at the beginning. + +"My factory began to grow and as an employer of labour I became +concerned in the lives of a good many men." + +His voice again became sharp. "I have been impatient with you," he said. +"Do you think this McGregor is the only man who has seen and thought of +other men in the mass? I have done that and have been tempted. I also +might have become sentimental and destroyed myself. I did not. Loving a +woman saved me. Laura did that for me although when it came to the real +test of our love, understanding, she failed. I am nevertheless grateful +to her that she was once the object of my love. I believe in the beauty +of that." + +Again David paused and began to tell his story in a new way. The figure +of McGregor came back into Margaret's mind and her father began to +feel that to take it entirely away would be an accomplishment full of +significance. "If I can take her from him, I and my kind can take the +world from him also," he thought. "It will be another victory for the +aristocracy in the never-ending battle with the mob." + +"I came to a turning point," he said aloud. "All men come to that point. +To be sure the great mass of people drift quite stupidly but we are not +now talking of people in general. There is you and me and there is the +thing McGregor might be. We are each in our way something special. We +come, people like us, to a place where there are two roads to take. I +took one and McGregor has taken another. I know why and perhaps he knows +why. I concede to him knowledge of what he has done. But now it is time +for you to decide which road you will take. You have seen the crowds +moving along the broad way he has chosen and now you will set out on +your own way. I want you to look down my road with me." + +They came to a bridge over a canal and David stopped the horses. A body +of McGregor's marchers passed and Margaret's pulse began to beat high +again. When she looked at her father however he was unmoved and she was +a little ashamed of her emotions. For a moment David waited, as though +for inspiration, and when the horses started on again he began to talk. +"A labour leader came to my factory, a miniature McGregor with a crooked +twist to him. He was a rascal but the things he said to my men were +all true enough. I was making money for my investors, a lot of it. +They might have won in a fight with me. One evening I went out into the +country to walk alone under the trees and think it over." + +David's voice became harsh and Margaret thought it had become strangely +like the voice of McGregor talking to workingmen. "I bought the man +off," David said. "I used the cruel weapon men like me have to use. +I gave him money and told him to get out, to let me alone. I did it +because I had to win. My kind of men always have to win. During the walk +I took alone I got hold of my dream, my belief. I have the same dream +now. It means more to me than the welfare of a million men. For it I +would crush whatever opposed me. I am going to tell you of the dream. + +"It is too bad one has to talk. Talk kills dreams and talk will also +kill all such men as McGregor. Now that he has begun to talk we will get +the best of him. I do not worry about McGregor. Time and talk will bring +about his destruction." + +David's mind ran off in a new direction. "I do not think a man's life +is of much importance," he said. "No man is big enough to grasp all +of life. That is the foolish fancy of children. The grown man knows he +cannot see life at one great sweep. It cannot be comprehended so. One +has to realise that he lives in a patchwork of many lives and many +impulses. + +"The man must strike at beauty. That is the realisation maturity brings +and that is where the woman conies in. That is what McGregor was not +wise enough to understand. He is a child you see in a land of excitable +children." + +The quality of David's voice changed. Putting his arm about his daughter +he drew her face down beside his own. Night descended upon them. The +woman who was tired from much thinking began to feel grateful for the +touch of the strong hand on her shoulder. David had accomplished his +purpose. He had for the moment made his daughter forget that she was +his daughter. There was something hypnotic in the quiet strength of his +mood. + +"I come now to women, to your part," he said. "We will talk of the thing +I want to make you understand. Laura failed as the woman. She never saw +the point. As I grew she did not grow with me. Because I did not talk of +love she did not understand me as a lover, did not know what I wanted, +what I demanded of her. + +"I wanted to fit my love down upon her figure as one puts a glove on his +hand. You see I was the adventurer, the man mussed and moiled by life +and its problems. The struggle to exist, to get money, could not be +avoided. I had to make that struggle. She did not. Why could she not +understand that I did not want to come into her presence to rest or to +say empty words. I wanted her to help me create beauty. We should have +been partners in that. Together we should have undertaken the most +delicate and difficult of all struggles, the struggle for living beauty +in our everyday affairs." + +Bitterness swept over the old ploughmaker and he used strong words. "The +whole point is in what I am now saying. That was my cry to the woman. +It came out of my soul. It was the only cry to another I have ever made. +Laura was a little fool. Her mind flitted away to little things. I do +not know what she wanted me to be and now I do not care. Perhaps she +wanted me to be a poet, a stringer together of words, one to write +shrill little songs about her eyes and lips. It does not matter now what +she wanted. + +"But you matter." + +David's voice cut through the fog of new thoughts that were confusing +his daughter's mind and she could feel his body stiffen. A thrill ran +through her own body and she forgot McGregor. With all the strength of +her spirit she was absorbed in what David was saying. In the challenge +that was coming from the lips of her father she began to feel there +would be born in her own life a definite purpose. + +"Women want to push out into life, to share with men the disorder and +mussiness of little things. What a desire! Let them try it if they wish. +They will sicken of the attempt. They lose sight of something bigger +they might undertake. They have forgotten the old things, Ruth in the +corn and Mary with the jar of precious ointment, they have forgotten the +beauty they were meant to help men create. + +"Let them share only in man's attempt to create beauty. That is the +big, the delicate task to which they should consecrate themselves. Why +attempt instead the cheaper, the secondary task? They are like this +McGregor." + +The ploughmaker became silent. Taking up the whip he drove the horses +rapidly along. He thought that his point was made and was satisfied to +let the imagination of his daughter do the rest. They turned off the +boulevard and passed through a street of small stores. Before a saloon +a troop of street urchins led by a drunken man without a hat gave a +grotesque imitation of McGregor's Marchers before a crowd of laughing +idlers. With a sinking heart Margaret realised that even at the height +of his power the forces that would eventually destroy the impulses back +of McGregor's Marchers were at work. She crept closer to David. "I love +you," she said. "Some day I may have a lover but always I shall love +you. I shall try to be what you want of me." + +It was past two o'clock that night when David arose from the chair where +he had been for several hours quietly reading. With a smile on his +face he went to a window facing north toward the city. All through +the evening groups of men had been passing the house. Some had gone +scuffling along, a mere disorderly mob, some had gone shoulder to +shoulder chanting the marching song of the workers and a few, under the +influence of drink, had stopped before the house to roar out threats. +Now all was quiet. David lighted a cigar and stood for a long time +looking out over the city. He was thinking of McGregor and wondering +what excited dream of power the day had brought into the man's head. +Then he thought of his daughter and of her escape. A soft light came +into his eyes. He was happy but when he had partially undressed a new +mood came and he turned out the lights in the room and went again to the +window. In the room above Margaret had been unable to sleep and had also +crept to the window. She was thinking again of McGregor and was ashamed +of her thoughts. By chance both father and daughter began at the same +moment to doubt the truth of what David had said during the drive along +the boulevard. Margaret could not express her doubts in words but tears +came into her eyes. + +As for David, he put his hand on the sill of the window and for just +a moment his body trembled as with age and weariness. "I wonder," he +muttered--"if I had youth--perhaps McGregor knew he would fail and yet +had the courage of failure, I wonder if both Margaret and myself lack +the greater courage, if that evening long ago when I walked under the +trees I made a mistake? What if after all this McGregor and his woman +knew both roads. What if they, after looking deliberately along the road +toward success in life, went without regret along the road to failure? +What if McGregor and not myself knew the road to beauty?" + +END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 7045.txt or 7045.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/4/7045/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland + +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 can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Marching Men + +Author: Sherwood Anderson + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7045] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 27, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + + + + +This eBook was provided by Juliet Sutherland <juliet.sutherland@verizon.net> + + + + + +MARCHING MEN + +BY + +SHERWOOD ANDERSON +Author of "Windy Mcpherson's Son" + +MCMXVII + + + +TO +AMERICAN WORKINGMEN + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Uncle Charlie Wheeler stamped on the steps before Nance McGregor's +bake-shop on the Main Street of the town of Coal Creek Pennsylvania +and then went quickly inside. Something pleased him and as he stood +before the counter in the shop he laughed and whistled softly. With a +wink at the Reverend Minot Weeks who stood by the door leading to the +street, he tapped with his knuckles on the showcase. + +"It has," he said, waving attention to the boy, who was making a mess +of the effort to arrange Uncle Charlie's loaf into a neat package, "a +pretty name. They call it Norman--Norman McGregor." Uncle Charlie +laughed heartily and again stamped upon the floor. Putting his finger +to his forehead to suggest deep thought, he turned to the minister. "I +am going to change all that," he said. + +"Norman indeed! I shall give him a name that will stick! Norman! Too +soft, too soft and delicate for Coal Creek, eh? It shall be +rechristened. You and I will be Adam and Eve in the garden naming +things. We will call it Beaut--Our Beautiful One--Beaut McGregor." + +The Reverend Minot Weeks also laughed. He thrust four ringers of each +hand into the pockets of his trousers, letting the extended thumbs lie +along the swelling waist line. From the front the thumbs looked like +two tiny boats on the horizon of a troubled sea. They bobbed and +jumped about on the rolling shaking paunch, appearing and disappearing +as laughter shook him. The Reverend Minot Weeks went out at the door +ahead of Uncle Charlie, still laughing. One fancied that he would go +along the street from store to store telling the tale of the +christening and laughing again. The tall boy could imagine the details +of the story. + +It was an ill day for births in Coal Creek, even for the birth of one +of Uncle Charlie's inspirations. Snow lay piled along the sidewalks +and in the gutters of Main Street--black snow, sordid with the +gathered grime of human endeavour that went on day and night in the +bowels of the hills. Through the soiled snow walked miners, stumbling +along silently and with blackened faces. In their bare hands they +carried dinner pails. + +The McGregor boy, tall and awkward, and with a towering nose, great +hippopotamus-like mouth and fiery red hair, followed Uncle Charlie, +Republican politician, postmaster and village wit to the door and +looked after him as with the loaf of bread under his arm he hurried +along the street. Behind the politician went the minister still +enjoying the scene in the bakery. He was preening himself on his +nearness to life in the mining town. "Did not Christ himself laugh, +eat and drink with publicans and sinners?" he thought, as he waddled +through the snow. The eyes of the McGregor boy, as they followed the +two departing figures, and later, as he stood in the door of the bake- +shop watching the struggling miners, glistened, with hatred. It was +the quality of intense hatred for his fellows in the black hole +between the Pennsylvania hills that marked the boy and made him stand +forth among his fellows. + +In a country of so many varied climates and occupations as America it +is absurd to talk of an American type. The country is like a vast +disorganised undisciplined army, leaderless, uninspired, going in +route-step along the road to they know not what end. In the prairie +towns of the West and the river towns of the South from which have +come so many of our writing men, the citizens swagger through life. +Drunken old reprobates lie in the shade by the river's edge or wander +through the streets of a corn shipping village of a Saturday evening +with grins on their faces. Some touch of nature, a sweet undercurrent +of life, stays alive in them and is handed down to those who write of +them, and the most worthless man that walks the streets of an Ohio or +Iowa town may be the father of an epigram that colours all the life of +the men about him. In a mining town or deep in the entrails of one of +our cities life is different. There the disorder and aimlessness of +our American lives becomes a crime for which men pay heavily. Losing +step with one another, men lose also a sense of their own +individuality so that a thousand of them may be driven in a disorderly +mass in at the door of a Chicago factory morning after morning and +year after year with never an epigram from the lips of one of them. + +In Coal Creek when men got drunk they staggered in silence through the +street. Did one of them, in a moment of stupid animal sportiveness, +execute a clumsy dance upon the barroom floor, his fellow--labourers +looked at him dumbly, or turning away left him to finish without +witnesses his clumsy hilarity. + +Standing in the doorway and looking up and down the bleak village +street, some dim realisation of the disorganised ineffectiveness of +life as he knew it came into the mind of the McGregor boy. It seemed +to him right and natural that he should hate men. With a sneer on his +lips, he thought of Barney Butterlips, the town socialist, who was +forever talking of a day coming when men would march shoulder to +shoulder and life in Coal Creek, life everywhere, should cease being +aimless and become definite and full of meaning. + +"They will never do that and who wants them to," mused the McGregor +boy. A blast of wind bearing snow beat upon him and he turned into the +shop and slammed the door behind him. Another thought stirred in his +head and brought a flush to his cheeks. He turned and stood in the +silence of the empty shop shaking with emotion. "If I could form the +men of this place into an army I would lead them to the mouth of the +old Shumway cut and push them in," he threatened, shaking his fist +toward the door. "I would stand aside and see the whole town struggle +and drown in the black water as untouched as though I watched the +drowning of a litter of dirty little kittens." + + * * * * * + +The next morning when Beaut McGregor pushed his baker's cart along the +street and began climbing the hill toward the miners' cottages, he +went, not as Norman McGregor, the town baker boy, only product of the +loins of Cracked McGregor of Coal Creek, but as a personage, a being, +the object of an art. The name given him by Uncle Charlie Wheeler had +made him a marked man. He was as the hero of a popular romance, +galvanised into life and striding in the flesh before the people. Men +looked at him with new interest, inventorying anew the huge mouth and +nose and the flaming hair. The bartender, sweeping the snow from +before the door of the saloon, shouted at him. "Hey, Norman!" he +called. "Sweet Norman! Norman is too pretty a name. Beaut is the name +for you! Oh you Beaut!" + +The tall boy pushed the cart silently along the street. Again he hated +Coal Creek. He hated the bakery and the bakery cart. With a burning +satisfying hate he hated Uncle Charlie Wheeler and the Reverend Minot +Weeks. "Fat old fools," he muttered as he shook the snow off his hat +and paused to breathe in the struggle up the hill. He had something +new to hate. He hated his own name. It did sound ridiculous. He had +thought before that there was something fancy and pretentious about +it. It did not fit a bakery cart boy. He wished it might have been +plain John or Jim or Fred. A quiver of irritation at his mother passed +through him. "She might have used more sense," he muttered. + +And then the thought came to him that his father might have chosen the +name. That checked his flight toward universal hatred and he began +pushing the cart forward again, a more genial current of thought +running through his mind. The tall boy loved the memory of his father, +"Cracked McGregor." "They called him 'Cracked' until that became his +name," he thought. "Now they are at me." The thought renewed a feeling +of fellowship between himself and his dead father--it softened him. +When he reached the first of the bleak miners' houses a smile played +about the corners of his huge mouth. + +In his day Cracked McGregor had not borne a good reputation in Coal +Creek. He was a tall silent man with something morose and dangerous +about him. He inspired fear born of hatred. In the mines he worked +silently and with fiery energy, hating his fellow miners among whom he +was thought to be "a bit off his head." They it was who named him +"Cracked" McGregor and they avoided him while subscribing to the +common opinion that he was the best miner in the district. Like his +fellow workers he occasionally got drunk. When he went into the saloon +where other men stood in groups buying drinks for each other he bought +only for himself. Once a stranger, a fat man who sold liquor for a +wholesale house, approached and slapped him on the back. "Come, cheer +up and have a drink with me," he said. Cracked McGregor turned and +knocked the stranger to the floor. When the fat man was down he kicked +him and glared at the crowd in the room. Then he walked slowly out at +the door staring around and hoping some one would interfere. + +In his house also Cracked McGregor was silent. When he spoke at all he +spoke kindly and looked into the eyes of his wife with an eager +expectant air. To his red-haired son he seemed to be forever pouring +forth a kind of dumb affection. Taking the boy in his arms he sat for +hours rocking back and forth and saying nothing. When the boy was ill +or troubled by strange dreams at night the feel of his father's arms +about him quieted him. In his arms the boy went to sleep happily. In +the mind of the father there was a single recurring thought, "We have +but the one bairn, we'll not put him into the hole in the ground," he +said, looking eagerly to the mother for approval. + +Twice had Cracked McGregor walked with his son on a Sunday afternoon. +Taking the lad by the hand the miner went up the face of the hill, +past the last of the miners' houses, through the grove of pine trees +at the summit and on over the hill into sight of a wide valley on the +farther side. When he walked he twisted his head far to one side like +one listening. A falling timber in the mines had given him a deformed +shoulder and left a great scar on his face, partly covered by a red +beard filled with coal dust. The blow that had deformed his shoulder +had clouded his mind. He muttered as he walked along the road and +talked to himself like an old man. + +The red-haired boy ran beside his father happily. He did not see the +smiles on the faces of the miners, who came down the hill and stopped +to look at the odd pair. The miners went on down the road to sit in +front of the stores on Main Street, their day brightened by the memory +of the hurrying McGregors. They had a remark they tossed about. "Nance +McGregor should not have looked at her man when she conceived," they +said. + +Up the face of the hill climbed the McGregors. In the mind of the boy +a thousand questions wanted answering. Looking at the silent gloomy +face of his father, he choked back the questions rising in his throat, +saving them for the quiet hour with his mother when Cracked McGregor +was gone to the mine. He wanted to know of the boyhood of his father, +of the life in the mine, of the birds that flew overhead and why they +wheeled and flew in great ovals in the sky. He looked at the fallen +trees in the woods and wondered what made them fall and whether the +others would presently fall in their turn. + +Over the hill went the silent pair and through the pinewood to an +eminence half way down the farther side. When the boy saw the valley +lying so green and broad and fruitful at their feet he thought it the +most wonderful sight in the world. He was not surprised that his +father had brought him there. Sitting on the ground he opened and +closed his eyes, his soul stirred by the beauty of the scene that lay +before them. + +On the hillside Cracked McGregor went through a kind of ceremony. +Sitting upon a log he made a telescope of his hands and looked over +the valley inch by inch like one seeking something lost. For ten +minutes he would look intently at a clump of trees or a spot in the +river running through the valley where it broadened and where the +water roughened by the wind glistened in the sun. A smile lurked in +the corners of his mouth, he rubbed his hands together, he muttered +incoherent words and bits of sentences, once he broke forth into a low +droning song. + +On the first morning, when the boy sat on the hillside with his +father, it was spring and the land was vividly green. Lambs played in +the fields; birds sang their mating songs; in the air, on the earth +and in the water of the flowing river it was a time of new life. +Below, the flat valley of green fields was patched and spotted with +brown new-turned earth. The cattle walking with bowed heads, eating +the sweet grass, the farmhouses with red barns, the pungent smell of +the new ground, fired his mind and awoke the sleeping sense of beauty +in the boy. He sat upon the log drunk with happiness that the world in +which he lived could be so beautiful. In his bed at night he dreamed +of the valley, confounding it with the old Bible tale of the Garden of +Eden, told him by his mother. He dreamed that he and his mother went +over the hill and down toward the valley but that his father, wearing +a long white robe and with his red hair blowing in the wind, stood +upon the hillside swinging a long sword blazing with fire and drove +them back. + +When the boy went again over the hill it was October and a cold wind +blew down the hill into his face. In the woods golden brown leaves ran +about like frightened little animals and golden-brown were the leaves +on the trees about the farmhouses and golden-brown the corn standing +shocked in the fields. The scene saddened the boy. A lump came into +his throat and he wanted back the green shining beauty of the spring. +He wished to hear the birds singing in the air and in the grass on the +hillside. + +Cracked McGregor was in another mood. He seemed more satisfied than on +the first visit and ran up and down on the little eminence rubbing his +hands together and on the legs of his trousers. Through the long +afternoon he sat on the log muttering and smiling. + +On the road home through the darkened woods the restless hurrying +leaves frightened the boy so that, with his weariness from walking +against the wind, his hunger from being all day without food, and with +the cold nipping at his body, he began to cry. The father took the boy +in his arms and holding him across his breast like a babe went down +the hill to their home. + +It was on a Tuesday morning that Cracked McGregor died. His death +fixed itself as something fine in the mind of the boy and the scene +and the circumstance stayed with him through life, filling him with +secret pride like a knowledge of good blood. "It means something that +I am the son of such a man," he thought. + +It was past ten in the morning when the cry of "Fire in the mine" ran +up the hill to the houses of the miners. A panic seized the women. In +their minds they saw the men hurrying down old cuts, crouching in +hidden corridors, pursued by death. Cracked McGregor, one of the night +shift, slept in his house. The boy's mother, threw a shawl about her +head, took his hand and ran down the hill to the mouth of the mine. +Cold winds spitting snow blew in their faces. They ran along the +tracks of the railroad, stumbling over the ties, and stood on the +railroad embankment that overlooked the runway to the mine. + +About the runway and along the embankment stood the silent miners, +their hands in their trousers pockets, staring stolidly at the closed +door of the mine. Among them was no impulse toward concerted action. +Like animals at the door of a slaughter-house they stood as though +waiting their turn to be driven in at the door. An old crone with bent +back and a huge stick in her hand went from one to another of the +miners gesticulating and talking. "Get my boy--my Steve! Get him out +of there!" she shouted, waving the stick about. + +The door of the mine opened and three men came out, staggering as they +pushed before them a small car that ran upon rails. On the car lay +three other men, silent and motionless. A woman thinly clad and with +great cave-like hollows in her face climbed the embankment and sat +upon the ground below the boy and his mother. "The fire is in the old +McCrary cut," she said, her voice quivering, a dumb hopeless look in +her eyes. "They can't get through to close the doors. My man Ike is in +there." She put down her head and sat weeping. The boy knew the woman. +She was a neighbour who lived in an unpainted house on the hillside. +In the yard in front of her house a swarm of children played among the +stones. Her husband, a great hulking fellow, got drunk and when he +came home kicked his wife. The boy had heard her screaming at night. + +Suddenly in the growing crowd of miners below the embankment Beaut +McGregor saw his father moving restlessly about. On his head he had +his cap with the miner's lamp lighted. He went from group to group +among the people, his head hanging to one side. The boy looked at him +intently. He was reminded of the October day on the eminence +overlooking the fruitful valley and again he thought of his father as +a man inspired, going through a kind of ceremony. The tall miner +rubbed his hands up and down his legs, he peered into the faces of the +silent men standing about, his lips moved and his red beard danced up +and down. + +As the boy looked a change came over the face of Cracked McGregor. He +ran to the foot of the embankment and looked up. In his eyes was the +look of a perplexed animal. The wife bent down and began to talk to +the weeping woman on the ground, trying to comfort her. She did not +see her husband and the boy and man stood in silence looking into each +other's eyes. + +Then the puzzled look went out of the father's face. He turned and +running along with his head rolling about reached the closed door of +the mine. A man, who wore a white collar and had a cigar stuck in the +corner of his mouth, put out his hand. + +"Stop! Wait!" he shouted. Pushing the man aside with his powerful arm +the runner pulled open the door of the mine and disappeared down the +runway. + +A hubbub arose. The man in the white collar took the cigar from his +mouth and began to swear violently. The boy stood on the embankment +and saw his mother running toward the runway of the mine. A miner +gripped her by the arm and led her back up the face of the embankment. +In the crowd a woman's voice shouted, "It's Cracked McGregor gone to +close the door to the McCrary cut." + +The man with the white collar glared about as he chewed the end of his +cigar. "He's gone crazy," he shouted, again closing the door to the +mine. + +Cracked McGregor died in the mine, almost within reach of the door to +the old cut where the fire burned. With him died all but five of the +imprisoned miners. All day parties of men tried to get down into the +mine. Below in the hidden passages under their own homes the scurrying +miners died like rats in a burning barn while their wives, with shawls +over their heads, sat silently weeping on the railroad embankment. In +the evening the boy and his mother went up the hill alone. From the +houses scattered over the hill came the sound of women weeping. + + * * * * * + +For several years after the mine disaster the McGregors, mother and +son, lived in the house on the hillside. The woman went each morning +to the offices of the mine where she washed windows and scrubbed +floors. The position was a sort of recognition on the part of the mine +officials of the heroism of Cracked McGregor. + +Nance McGregor was a small blue-eyed woman with a sharp nose. She wore +glasses and had the name in Coal Creek of being quick and sharp. She +did not stand by the fence to talk with the wives of other miners but +sat in her house and sewed or read aloud to her son. She subscribed +for a magazine and had bound copies of it standing upon shelves in the +room where she and the boy ate breakfast in the early morning. Before +the death of her husband she had maintained a habit of silence in her +house but after his death she expanded, and, with her red-haired son, +discussed freely every phase of their narrow lives. As he grew older +the boy began to believe that she like the miners had kept hidden +under her silence a secret fear of his father. Certain things she said +of her life encouraged the thought. + +Norman McGregor grew into a tall broad-shouldered boy with strong +arms, flaming red hair and a habit of sudden and violent fits of +temper. There was something about him that held the attention. As he +grew older and was renamed by Uncle Charlie Wheeler he began going +about looking for trouble. When the boys called him "Beaut" he knocked +them down. When men shouted the name after him on the street he +followed them with black looks. It became a point of honour with him +to resent the name. He connected it with the town's unfairness to +Cracked McGregor. + +In the house on the hillside the boy and his mother lived together +happily. In the early morning they went down the hill and across the +tracks to the offices of the mine. From the offices the boy went up +the hill on the farther side of the valley and sat upon the +schoolhouse steps or wandered in the streets waiting for the day in +school to begin. In the evening mother and son sat upon the steps at +the front of their home and watched the glare of the coke ovens on the +sky and the lights of the swiftly-running passenger trains, roaring +whistling and disappearing into the night. + +Nance McGregor talked to her son of the big world outside the valley +and told him of the cities, the seas and the strange lands and peoples +beyond the seas. "We have dug in the ground like rats," she said, "I +and my people and your father and his people. With you it will be +different. You will get out of here to other places and other work." +She grew indignant thinking of the life in the town. "We are stuck +down here amid dirt, living in it, breathing it," she complained. +"Sixty men died in that hole in the ground and then the mine started +again with new men. We stay here year after year digging coal to burn +in engines that take other people across the seas and into the West." + +When the son was a tall strong boy of fourteen Nance McGregor bought +the bakery and to buy it took the money saved by Cracked McGregor. +With it he had planned to buy a farm in the valley beyond the hill. +Dollar by dollar it had been put away by the miner who dreamed of life +in his own fields. + +In the bakery the boy worked and learned to make bread. Kneading the +dough his arms and hands grew as strong as a bear's. He hated the +work, he hated Coal Creek and dreamed of life in the city and of the +part he should play there. Among the young men he began to make here +and there a friend. Like his father he attracted attention. Women +looked at him, laughed at his big frame and strong homely features and +looked again. When they spoke to him in the bakery or on the street he +spoke back fearlessly and looked them in the eyes. Young girls in the +school walked home down the hill with other boys and at night dreamed +of Beaut McGregor. When some one spoke ill of him they answered +defending and praising him. Like his father he was a marked man in the +town of Coal Creek. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +One Sunday afternoon three boys sat on a log on the side of the hill +that looked down into Coal Creek. From where they sat they could see +the workers of the night shift idling in the sun on Main Street. From +the coke ovens a thin line of smoke rose into the sky. A freight train +heavily loaded crept round the hill at the end of the valley. It was +spring and over even that hive of black industry hung a faint promise +of beauty. The boys talked of the life of people in their town and as +they talked thought each of himself. + +Although he had not been out of the valley and had grown strong and +big there, Beaut McGregor knew something of the outside world. It +isn't a time when men are shut off from their fellows. Newspapers and +magazines have done their work too well. They reached even into the +miner's cabin and the merchants along Main Street of Coal Creek stood +before their stores in the afternoon and talked of the doings of the +world. Beaut McGregor knew that life in his town was exceptional, that +not everywhere did men toil all day black and grimy underground, that +not all women were pale bloodless and bent. As he went about +delivering bread he whistled a song. "Take me back to Broadway," he +sang after the soubrette in a show that had once come to Coal Creek. + +Now as he sat on the hillside he talked earnestly while he +gesticulated with his hands. "I hate this town," he said. "The men +here think they are confoundedly funny. They don't care for anything +but making foolish jokes and getting drunk. I want to go away." His +voice rose and hatred flamed up in him. "You wait," he boasted. "I'll +make men stop being fools. I'll make children of them. I'll----" +Pausing he looked at his two companions. + +Beaut poked the ground with a stick. The boy sitting beside him +laughed. He was a short well--dressed black--haired boy with rings on +his fingers who worked in the town poolroom, racking the pool balls. +"I'd like to go where there are women with blood in them," he said. + +Three women came up the hill toward them, a tall pale brown-haired +woman of twenty-seven and two fairer young girls. The black-haired boy +straightened his tie and began thinking of a conversation he would +start when the women reached him. Beaut and the other boy, a fat +fellow, the son of a grocer, looked down the hill to the town over the +heads of the newcomers and continued in their minds the thoughts that +had made the conversation. + +"Hello girls, come and sit here," shouted the black-haired boy, +laughing and looking boldly into the eyes of the tall pale woman. They +stopped and the tall woman began stepping over the fallen logs, coming +to them. The two young girls followed, laughing. They sat down on the +log beside the boys, the tall pale woman at the end beside red-haired +McGregor. An embarrassed silence fell over the party. Both Beaut and +the fat boy were disconcerted by this turn to their afternoon's outing +and wondered how it would turn out. + +The pale woman began to talk in a low tone. "I want to get away from +here," she said, "I wish I could hear birds sing and see green things +grow." + +Beaut McGregor had an idea. "You come with me," he said. He got up and +climbed over the logs and the pale woman followed. The fat boy shouted +at them, relieving his own embarrassment by trying to embarrass them. +"Where're you going--you two?" he shouted. + +Beaut said nothing. He stepped over the logs to the road and began +climbing the hill. The tall woman walked beside him and held her +skirts out of the deep dust of the road. Even on this her Sunday gown +there was a faint black mark along the seams--the mark of Coal Creek. + +As McGregor walked his embarrassment left him. He thought it fine that +he should be thus alone with a woman. When she had tired from the +climb he sat with her on a log beside the road and talked of the +black-haired boy. "He has your ring on his finger," he said, looking +at her and laughing. + +She held her hand pressed tightly against her side and closed her +eyes. "The climbing hurts me," she said. + +Tenderness took hold of Beaut. When they went on again he walked +behind her, his hand upon her back pushing her up the hill. The desire +to tease her about the black-haired boy had passed and he wished he +had said nothing about the ring. He remembered the story the black- +haired boy had told him of his conquest of the woman. "More than +likely a mess of lies," he thought. + +Over the crest of the hill they stopped and rested, leaning against a +worn rail fence by the woods. Below them in a wagon a party of men +went down the hill. The men sat upon boards laid across the box of a +wagon and sang a song. One of them stood in the seat beside the driver +and waved a bottle. He seemed to be making a speech. The others +shouted and clapped their hands. The sounds came faint and sharp up +the hill. + +In the woods beside the fence rank grass grew. Hawks floated in the +sky over the valley below. A squirrel running along the fence stopped +and chattered at them. McGregor thought he had never had so delightful +a companion. He got a feeling of complete, good fellowship and +friendliness with this woman. Without knowing how the thing had been +done he felt a certain pride in it. "Don't mind what I said about the +ring," he urged, "I was only trying to tease you." + +The woman beside McGregor was the daughter of an undertaker who lived +upstairs over his shop near the bakery. He had seen her in the evening +standing in the stairway by the shop door. After the story told him by +the black-haired boy he had been embarrassed about her. When he passed +her standing in the stairway he went hurriedly along and looked into +the gutter. + +They went down the hill and sat on the log upon the hillside. A clump +of elders had grown about the log since his visits there with Cracked +McGregor so that the place was closed and shaded like a room. The +woman took off her hat and laid it beside her on the log. A faint +colour mounted to her pale cheeks and a flash of anger gleamed in her +eyes. "He probably lied to you about me," she said, "I didn't give him +that ring to wear. I don't know why I gave it to him. He wanted it. He +asked me for it time and again. He said he wanted to show it to his +mother. And now he has shown it to you and I suppose told lies about +me." + +Beaut was annoyed and wished he had not mentioned the ring. He felt +that an unnecessary fuss was being made about it. He did not believe +that the black-haired boy had lied but he did not think it mattered. + +He began talking of his father, boasting of him. His hatred of the +town blazed up. "They thought they knew him down there," he said, +"they laughed at him and called him 'Cracked.' They thought his +running into the mine just a crazy notion like a horse that runs into +a burning stable. He was the best man in town. He was braver than any +of them. He went in there and died when he had almost enough money +saved to buy a farm over here." He pointed down the valley. + +Beaut began to tell her of the visits to the hillside with his father +and described the effect of the scene on himself when he was a child. +"I thought it was paradise," he said. + +She put her hand on his arm and seemed to be soothing him like a +careful groom quieting an excitable horse. "Don't mind them," she +said, "you will go away after a time and make a place for yourself out +in the world." + +He wondered how she knew. A profound respect for her came over him. +"She is keen to guess that," he thought. + +He began to talk of himself, boasting and throwing out his chest. "I'd +like to have the chance to show what I can do," he declared. A thought +that had been in his mind on the winter day when Uncle Charlie Wheeler +put the name of Beaut upon him came back and he walked up and down +before the woman making grotesque motions with his hands as Cracked +McGregor had walked up and down before him. + +"I'll tell you what," he began and his voice was harsh. He had +forgotten the presence of the woman and half forgotten what had been +in his mind. He sputtered and glared over his shoulder up the hillside +as he struggled for words. "Oh to Hell with men!" he burst forth. +"They are cattle, stupid cattle." A fire blazed up in his eyes and a +confident ring came into his voice. "I'd like to get them together, +all of them," he said, "I'd like to make them----" Words failed him +and again he sat down on the log beside the woman. "Well I'd like to +lead them to an old mine shaft and push them in," he concluded +resentfully. + + * * * * * + +On the eminence Beaut and the tall woman sat and looked down into the +valley. "I wonder why we don't go there, mother and I," he said. "When +I see it I'm filled with the notion. I think I want to be a farmer and +work in the fields. Instead of that mother and I sit and plan of the +city. I'm going to be a lawyer. That's all we talk about. Then I come +up here and it seems as though this is the place for me." + +The tall woman laughed. "I can see you coming home at night from the +fields," she said. "It might be to that white house there with the +windmill, You would be a big man and would have dust in your red hair +and perhaps a red beard growing on your chin. And a woman with a baby +in her arms would come out of the kitchen door to stand leaning on the +fence waiting for you. When you came up she would put her arm around +your neck and kiss you on the lips. The beard would tickle her cheek. +You should have a beard when you grow older. Your mouth is so big." + +A strange new feeling shot through Beaut. He wondered why she had said +that and wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss her then and there. +He got up and looked at the sun going down behind the hill far away at +the other end of the valley. "We'd better be getting along back," he +said. + +The woman remained seated on the log. "Sit down," she said, "I'll tell +you something--something it's good for you to hear. You're so big and +red you tempt a girl to bother you. First though you tell me why you +go along the street looking into the gutter when I stand in the +stairway in the evening." + +Beaut sat down again upon the log, and thought of what the black- +haired boy had told him of her. "Then it was true--what he said about +you?" he asked. + +"No! No!" she cried, jumping up in her turn and beginning to pin on +her hat. "Let's be going." + +Beaut sat stolidly on the log. "What's the use bothering each other," +he said. "Let's sit here until the sun goes down. We can get home +before dark." + +They sat down and she began talking, boasting of herself as he had +boasted of his father. + +"I'm too old for that boy," she said; "I'm older than you by a good +many years. I know what boys talk about and what they say about women. +I do pretty well. I don't have any one to talk to except father and he +sits all evening reading a paper and going to sleep in his chair. If I +let boys come and sit with me in the evening or stand talking with me +in the stairway it is because I'm lonesome. There isn't a man in town +I'd marry--not one." + +The speech sounded discordant and harsh to Beaut. He wished his father +were there rubbing his hands together and muttering rather than this +pale woman who stirred him up and then talked harshly like the women +at the back doors in Coal Creek. He thought again as he had thought +before that he preferred the black-faced miners drunk and silent to +their pale talking wives. On an impulse he told her that, saying it +crudely so that it hurt. + +Their companionship was spoiled. They got up and began to climb the +hill, going toward home. Again she put her hand to her side and again +he wished to put his hand at her back and push her up the hill. +Instead he walked beside her in silence, again hating the town. + +Halfway down the hill the tall woman stopped by the road-side. +Darkness was coming on and the glow of the coke ovens lighted the sky. +"One living up here and never going down there might think it rather +grand and big," he said. Again the hatred came. "They might think the +men who live down there knew something instead of being just a lot of +cattle." + +A smile came into the face of the tall woman and a gentler look stole +into her eyes. "We get at one another," she said, "we can't let one +another alone. I wish we hadn't quarrelled. We might be friends if we +tried. You have got something in you. You attract women. I've heard +others say that. Your father was that way. Most of the women here +would rather have been the wife of Cracked McGregor ugly as he was +than to have stayed with their own husbands. I heard my mother say +that to father when they lay quarrelling in bed at night and I lay +listening." + +The boy was overcome with the thought of a woman talking to him so +frankly. He looked at her and said what was in his mind. "I don't like +the women," he said, "but I liked you, seeing you standing in the +stairway and thinking you had been doing as you pleased. I thought +maybe you amounted to something. I don't know why you should be +bothered by what I think. I don't know why any woman should be +bothered by what any man thinks. I should think you would go right on +doing what you want to do like mother and me about my being a lawyer." + +He sat on a log beside the road near where he had met her and watched +her go down the hill. "I'm quite a fellow to have talked to her all +afternoon like that," he thought and pride in his growing manhood +crept over him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The town of Coal Creek was hideous. People from prosperous towns and +cities of the middle west, from Ohio, Illinois, and Iowa, going east +to New York or Philadelphia, looked out of the car windows and seeing +the poor little houses scattered along the hillside thought of books +they had read of life in hovels in the old world. In chair-cars men +and women leaned back and closed their eyes. They yawned and wished +the journey would come to an end. If they thought of the town at all +they regretted it mildly and passed it off as a necessity of modern +life. + +The houses on the hillside and the stores along Main Street belonged +to the mining company. In its turn the mining company belonged to the +officials of the railroad. The manager of the mine had a brother who +was division superintendent. It was the mine manager who had stood by +the door of the mine when Cracked McGregor went to his death. He lived +in a city some thirty miles away, and went there in the evening on the +train. With him went the clerks and even the stenographers from the +offices of the mine. After five o'clock in the afternoon no white +collars were to be seen upon the streets of Coal Creek. + +In the town men lived like brutes. Dumb with toil they drank greedily +in the saloon on Main Street and went home to beat their wives. Among +them a constant low muttering went on. They felt the injustice of +their lot but could not voice it logically and when they thought of +the men who owned the mine they swore dumbly, using vile oaths even in +their thoughts. Occasionally a strike broke out and Barney Butterlips, +a thin little man with a cork leg, stood on a box and made speeches +regarding the coming brotherhood of man. Once a troop of cavalry was +unloaded from the cars and with a battery paraded the main street. The +battery was made up of several men in brown uniforms. They set up a +Gatling gun at the end of the street and the strike subsided. + +An Italian who lived in a house on the hillside cultivated a garden. +His place was the one beauty spot in the valley. With a wheelbarrow he +brought earth from the woods at the top of the hill and on Sunday he +could be seen going back and forth and whistling merrily. In the +winter he sat in his house making a drawing on a bit of paper. In the +spring he took the drawing, and by it planted his garden, utilising +every inch of his ground. When a strike came on he was told by the +mine manager to go on back to work or move out of his house. He +thought of the garden and the work he had done and went back to his +routine of work in the mine. While he worked the miners marched up the +hill and destroyed the garden. The next day the Italian also joined +the striking miners. + +In a little one-room shack on the hill lived an old woman. She lived +alone and was vilely dirty. In her house she had old broken chairs and +tables picked up about town and piled in such profusion that she could +scarcely move about. On warm days she sat in the sun before the shack +chewing on a stick that had been dipped in tobacco. Miners coming up +the hill dumped bits of bread and meat-ends out of their dinner-pails +into a box nailed to a tree by the road. These the old woman collected +and ate. When the soldiers came to town she walked along the street +jeering at them. "Pretty boys! Scabs! Dudes! Dry-goods clerks!" she +called after them as she walked by the tails of their horses. A young +man with glasses on his nose, who was mounted on a grey horse turned +and called to his comrades, "Let her alone--it's old Mother Misery +herself." + +When the tall red-haired boy looked at the workers and at the old +woman who followed the soldiers he did not sympathise with them. He +hated them. In a way he sympathised with the soldiers. His blood was +stirred by the sight of them marching shoulder to shoulder. He thought +there was order and decency in the rank of uniformed men moving +silently and quickly along and he half wished they would destroy the +town. When the strikers made a wreck of the garden of the Italian he +was deeply touched and walked up and down in the room before his +mother, proclaiming himself. "I would have killed them had it been my +garden," he said. "I would not have left one of them alive." In his +heart he like Cracked McGregor nursed his hatred of the miners and of +the town. "The place is one to get out of," he said. "If a man doesn't +like it here let him get up and leave." He remembered his father +working and saving for the farm in the valley. "They thought him +cracked but he knew more than they. They would not have dared touch a +garden he had planted." + +In the heart of the miner's son strange half-formed thoughts began to +find lodgings. Remembering in his dreams at night the moving columns +of men in their uniforms he read new meaning into the scraps of +history picked up in the school and the movements of men in old +history began to have significance for him. On a summer afternoon as +he loitered before the town's hotel, beneath which was the saloon and +billiard room where the black-haired boy worked, he overheard two men +talking of the significance of men. + +One of the men was an itinerant oculist who came to the mining town +once a month to fit and sell spectacles. When the oculist had sold +several pairs of spectacles he got drunk, sometimes staying drunk for +a week. When he was drunk he spoke French and Italian and sometimes +stood in the barroom before the miners, quoting the poems of Dante. +His clothes were greasy from long wear and he had a huge nose streaked +with red and purple veins. Because of his learning in the languages +and his quoting of poems the miners thought the oculist infinitely +wise. To them it seemed that one with such a mind must have almost +unearthly knowledge concerning the eyes and the fitting of glasses and +they wore with pride the cheap ill-fitting things he thrust upon them. + +Occasionally, as though making a concession to his patrons, the +oculist spent an evening among them. Once after reciting one of the +sonnets of Shakespeare he put a hand on the bar and rocking gently +back and forth sang in a drink-broken voice a ballad beginning "The +harp that once through Tara's halls the soul of music shed." After the +song he put his head down upon the bar and wept while the miners +looked on touched with sympathy. + +On the summer afternoon when Beaut McGregor listened, the oculist was +engaged in a violent quarrel with another man, drunk like himself. The +second man was a slender dandified fellow of middle age who sold shoes +for a Philadelphia jobbing-house. He sat in a chair tilted against the +hotel and tried to read aloud from a book. When he was fairly launched +in a long paragraph the oculist interrupted. Staggering up and down +the narrow board walk before the hotel the old drunkard raved and +swore. He seemed beside himself with wrath. + +"I am sick of such slobbering philosophy," he declared. "Even the +reading of it makes you drool at the mouth. You do not say the words +sharply, and they can't be said sharply. I'm a strong man myself." + +Spreading his legs wide apart and blowing up his cheeks, the oculist +beat upon his breast. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the man in +the chair. + +"You but slobber and make a foul noise," he declared. "I know your +kind. I spit upon you. The Congress at Washington is full of such +fellows as is also the House of Commons in England. In France they +were once in charge. They ran things in France until the coming of a +man such as myself. They were lost in the shadow of the great +Napoleon." + +The oculist as though dismissing the dandified man from his mind +turned to address Beaut. He talked in French and the man in the chair +fell into a troubled sleep. "I am like Napoleon," the drunkard +declared, breaking again into English. Tears began to show in his +eyes. "I take the money of these miners and I give them nothing. The +spectacles I sell to their wives for five dollars cost me but fifteen +cents. I ride over these brutes as Napoleon rode over Europe. There +would be order and purpose in me were I not a fool. I am like Napoleon +in that I have utter contempt for men." + + * * * * * + +Again and again the words of the drunkard came back into the mind of +the McGregor boy influencing his thoughts. Grasping nothing of the +philosophy back of the man's words his imagination was yet touched by +the drunkard's tale of the great Frenchman, babbled into his ears, and +it in some way seemed to give point to his hatred of the disorganised +ineffectiveness of the life about him. + + * * * * * + +After Nance McGregor opened the bakery another strike came to disturb +the prosperity of the business. Again the miners walked idly through +the streets. Into the bakery they came to get bread and told Nance to +write the debt down against them. Beaut McGregor was disturbed. He saw +his father's money being spent for flour which when baked into loaves +went out of the shop under the arms of the miners who shuffled as they +walked. One night a man whose name appeared on their books followed by +a long record of charged loaves came reeling past the bakery. McGregor +went to his mother and protested. "They have money to get drunk," he +said, "let them pay for their loaves." + +Nance McGregor went on trusting the miners. She thought of the women +and children in the houses on the hill and when she heard of the plans +of the mining company to evict the miners from their houses she +shuddered. "I was the wife of a miner and I will stick to them," she +thought. + +One day the mine manager came into the bakery. He leaned over the +showcase and talked to Nance. The son went and stood by his mother's +side to listen. "It has got to be stopped," the manager was saying. "I +will not see you ruin yourself for these cattle. I want you to close +this place till the strike is over. If you won't close it I will. The +building belongs to us. They did not appreciate what your husband did +and why should you ruin yourself for them?" + +The woman looked at him and answered in a low tone full of resolution. +"They thought he was crazy and he was," she said; "but what made him +so--the rotten timbers in the mine that broke and crushed him. You and +not they are responsible for my man and what he was." + +Beaut McGregor interrupted. "Well I think he is right," he declared, +leaning over the counter beside his mother and looking into her face. +"The miners don't want better things for their families, they want +more money to get drunk. We will close the doors here. We will put no +more money into bread to go into their gullets. They hated father and +he hated them and now I hate them also." + +Beaut walked around the end of the counter and went with the mine +manager to the door. He locked it and put the key into his pocket. +Then he walked to the rear of the bake shop where his mother sat on a +box weeping. "It is time a man took charge here," he said. + +Nance McGregor and her son sat in the bakery and looked at each other. +Miners came along the street, tried the door and went away grumbling. +Word ran from lip to lip up the hillside. "The mine manager has closed +Nance McGregor's shop," said the women leaning over back fences. +Children sprawling on the floors of the houses put up their heads and +howled. Their lives were a succession of new terrors. When a day +passed that a new terror did not shake them they went to bed happy. +When the miner and his woman stood by the door talking in low tones +they cried, expecting to be put to bed hungry. When guarded talk did +not go on by the door the miner came home drunk and beat the mother +and the children lay in beds along the wall trembling with fright. + +Late that night a party of miners came to the door of the bakery and +beat upon it with their fists. "Open up here!" they shouted. Beaut +came out of the rooms above the bakery and stood in the empty shop. +His mother sat in a chair in her room and trembled. He went to the +door and unlocking it stepped out. The miners stood in groups on the +wooden sidewalk and in the mud of the road. Among them stood the old +crone who had walked beside the horses and shouted at the soldiers. A +miner with a black beard came and stood before the boy. Waving his +hand at the crowd he said, "We have come to open the bakery. Some of +us have no ovens in our stoves. You give us the key and we will open +the place. We will break in the door if you don't want to do that. The +company can't blame you if we do it by force. You can keep account of +what we take. Then when the strike is settled we will pay you." + +A flame shot into the eyes of the boy. He walked down the steps and +stood among the miners. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he peered +into their faces. When he spoke his voice resounded through the +street, "You jeered at my father, Cracked McGregor, when he went into +the mine for you. You laughed at him because he saved his money and +did not spend it buying you drinks. Now you come here to get bread his +money bought and you do not pay. Then you get drunk and go reeling +past this very door. Now let me tell you something." He thrust his +hands into the air and shouted. "The mine manager did not close this +place. I closed it. You jeered at Cracked McGregor, a better man than +any of you. You have had fun with me--laughing at me. Now I jeer at +you." He ran up the steps and unlocking the door stood in the doorway. +"Pay the money you owe this bakery and there will be bread for sale +here," he called, and went in and locked the door. + +The miners walked off up the street. The boy stood within the bakery, +his hands trembling. "I've told them something," he thought, "I've +shown them they can't make a fool of me." He went up the stairway to +the rooms above. By the window his mother sat, her head in her hands, +looking down into the street. He sat in a chair and thought of the +situation. "They will be back here and smash the place like they tore +up that garden," he said. + +The next evening Beaut sat in the darkness on the steps before the +bakery. In his hands he held a hammer. A dull hatred of the town and +of the miners burned in his brain. "I will make it hot for some of +them if they come here," he thought. He hoped they would come. As he +looked at the hammer in his hand a phrase from the lips of the drunken +old oculist babbling of Napoleon came into his mind. He began to think +that he also must be like the figure of which the drunkard had talked. +He remembered a story the oculist had told of a fight in the streets +of a European city and muttered and waved the hammer about. Upstairs +his mother sat by the window with her head in her hands. From the +saloon down the street a light gleamed out on the wet sidewalk. The +tall pale woman who had gone with him to the eminence overlooking the +valley came down the stairway from above the undertaker's shop. She +ran along the sidewalk. On her head she wore a shawl and as she ran +she clutched it with her hand. The other hand she held against her +side. + +When the women reached the boy who sat in silence before the bakery +she put her hands on his shoulders and plead with him. "Come away," +she said. "Get your mother and come to our place. They're going to +smash you up here. You'll get hurt." + +Beaut arose and pushed her away. Her coming had given him new courage. +His heart jumped at the thought of her interest in him and he wished +that the miners might come so that he could fight them before her. "I +wish I could live among people as decent as she," he thought. + +A train stopped at the station down the street. There came the sound +of tramping of men and quick sharp commands. A stream of men poured +out of the saloon onto the sidewalk. Down the street came a file of +soldiers with guns swung across their shoulders. Again Beaut was +thrilled by the sight of trained orderly men moving along shoulder to +shoulder. In the presence of these men the disorganized miners seemed +pitifully weak and insignificant. The girl pulled the shawl about her +head and ran up the street to disappear into the stairway. The boy +unlocked the door and went upstairs and to bed. + +After the strike Nance McGregor who owned nothing but unpaid accounts +was unable to open the bakery. A small man with a white moustache, who +chewed tobacco, came from the mill and took the unused flour and +shipped it away. The boy and his mother continued living above the +bakery store room. Again she went in the morning to wash the windows +and scrub the floors in the offices of the mine and her red-haired son +stood upon the street or sat in the pool room and talked to the black- +haired boy. "Next week I'll be going to the city and will begin making +something of myself," he said. When the time came to go he waited and +idled in the streets. Once when a miner jeered at him for his idleness +he knocked him into the gutter. The miners who hated him for his +speech on the steps, admired him for his strength and brute courage. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In a cellar-like house driven like a stake into the hillside above +Coal Creek lived Kate Hartnet with her son Mike. Her man had died with +the others during the fire in the mine. Her son like Beaut McGregor +did not work in the mine. He hurried through Main Street or went half +running among the trees on the hills. Miners seeing him hurrying along +with white intense face shook their heads. "He's cracked," they said. +"He'll hurt some one yet." + +Beaut saw Mike hurrying about the streets. Once encountering him in +the pine woods above the town he walked with him and tried to get him +to talk. In his pockets Mike carried books and pamphlets. He set traps +in the woods and brought home rabbits and squirrels. He got together +collections of birds' eggs which he sold to women in the trains that +stopped at Coal Creek and when he caught birds he stuffed them, put +beads in their eyesockets and sold them also. He proclaimed himself an +anarchist and like Cracked McGregor muttered to himself as he hurried +along. + +One day Beaut came upon Mike Hartnet reading a book as he sat on a log +overlooking the town. A shock ran through McGregor when he looked over +the shoulder of the man and saw what book he read. "It is strange," he +thought, "that this fellow should stick to the same book that fat old +Weeks makes his living by." + +Beaut sat on the log beside Hartnet and watched him. The reading man +looked up and nodded nervously then slid along the log to the farther +end. Beaut laughed. He looked down at the town and then at the +frightened nervous book-reading man on the log. An inspiration came to +him. + +"If you had the power, Mike, what would you do to Coal Creek?" he +asked. + +The nervous man jumped and tears came into his eyes. He stood before +the log and spread out his hands. "I would go among men like Christ," +he cried, pitching his voice forward like one addressing an audience. +"Poor and humble, I would go teaching them of love." Spreading out his +hands like one pronouncing a benediction he shouted, "Oh men of Coal +Creek, I would teach you love and the destruction of evil." + +Beaut jumped up from the log and strode before the trembling figure. +He was strangely moved. Grasping the man he thrust him back upon the +log. His own voice rolled down the hillside in a great roaring laugh. +"Men of Coal Creek," he shouted, mimicking the earnestness of Hartnet, +"listen to the voice of McGregor. I hate you. I hate you because you +jeered at my father and at me and because you cheated my mother, Nance +McGregor. I hate you because you are weak and disorganised like +cattle. I would like to come among you teaching the power of force. I +would like to slay you one by one, not with weapons but with my naked +fists. If they have made you work like rats buried in a hole they are +right. It is man's right to do what he can. Get up and fight. Fight +and I'll get on the other side and you can fight me. I'll help drive +you back into your holes." + +Beaut ceased speaking and jumping over the logs ran down the road. +Among the first of the miner's houses he stopped and laughed +awkwardly. "I am cracked also," he thought, "shouting at emptiness on +a hillside." He went on in a reflective mood, wondering what power had +taken hold of him. "I would like a fight--a fight against odds," he +thought. "I will stir things up when I am a lawyer in the city." + +Mike Hartnet came running down the road at the heels of McGregor. +"Don't tell," he plead trembling. "Don't tell about me in the town. +They will laugh and call names after me. I want to be let alone." + +Beaut shook himself loose from the detaining hand and went on down the +hill. When he had passed out of sight of Hartnet he sat down on the +ground. For an hour he looked at the town in the valley and thought of +himself. He was half proud, half ashamed of the thing that had +happened. + + * * * * * + +In the blue eyes of McGregor anger flashed quick and sudden. Upon the +streets of Coal Creek he walked, swinging along, his great body +inspiring fear. His mother grown grave and silent worked in the +offices of the mines. Again she had a habit of silence in her own home +and looked at her son, half fearing him. All day she worked in the +mine offices and in the evening sat silently in a chair on the porch +before her house and looked down into Main Street. + +Beaut McGregor did nothing. He sat in the dingy little pool room and +talked with the black-haired boy or walked over the hills swinging a +stick in his hand and thinking of the city to which he would presently +go to start his career. As he walked in the streets women stopped to +look at him, thinking of the beauty and strength of his maturing body. +The miners passed him in silence hating him and dreading his wrath. +Walking among the hills he thought much of himself. "I am capable of +anything," he thought, lifting his head and looking at the towering +hills, "I wonder why I stay on here." + +When he was eighteen Beaut's mother fell ill. All day she lay on her +back in bed in the room above the empty bakery. Beaut shook himself +out of his waking stupor and went about seeking work. He had not felt +that he was indolent. He had been waiting. Now he bestirred himself. +"I'll not go into the mines," he said, "nothing shall get me down +there." + +He got work in a livery stable cleaning and feeding the horses. His +mother got out of bed and began going again to the mine offices. +Having started to work Beaut stayed on, thinking it but a way station +to the position he would one day achieve in the city. + +In the stable worked two young boys, sons of coal miners. They drove +travelling men from the trains to farming towns in valleys back among +the hills and in the evening with Beaut McGregor they sat on a bench +before the barn and shouted at people going past the stable up the +hill. + +The livery stable in Coal Creek was owned by a hunchback named Weller +who lived in the city and went home at night. During the day he sat +about the stable talking to red-haired McGregor. "You're a big beast," +he said laughing. "You talk about going away to the city and making +something of yourself and still you stay on here doing nothing. You +want to quit this talking about being a lawyer and become a prize +fighter. Law is a place for brains not muscles." He walked through the +stables leaning his head to one side and looking up at the big fellow +who brushed the horses. McGregor watched him and grinned. "I'll show +you," he said. + +The hunchback was pleased when he strutted before McGregor. He had +heard men talk of the strength and the evil temper of his stableman +and it pleased him to have so fierce a fellow cleaning the horses. At +night in the city he sat under the lamp with his wife and boasted. "I +make him step about," he said. + +In the stable the hunchback kept at the heels of McGregor. "And +there's something else," he said, putting his hand in his pockets and +raising himself on his toes. "You look out for that undertaker's +daughter. She wants you. If she gets you there will be no law study +but a place in the mines for you. You let her alone and begin taking +care of your mother." + +Beaut went on cleaning the horses and thinking of what the hunchback +had said. He thought there was sense to it. He also was afraid of the +tall pale girl. Sometimes when he looked at her a pain shot through +him and a combination of fear and desire gripped him. He walked away +from it and went free as he went free from the life in the darkness +down in the mine. "He has a kind of genius for keeping away from the +things he don't like," said the liveryman, talking to Uncle Charlie +Wheeler in the sun before the door of the post office. + +One afternoon the two boys who worked in the livery stable with +McGregor got him drunk. The affair was a rude joke, elaborately +planned. The hunchback had stayed in the city for the day and no +travelling men got off the trains to be driven over the hills. In the +afternoon hay brought over the hill from the fruitful valley was being +put into the loft of the barn and between loads McGregor and the two +boys sat on the bench by the stable door. The two boys went to the +saloon and brought back beer, paying for it from a fund kept for that +purpose. The fund was the result of a system worked out by the two +drivers. When a passenger gave one of them a coin at the end of a day +of driving he put it into the common fund. When the fund had grown to +some size the two went to the saloon and stood before the bar drinking +until it was spent and then came back to sleep off their stupor on the +hay in the barn. After a prosperous week the hunchback occasionally +gave them a dollar for the fund. + +Of the beer McGregor drank but one foaming glass. For all his idling +about Coal Creek he had never before tasted beer and it was strong and +bitter in his mouth. He threw up his head and gulped it then turned +and walked toward the rear of the stable to conceal the tears that the +taste of the stuff had forced into his eyes. + +The two drivers sat on the bench and laughed. The drink they had given +Beaut was a horrible mess concocted by the laughing bartender at their +suggestion. "We will get the big fellow drunk and hear him roar," the +bartender had said. + +As he walked toward the back of the stable a convulsive nausea seized +Beaut. He stumbled and pitched forward, cutting his face on the floor. +Then he rolled over on his back and groaned and a little stream of +blood ran down his cheek. + +The two boys jumped up from the bench and ran toward him. They stood +looking at his pale lips. Fear seized them. They tried to lift him but +he fell from their arms and lay again on the stable floor, white and +motionless. Filled with fright they ran from the stable and through +Main Street. "We must get a doctor," they said as they hurried along, +"He is mighty sick--that fellow." + +In the doorway leading to the rooms over the undertaker's shop stood +the tall pale girl. One of the running boys stopped and addressed her, +"Your red-head," he shouted, "is blind drunk lying on the stable +floor. He has cut his head and is bleeding." + +The tall girl ran down the street to the offices of the mine. With +Nance McGregor she hurried to the stable. The store keepers along Main +Street looked out of their doors and saw the two women pale and with +set faces half-carrying the huge form of Beaut McGregor along the +street and in at the door of the bakery. + + * * * * * + +At eight o'clock that evening Beaut McGregor, his legs still unsteady, +his face white, climbed aboard a passenger train and passed out of the +life of Coal Creek. On the seat beside him a bag contained all his +clothes. In his pocket lay a ticket to Chicago and eighty-five +dollars, the last of Cracked McGregor's savings. He looked out of the +car window at the little woman thin and worn standing alone on the +station platform and a great wave of anger passed through him. "I'll +show them," he muttered. The woman looked at him and forced a smile to +her lips. The train began to move into the west. Beaut looked at his +mother and at the deserted streets of Coal Creek and put his head down +upon his hands and in the crowded car before the gaping people wept +with joy that he had seen the last of youth. He looked back at Coal +Creek, full of hate. Like Nero he might have wished that all of the +people of the town had but one head so that he might have cut it off +with a sweep of a sword or knocked it into the gutter with one +swinging blow. + + + + + +BOOK II + + + +CHAPTER I + + +It was late in the summer of 1893 when McGregor came to Chicago, an +ill time for boy or man in that city. The big exposition of the year +before had brought multiplied thousands of restless labourers into the +city and its leading citizens, who had clamoured for the exposition +and had loudly talked of the great growth that was to come, did not +know what to do with the growth now that it had come. The depression +that followed on the heels of the great show and the financial panic +that ran over the country in that year had set thousands of hungry men +to wait dumbly on park benches poring over want advertisements in the +daily papers and looking vacantly at the lake or had driven them to +tramp aimlessly through the streets, filled with forebodings. + +In time of plenty a great American city like Chicago goes on showing a +more or less cheerful face to the world while in nooks and crannies +down side-streets and alleys poverty and misery sit hunched up in +little ill-smelling rooms breeding vice. In times of depression these +creatures crawl forth and joined by thousands of the unemployed tramp +the streets through the long nights or sleep upon benches in the +parks. In the alleyways off Madison Street on the West Side and off +State Street, on the South Side, eager women driven by want sold their +bodies to passersby for twenty-five cents. An advertisement in the +newspapers of one unfilled job brought a thousand men to block the +streets at daylight before a factory door. In the crowds men swore and +knocked each other about. Working-men driven to desperation went forth +into quiet streets and knocking over citizens took their money and +watches and ran trembling into the darkness. A girl of Twenty-fourth +Street was kicked and knocked into the gutter because when attacked by +thieves she had but thirty-five cents in her purse. A professor of the +University of Chicago addressing his class said that, having looked +into the hungry distorted faces of five hundred men clamouring for a +position as dishwasher in a cheap restaurant, he was ready to +pronounce all claims to social advancement in America a figment in the +brains of optimistic fools. A tall awkward man walking up State Street +threw a stone through the window of a store. A policeman hustled him +through the crowd. "You'll get a workhouse sentence for this," he +said. + +"You fool that's what I want. I want to make property that won't +employ me feed me," said the tall gaunt man who, trained in the +cleaner and more wholesome poverty of the frontier, might have been a +Lincoln suffering for mankind. + +Into this maelstrom of misery and grim desperate want walked Beaut +McGregor of Coal Creek--huge, graceless of body, indolent of mind, +untrained, uneducated, hating the world. Within two days he had +snatched before the very eyes of that hungry marching army three +prizes, three places where a man might by working all day get clothes +to wear upon his back and food to put into his stomach. + +In a way McGregor had already sensed something the realisation of +which will go far toward making any man a strong figure in the world. +He was not to be bullied with words. Orators might have preached to +him all day about the progress of mankind in America, flags might have +been flapped and newspapers might have dinned the wonders of his +country into his brain. He would only have shaken his big head. He did +not yet know the whole story of how men, coming out of Europe and +given millions of square miles of black fertile land mines and +forests, have failed in the challenge given them by fate and have +produced out of the stately order of nature only the sordid disorder +of man. McGregor did not know the fullness of the tragic story of his +race. He only knew that the men he had seen were for the most part +pigmies. On the train coming to Chicago a change had come over him. +The hatred of Coal Creek that burned in him had set fire to something +else. He sat looking out of the car window at the stations running +past during the night and the following day at the cornfields of +Indiana, making his plans. In Chicago he meant to do something. Coming +from a community where no man arose above a condition of silent brute +labour he meant to step up into the light of power. Filled with hatred +and contempt of mankind he meant that mankind should serve him. Raised +among men who were but men he meant to be a master. + +And his equipment was better than he knew. In a disorderly haphazard +world hatred is as effective an impulse to drive men forward to +success as love and high hope. It is a world-old impulse sleeping in +the heart of man since the day of Cain. In a way it rings true and +strong above the hideous jangle of modern life. Inspiring fear it +usurps power. + +McGregor was without fear. He had not yet met his master and looked +with contempt upon the men and women he had known. Without knowing it +he had, besides a huge body hard as adamant, a clear and lucid brain. +The fact that he hated Coal Creek and thought it horrible proved his +keenness. It was horrible. Well might Chicago have trembled and rich +men strolling in the evening along Michigan Boulevard have looked +fearfully about as this huge red fellow, carrying the cheap handbag +and staring with his blue eyes at the restless moving mobs of people, +walked for the first time through its streets. In his very frame there +was the possibility of something, a blow, a shock, a thrust out of the +lean soul of strength into the jelly-like fleshiness of weakness. + +In the world of men nothing is so rare as a knowledge of men. Christ +himself found the merchants hawking their wares even on the floor of +the temple and in his naive youth was stirred to wrath and drove them +through the door like flies. And history has represented him in turn +as a man of peace so that after these centuries the temples are again +supported by the hawking of wares and his fine boyish wrath is +forgotten. In France after the great revolution and the babbling of +many voices talking of the brotherhood of man it wanted but a short +and very determined man with an instinctive knowledge of drums, of +cannons and of stirring words to send the same babblers screaming +across open spaces, stumbling through ditches and pitching headlong +into the arms of death. In the interest of one who believed not at all +in the brotherhood of man they who had wept at the mention of the word +brotherhood died fighting brothers. + +In the heart of all men lies sleeping the love of order. How to +achieve order out of our strange jumble of forms, out of democracies +and monarchies, dreams and endeavours is the riddle of the Universe +and the thing that in the artist is called the passion for form and +for which he also will laugh in the face of death is in all men. By +grasping that fact Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon and our own Grant have +made heroes of the dullest clods that walk and not a man of all the +thousands who marched with Sherman to the sea but lived the rest of +his life with a something sweeter, braver and finer sleeping in his +soul than will ever be produced by the reformer scolding of +brotherhood from a soap-box. The long march, the burning of the throat +and the stinging of the dust in the nostrils, the touch of shoulder +against shoulder, the quick bond of a common, unquestioned, +instinctive passion that bursts in the orgasm of battle, the +forgetting of words and the doing of the thing, be it winning battles +or destroying ugliness, the passionate massing of men for +accomplishment--these are the signs, if they ever awake in our land, +by which you may know you have come to the days of the making of men. + +In Chicago in 1893 and in the men who went aimlessly seeking work in +the streets of Chicago in that year there were none of these signs. +Like the coal mining town from which Beaut McGregor had come, the city +lay sprawling and ineffective before him, a tawdry disorderly dwelling +for millions of men, built not for the making of men but for the +making of millions by a few odd meat-packers and drygoods merchants. + +With a slight lifting of his great shoulders McGregor sensed these +things although he could not have expressed his sense of them and the +hatred and contempt of men, born of his youth in the mining town, was +rekindled by the sight of city men wandering afraid and bewildered +through the streets of their own city. + +Knowing nothing of the customs of the unemployed McGregor did not walk +the streets looking for signs marked "Men Wanted." He did not sit on +park benches studying want advertisements, the want advertisements +that so often proved but bait put out by suave men up dirty stairways +to glean the last few pennies from pockets of the needy. Going along +the street he swung his great body through the doorways leading to the +offices of factories. When some pert young man tried to stop him he +did not say words but drew back his fist threateningly and, glowering, +walked in. The young men at the doors of factories looked at his blue +eyes and let him pass unchallenged. + +In the afternoon of his first day of seeking Beaut got a place in an +apple warehouse on the North Side, the third place offered him during +the day and the one that he accepted. The chance came to him through +an exhibition of strength. Two men, old and bent, struggled to get a +barrel of apples from the sidewalk up to a platform that ran waist +high along the front of the warehouse. The barrel had rolled to the +sidewalk from a truck standing in the gutter. The driver of the truck +stood with his hands on his hips, laughing. A German with blond hair +stood upon the platform swearing in broken English. McGregor stood +upon the sidewalk and looked at the two men who were struggling with +the barrel. A feeling of immense contempt for their feebleness shone +in his eyes. Pushing them aside he grasped the barrel and with a great +heave sent it up onto the platform and spinning through an open +doorway into the receiving room of the warehouse. The two workmen +stood on the sidewalk smiling sheepishly. Across the street a group of +city firemen who lounged in the sun before an engine house clapped +their hands. The truck driver turned and prepared to send another +barrel along the plank extending from the truck across the sidewalk to +the warehouse platform. At a window in the upper part of the warehouse +a grey head protruded and a sharp voice called down to the tall +German. "Hey Frank, hire that 'husky' and let about six of the dead +ones you've got around here go home." + +McGregor jumped upon the platform and walked in at the warehouse door. +The German followed, inventorying the size of the red-haired giant +with something like disapproval. His look seemed to say, "I like +strong fellows but you're too strong." He took the discomfiture of the +two feeble workmen on the sidewalk as in some way reflecting upon +himself. The two men stood in the receiving room and looked at each +other. A bystander might have thought them preparing to fight. + +And then a freight elevator came slowly down from the upper part of +the warehouse and from it jumped a small grey-haired man with a yard +stick in his hand. He had a sharp restless eye and a short stubby grey +beard. Striking the floor with a bound he began to talk. "We pay two +dollars for nine hours' work here--begin at seven, quit at five. Will +you come?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to the German. +"Tell those two old 'rummies' to get their time and get out of here," +he said, turning again and looking expectantly at McGregor. + +McGregor liked the quick little man and grinned with approval of his +decisiveness. He nodded his assent to the proposal and, looking at the +German, laughed. The little man disappeared through a door leading to +an office and McGregor walked out into the street. At a corner he +turned and saw the German standing on the platform before the +warehouse looking after him. "He is wondering whether or not he can +whip me," thought McGregor. + + * * * * * + +In the apple warehouse McGregor worked for three years, rising during +his second year to be foreman and replacing the tall German. The +German expected trouble with McGregor and was determined to make short +work of him. He had been offended by the action of the gray-haired +superintendent in hiring the man and felt that a prerogative belonging +to himself had been ignored. All day he followed McGregor with his +eyes, trying to calculate the strength and courage in the huge body. +He knew that hundreds of hungry men walked the streets and in the end +decided that the need of work if not the spirit of the man would make +him submissive. During the second week he put the question that burned +in his brain to the test. He followed McGregor into a dimly-lighted +upper room where barrels of apples, piled to the ceiling, left only +narrow ways for passage. Standing in the semi-darkness he shouted, +calling the man who worked among the apple barrels a foul name, "I +won't have you loafing in there, you red-haired bastard," he shouted. + +McGregor said nothing. He was not offended by the vileness of the name +the German had called him and took it merely as a challenge that he +had been expecting and that he meant to accept. With a grim smile on +his lips he walked toward the German and when but one apple barrel lay +between them reached across and dragged the foreman sputtering and +swearing down the passageway to a window at the end of the room. By +the window he stopped and putting his hand to the throat of the +struggling man began to choke him into submission. Blows fell on his +face and body. Struggling terribly the German kicked McGregor's legs +with desperate energy. Although his ears rang with the hammer-like +blows that fell about his neck and cheeks McGregor stool silent under +the storm. His blue eyes gleamed with hatred and the muscles of his +great arms danced in the light from the window. As he looked into the +protruding eyes of the writhing German he thought of fat Reverend +Minot Weeks of Coal Creek and added an extra twitch to the flesh +between his fingers. When a gesture of submission came from the man +against the wall he stepped back and let go his grip. The German +dropped to the floor. Standing over him McGregor delivered his +ultimatum. "You report this or try to get me fired and I'll kill you +outright," he said. "I'm going to stay here on this job until I get +ready to leave it. You can tell me what to do and how to do it but +when you speak to me again say 'McGregor'--Mr. McGregor, that's my +name." + +The German got to his feet and began walking down the passageway +between the rows of piled barrels. As he went he helped himself along +with his hands. McGregor went back to work. After the retreating form +of the German he shouted, "Get a new place when you can Dutch, I'll be +taking this job away from you when I'm ready for it." + +That evening as McGregor walked to the car he saw the little grey- +haired superintendent standing waiting for him before a saloon. The +man made a sign and McGregor walked across and stood beside him. They +went together into the saloon and stood leaning against the bar and +looked at each other. A smile played about the lips of the little man. +"What have you been doing to Frank?" he asked. + +McGregor turned to the bartender who stood waiting before him. He +thought that the superintendent intended to try to patronise him by +buying him a drink and he did not like the thought. "What will you +have? I'll take a cigar for mine," he said quickly, defeating the +superintendent's plan by being the first to speak. When the bartender +brought the cigars McGregor paid for them and walked out at the door. +He felt like one playing a game. "If Frank meant to bully me into +submission this man also means something." + +On the sidewalk before the saloon McGregor stopped. "Look here," he +said, turning and facing the superintendent, "I'm after Frank's place. +I'm going to learn the business as fast as I can. I won't put it up to +you to fire him. When I get ready for the place he won't be there." + +A light flashed into the eyes of the little man. He held the cigar +McGregor had paid for as though about to throw it into the street. +"How far do you think you can go with your big fists?" he asked, his +voice rising. + +McGregor smiled. He thought he had earned another victory and lighting +his cigar held the burning match before the little man. "Brains are +intended to help fists," he said, "I've got both." + +The superintendent looked at the burning match and at the cigar +between his fingers. "If I don't which will you use on me?" he asked. + +McGregor threw the match into the street. "Aw! don't bother asking," +he said, holding out another match. + +McGregor and the superintendent walked along the street. "I would like +to fire you but I won't. Some day you'll run that warehouse like a +clock," said the superintendent. + +McGregor sat in the street-car and thought of his day. It had been he +felt a day of two battles. First the direct brutal battle of fists in +the passageway and then this other battle with the superintendent. He +thought he had won both fights. Of the fight with the tall German he +thought little. He had expected to win that. The other was different. +The superintendent he felt had wanted to patronise him, patting him on +the back and buying him drinks. Instead he had patronised the +superintendent. A battle had gone on in the brains of the two men and +he had won. He had met a new kind of man, one who did not live by the +raw strength of his muscles and he had given a good account of +himself. The conviction that he had, besides a good pair of fists, a +good brain swept in on him glorifying him. He thought of the sentence, +"Brains are intended to help fists," and wondered how he had happened +to think of it. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The street in which McGregor lived in Chicago was called Wycliff +Place, after a family of that name that had once owned the land +thereabout. The street was complete in its hideousness. Nothing more +unlovely could be imagined. Given a free hand an indiscriminate lot of +badly trained carpenters and bricklayers had builded houses beside the +cobblestone road that touched the fantastic in their unsightliness and +inconvenience. + +The great west side of Chicago has hundreds of such streets and the +coal mining town out of which McGregor had come was more inspiring as +a place in which to live. As an unemployed young man, not much given +to chance companionships, Beaut had spent many long evenings wandering +alone on the hillsides above his home town. There was a kind of +dreadful loveliness about the place at night. The long black valley +with its dense shroud of smoke that rose and fell and formed itself +into fantastic shapes in the moonlight, the poor little houses +clinging to the hillside, the occasional cry of a woman being beaten +by a drunken husband, the glare of the coke fires and the rumble of +coal cars being pushed along the railroad tracks, all of these made a +grim and rather inspiring impression on the young man's mind so that +although he hated the mines and the miners he sometimes paused in his +night wanderings and stood with his great shoulders lifted, breathing +deeply and feeling things he had no words in him to express. + +In Wycliff Place McGregor got no such reactions. Foul dust filled the +air. All day the street rumbled and roared under the wheels of trucks +and light hurrying delivery wagons. Soot from the factory chimneys was +caught up by the wind and having been mixed with powdered horse manure +from the roadway flew into the eyes and the nostrils of pedestrians. +Always a babble of voices went on. At a corner saloon teamsters +stopped to have their drinking cans filled with beer and stood about +swearing and shouting. In the evening women and children went back and +forth from their houses carrying beer in pitchers from the same +saloon. Dogs howled and fought, drunken men reeled along the sidewalk +and the women of the town appeared in their cheap finery and paraded +before the idlers about the saloon door. + +The woman who rented the room to McGregor boasted to him of Wycliff +blood. It was that she told him that had brought her to Chicago from +her home at Cairo, Illinois. "The place was left to me and not knowing +what else to do with it I came here to live," she said. She explained +to him that the Wycliffs had been people of note in the early history +of Chicago. The huge old house with the cracked stone steps and the +ROOMS TO RENT sign in the window had once been their family seat. + +The history of this woman was characteristic of the miss-fire quality +of much of American life. She was at bottom a wholesome creature who +should have lived in a neat frame house in a village and tended a +garden. On Sunday she should have dressed herself with care and gone +off to sit in a country church with her hands crossed and her soul at +rest. + +The thought of owning a house in the city had however paralysed her +brain. The house itself was worth a certain number of thousands of +dollars and her mind could not rise above that fact, so her good broad +face had become grimy with city dirt and her body weary from the +endless toil of caring for roomers. On summer evenings she sat on the +steps before her house clad in some bit of Wycliff finery taken from a +trunk in the attic and when a lodger came out at the door she looked +at him wistfully and said, "On such a night as this you could hear the +whistles on the river steamers in Cairo." + +McGregor lived in a small room at the end of a tall on the second +floor of the Wycliff house. The windows of the room looked down into a +dirty little court almost surrounded by brick warehouses. The room was +furnished with a bed, a chair that vas always threatening to come to +pieces and a desk with weak carved legs. + +In this room sat McGregor night after night striving to realise his +Coal Creek dream of training his mind and making himself of some +account in the world. From seven-thirty until nine-thirty he sat at a +desk in a night school. From ten until midnight he read in his room. +He did not think of his surroundings, of the vast disorder of life +about him, but tried with all his strength to bring something like +order and purpose into his own mind and his own life. + +In the little court under the window lay heaps of discarded newspaper +tossed about by the wind. There in the heart of the city, walled in by +the brick warehouse and half concealed under piles of chair legs cans +and broken bottles, lay two logs in their time no doubt, a part of the +grove that once lay about the house. The neighbourhood had passed so +rapidly from country estate to homes and from homes to rented lodgings +and huge brick warehouses that the marks of the lumberman's axe still +showed in the butts of the logs. + +McGregor seldom saw the little court except when its ugliness was +refined and glossed over by darkness or by the moonlight. On hot +evenings he laid down his book and leaning far out of the window +rubbed his eyes and watched the discarded newspapers, worried by the +whirlpools of wind in the court, run here and there, dashing against +the warehouse walls and vainly trying to escape over the roof. The +sight fascinated him and brought a thought into his mind. He began to +think that the lives of most of the people about him were much like +the dirty newspaper harried by adverse winds and surrounded by ugly +walls of facts. The thought drove him from the window to renewed +effort among his books. "I'll do something here anyway. I'll show +them," he growled. + +One living in the house with McGregor during those first years in the +city might have thought his life stupid and commonplace but to him it +did not seem so. It was for the miner's son a time of sudden and +tremendous growth. Filled with confidence in the strength and +quickness of his body he was beginning to have also confidence in the +vigour and clearness of his brain. In the warehouse he went about with +eyes and ears open, devising in his mind new methods of moving goods, +watching the men at work, marking the shirkers, preparing to pounce +upon the tall German's place as foreman. + +The superintendent of the warehouse, not understanding the turn of the +talk with McGregor on the sidewalk before the saloon, decided to like +him and laughed when they met in the warehouse. The tall German +maintained a policy of sullen silence and went to laborious lengths to +avoid addressing him. + +In his room at night McGregor began to read law, reading each page +over and over and thinking of what he had read through the next day as +he rolled and piled apple barrels in the passages in the warehouse. + +McGregor had an aptitude and an appetite for facts. He read law as +another and gentler nature might have read poetry or old legends. What +he read at night he remembered and thought about during the day. He +had no dream of the glories of the law. The fact that these rules laid +down by men to govern their social organisation were the result of +ages of striving toward perfection did not greatly interest him and he +only thought of them as weapons with which to attack and defend in the +battle of brains he meant presently to fight. His mind gloated in +anticipation of the battle. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +And then a new element asserted itself in the life of McGregor. One of +the hundreds of disintegrating forces that attack strong natures, +striving to scatter their force in the back currents of life, attacked +him. His big body began to feel with enervating persistency the call +of sex. + +In the house in Wycliff Place McGregor passed as a mystery. By keeping +silence he won a reputation for wisdom. The clerks in the hall +bedrooms thought him a scientist. The woman from Cairo thought him a +theological student. Down the hall a pretty girl with large black eyes +who worked in a department store down town dreamed of him at night. +When in the evening he banged the door to his room and strode down the +hallway going to the night school she sat in a chair by the open door +of her room. As he passed she raised her eyes and looked at him +boldly. When he returned she was again by the door and again she +looked boldly at him. + +In his room, after the meetings with the black-eyed girl McGregor +found difficulty in keeping his mind on the reading. He felt as he had +felt with the pale girl on the hillside beyond Coal Creek. With her as +with the pale girl he felt the need of defending himself. He began to +make it a practice to hurry along past her door. + +The girl in the hall bedroom thought constantly of McGregor. When he +had gone to night school another young man of the house who wore a +Panama hat came from the floor above and, putting his hands on the +door frames of her room, stood looking at her and talking. In his lips +he held a cigarette, which when he talked hung limply from the corner +of his mouth. + +This young man and the black-eyed girl kept up a continuous stream of +comments on the doings of red-haired McGregor. Begun by the young man, +who hated him because of his silence, the subject was kept alive by +the girl who wanted to talk of McGregor. + +On Saturday nights the young man and the girl sometimes went together +to the theatre. One night in the summer when they had returned to the +front of the house the girl stopped. "Let's see what the big red-head +is doing," she said. + +Going around the block they stole in the darkness down an alleyway and +stood in the little dirty court looking up at McGregor who, with his +feet in the window and a lamp burning at his shoulder, sat in his room +reading. + +When they returned to the front of the house the black-eyed girl +kissed the young man, closing her eyes and thinking of McGregor. In +her room later she lay abed dreaming. She imagined herself assaulted +by the young man who had crept into her room and that McGregor had +come roaring down the hall to snatch him away and fling him outside +the door. + +At the end of the hallway near the stairway leading to the street +lived a barber. He had deserted a wife and four children in a town in +Ohio and to prevent recognition had grown a black beard. Between this +man and McGregor a companionship had sprung up and they went together +on Sunday mornings to walk in the park. The black bearded man called +himself Frank Turner. + +Frank Turner had a passion. Through the evenings and on Sunday +afternoons he sat in his room making violins. He worked with a knife, +glue, pieces of glass and sand paper and spent his earnings for +ingredients for the making of varnishes. When he got hold of a piece +of wood that seemed an answer to his prayers he took it to McGregor's +room and holding it up to the light talked of what he would do with +it. Sometimes he brought a violin and sitting in the open window +tested the quality of its tone. One evening he took an hour of +McGregor's time to talk of the varnish of Cremona and to read to him +from a worn little book concerning the old Italian masters of violin +making. + + * * * * * + +On a bench in the park sat Turner, the maker of violins, the man who +dreamed of the rediscovery of the varnish of Cremona, talking to +McGregor, son of the Pennsylvania miner. + +It was a Sunday afternoon and the park was vibrant with life. All day +the street cars had been unloading Chicagoans at the park entrance. +They came in pairs and in parties, young men with their sweethearts +and fathers with families at their heels. Now at the end of the day +they continued to come, a steady stream of humanity flowing along the +gravel walk past the bench where the two men sat in talk. Through the +stream and crossing it went another stream homeward bound. Babies +cried. Fathers called to the children at play on the grass. Cars +coming to the park filled went away filled. + +McGregor looked about him and thought of himself and of the restless +moving people. In him there was none of that vague fear of the +multitude common to many solitary souls. His contempt of men and of +the lives lived by men reinforced his native boldness. The odd little +rounding of the shoulders of even the athletic young men made him +straighten with pride his own shoulders and fat and lean, tall and +short, he thought of all men as counters in some vast games at which +he was presently to be a master player. + +The passion for form, that strange intuitive power that many men have +felt and none but the masters of human life have understood, had begun +to awaken in him. Already he had begun to sense out the fact that for +him law was but an incident in some vast design and he was altogether +untouched by the desire for getting on in the world, by the greedy +little snatching at trifles that was the whole purpose of the lives of +so many of the people about him. When somewhere in the park a band +began to play he nodded his head up and down and ran his hand +nervously up and down the legs of his trousers. Into his mind came the +desire to boast to the barber, telling of the things he meant to do in +the world, but he put the desire away. Instead he sat silently +blinking his eyes and wondering at the persistent air of +ineffectiveness in the people who passed. When a band went by playing +march music and followed by some fifty men wearing white plumes in +their hats and walking with self-conscious awkwardness, he was +startled. Among the people he thought there was a change. Something +like a running shadow passed over them. The babbling of voices ceased +and like himself the people began to nod their heads. A thought, +gigantic in its simplicity, began to come into his mind but was wiped +out immediately by his impatience with the marchers. A madness to +spring up and run among them knocking them about and making them march +with the power that comes of abandonment almost lifted him from the +bench. His mouth twitched and his fingers ached for action. + + * * * * * + +In and out among the trees and on the green spaces moved the people. +Along the shores of a pond sat men and women eating the evening meal +from baskets or from white cloths spread on the grass. They laughed +and shouted at each other and at the children, calling them back from +the gravel driveways filled with moving carriages. Beaut saw a girl +throw an egg shell and hit a young fellow between the eyes, and then +run laughing away along the shore of the pond. Under a tree a woman +nursed a babe, covering her breasts with a shawl so that just the +black head of the babe showed. Its tiny hand clutched at the mouth of +the woman. In an open space in the shadow of a building young men +played baseball, the shouts of the spectators rising above the murmur +of the voices of people on the gravel walk. + +A thought came into McGregor's mind that he wanted to discuss with the +older man. He was moved by the sight of women about and shook himself +like one awakening from a dream. Then he began looking at the ground +and kicking up the gravel with his foot. "Look here," he said, turning +to the barber, "what is a man to do about women, about getting what he +wants from the women?" + +The barber seemed to understand. "It has come to that then?" he asked +and looked quickly up. He lighted a pipe and sat looking at the +people. It was then he told McGregor of the wife and four children in +the Ohio town, describing the little brick house and the garden and +the coop for chickens at the back like one who lingers over a place +dear to his fancy. Something old and weary was in his voice as he +finished. + +"It wasn't a matter for me to decide," he said. "I came away because I +couldn't do anything else. I'm not excusing myself, I'm just telling +you. There was something messy and disorderly about it all, about my +life with her and with them. I couldn't stand it. I felt myself being +submerged by something. I wanted to be orderly and to work, you see. I +couldn't let violin making alone. Lord, how I tried--tried bluffing +myself about it--calling it a fad." + +The barber looked nervously at McGregor to reassure himself of his +interest. "I owned a shop on the main street of our town. Back of it +was a blacksmith shop. During the day I stood by the chair in my shop +talking to men being shaved about the love of women and a man's duty +to his family. Summer afternoons I went and sat on a keg in the +blacksmith shop and talked of the same thing with the smith but all +that did me no good. + +"When I let myself go I dreamed not of my duty to my family but of +working undisturbed as I do now here in the city in my room in the +evenings and on Sundays." + +A sharpness came into the voice of the speaker. He turned to McGregor +and talked vigorously like one making a defence. "My woman was a good +enough sort," he said. "I suppose loving is an art like writing a book +or drawing pictures or making violins. People try to do it and don't +succeed. In the end we threw the job up and just lived together like +most people do. Our lives got mussy and meaningless. That's how it +was. + +"Before she married me my wife had been a stenographer in a factory +that made tin cans. She liked that work. She could make her fingers +dance along the keys. When she read a book at home she didn't think +the writer amounted to much if he made mistakes about punctuation. Her +boss was so proud of her that he would brag of her work to visitors +and sometimes would go off fishing leaving the running of the business +in her hands. + +"I don't know why she married me. She was happier there and she is +happier back there now. We got to walking together on Sunday evenings +and standing under the trees on side streets, kissing and looking at +each other. We talked about a lot of things. We seemed to need each +other. Then we got married and started living together. + +"It didn't work out. After we had been married a few years things +changed. I don't know why. I thought I was the same as I had been and +I think she was. We used to sit around quarrelling about it, each +blaming the other. Anyway we didn't get along. + +"We would sit on the little front porch of our house in the evening, +she bragging of the work she had done in the can factory and I +dreaming of quietude and a chance to work on the violins. I thought I +knew a way to increase the quality and beauty of tone and I had that +idea about varnish I have talked to you about. I even dreamed of doing +things those old fellows of Cremona didn't do. + +"When she had been talking of her work in the office for maybe a half +hour she would look up and find that I hadn't been listening. We would +quarrel. We even quarrelled before the children after they came. Once +she said that she didn't see how it would matter if no violins had +ever been made and that night I dreamed of choking her in bed. I woke +up and lay there beside her thinking of it with something like real +satisfaction in just the thought that one long hard grip of my fingers +would get her out of my way for good. + +"We didn't always feel that way. Every little while a change would +come over both of us and we would begin to take an interest in each +other. I would be proud of the work she had done in the factory and +would brag of it to men coming into the shop. In the evening she would +be sympathetic about the violins and put the baby to bed to let me +alone at my work in the kitchen. + +"Then we would begin to sit in the darkness in the house and hold each +other's hands. We would forgive things that had been said and play a +sort of game, chasing each other about the room in the darkness and +knocking against the chairs and laughing. Then we would begin to look +at each other and kiss. Presently there would be another baby." + +The barber threw up his hands with a gesture of impatience. His voice +lost its softer, reminiscent quality. "Such times didn't last," he +said. "On the whole it was no life to live. I came away. The children +are in a state institution and she has gone back to her work in the +office. The town hates me. They have made a heroine of her. I'm here +talking to you with these whiskers on my face so that people from my +town wouldn't know me if they came along. I'm a barber and I would +shave them off fast enough if it wasn't for that." + +A woman walking past looked back at McGregor. In her eyes lurked an +invitation. It reminded him of something in the eyes of the pale +daughter of the undertaker of Coal Creek. An uneasy tremor ran through +him. "What do you do about women now?" he asked. + +The voice of the smaller man arose harsh and excited in the evening +air. "I get the feeling taken out of me as a man would have a tooth +fixed," he said. "I pay money for the service and keep my mind on what +I want to do. There are plenty of women for that, women who are good +for that only. When I first came here I used to wander about at night, +wanting to go to my room and work but with my mind and my will +paralysed by that feeling. I don't do that now and I won't again. What +I do many men do--good men--men who do good work. What's the use +thinking about it when you only run against a stone wall and get +hurt?" + +The black bearded man arose, thrust his hands into his trousers +pockets and looked about him. Then he sat down again. He seemed to be +filled with suppressed excitement. "There is a big hidden something +going on in modern life," he said, talking rapidly and excitedly. "It +used to touch only the men higher up, now it reaches down to men like +me--barbers and workingmen. Men know about it but don't talk and don't +dare think. Their women have changed. Women used to be willing to do +anything for men, just be slaves to them. The best men don't ask that +now and don't want that." + +He jumped to his feet and stood over McGregor. "Men don't understand +what's going on and don't care," he said. "They are too busy getting +things done or going to ball games or quarrelling about politics. + +"And what do they know about it if they are fools enough to think? +They get thrown into false notions. They see about them a lot of fine +purposeful women maybe caring for their children and they blame +themselves for their vices and are ashamed. Then they turn to the +other women anyway, shutting their eyes and going ahead. They pay for +what they want as they would pay for a dinner, thinking no more of the +women who serve them than they do of the waitresses who serve them in +the restaurants. They refuse to think of the new kind of woman that is +growing up. They know that if they get sentimental about her they'll +get into trouble or get new tests put to them, be disturbed you see, +and spoil their work or their peace of mind. They don't want to get +into trouble or be disturbed. They want to get a better job or enjoy a +ball game or build a bridge or write a book. They think that a man who +gets sentimental about any woman is a fool and of course he is." + +"Do you mean that all of them do that?" asked McGregor. He wasn't +upset by what had been said. It struck him as being true. For himself +he was afraid of women. It seemed to him that a road was being built +by his companion along which he might travel with safety. He wanted +the man to go on talking. Into his brain flashed the thought that if +he had the thing to do over there would have been a different ending +to the afternoon spent with the pale girl on the hillside. + +The barber sat down upon the bench. The flush out of his cheeks. "Well +I have done pretty well myself," he said, "but then you know I make +violins and don't think of women. I've been in Chicago two years and +I've spent just eleven dollars. I would like to know what the average +man spends. I wish some fellow would get the facts and publish them. +It would make people sit up. There must be millions spent here every +year." + +"You see I'm not very strong and I stand all day on my feet in the +barber shop." He looked at McGregor and laughed. "The black-eyed girl +in the hall is after you," he said. "You'd better look out. You let +her alone. Stick to your law books. You are not like me. You are big +and red and strong. Eleven dollars won't pay your way here in Chicago +for no two years." + +McGregor looked again at the people moving toward the park entrance in +the gathering darkness. He thought it wonderful that a brain could +think a thing out so clearly and words express thoughts so lucidly. +His eagerness to follow the passing girls with his eyes was gone. He +was interested in the older man's viewpoint. "And what about +children?" he asked. + +The older man sat sideways on the bench. There was a troubled look in +his eyes and a suppressed eager quality in his voice. "I'm going to +tell you about that," he said. "I don't want to keep anything back. + +"Look here!" he demanded, sliding along the bench toward McGregor and +emphasising his points by slapping one hand down upon the other. +"Ain't all children my children?" He paused, trying to gather his +scattered thoughts into words. When McGregor started to speak he put +his hand up as though to ward off a new thought or another question. +"I'm not trying to dodge," he said. "I'm trying to get thoughts that +have been in my head day after day in shape to tell. I haven't tried +to express them before. I know men and women cling to their children. +It's the only thing they have left of the dream they had before they +married. I felt that way. It held me for a long time. It would be +holding me now only that the violins pulled so hard at me." + +He threw up his hand impatiently. "You see I had to find an answer. I +couldn't think of being a skunk--running away--and I couldn't stay. I +wasn't intended to stay. Some men are intended to work and take care +of children and serve women perhaps but others have to keep trying for +a vague something all their lives--like me trying for a tone on a +violin. If they don't get it it doesn't matter, they have to keep +trying. + +"My wife used to say I'd get tired of it. No woman ever really +understands a man caring for anything except herself. I knocked that +out of her." + +The little man looked up at McGregor. "Do you think I'm a skunk?" he +asked. + +McGregor looked at him gravely. "I don't know," he said. "Go on and +tell me about the children." + +"I said they were the last things to cling to. They are. We used to +have religion. But that's pretty well gone now--the old kind. Now men +think about children, I mean a certain kind of men--the ones that have +work they want to get on with. Children and work are the only things +that kind care about. If they have a sentiment about women it's only +about their own--the one they have in the house with them. They want +to keep that one finer than they are themselves. So they work the +other feeling out on the paid women. + +"Women fuss about men loving children. Much they care. It's only a +plan for demanding adulation for themselves that they don't earn. +Once, when I first came to the city, I took a place as servant in a +wealthy family. I wanted to stay under cover until my beard grew. +Women used to come there to receptions and to meetings in the +afternoon to talk about reforms they were interested in----Bah! They +work and scheme trying to get at men. They are at it all their lives, +flattering, diverting us, giving us false ideas, pretending to be weak +and uncertain when they are strong and determined. They have no mercy. +They wage war on us trying to make us slaves. They want to take us +captive home to their houses as Caesar took captives home to Rome. + +"You look here!" He jumped to his feet again and shook his fingers at +McGregor. "You just try something. You try being open and frank and +square with a woman--any woman--as you would with a man. Let her live +her own life and ask her to let you live yours. You try it. She won't. +She will die first." + +He sat down again upon the bench and shook his head back and forth. +"Lord how I wish I could talk!" he said. "I'm making a muddle of this +and I wanted to tell you. Oh, how I wanted to tell you! It's part of +my idea that a man should tell a boy all he knows. We've got to quit +lying to them." + +McGregor looked at the ground. He was profoundly and deeply moved and +interested as he had never before been moved by anything but hate. + +Two women coming along the gravel walk stopped under a tree and looked +back. The barber smiled and raised his hat. When they smiled back at +him he rose and started toward them. "Come on boy," he whispered +behind his hand to McGregor. "Let's get them." + +When McGregor looked up the scene before his eyes infuriated him. The +smiling barber with his hat in his hand, the two women waiting under +the tree, the look of half-guilty innocence on the faces of all of +them, stirred a blind fury in his brain. He sprang forward, clutching +the shoulder of Turner with his hand. Whirling him about he threw him +to his hands and knees. "Get out of here you females!" he roared at +the women who ran off in terror down the walk. + +The barber sat again upon the bench beside McGregor. He rubbed his +hands together to brush the bits of gravel out of the flesh. "What's +got wrong with you?" he asked. + +McGregor hesitated. He wondered how he should tell what was in his +mind. "Everything in its place," he said finally. "I wanted to go on +with our talk." + +Lights flashed out of the darkness of the park. The two men sat on the +bench thinking each his own thoughts. + +"I want to take some work out of the clamps to-night," the barber +said, looking at his watch. Together the two men walked along the +street. "Look here," said McGregor. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Those +two women that came up and interfered with what we were working out +made me furious." + +"Women always interfere," said the barber. "They raise hell with men." +His mind ran out and began to play with the world-old problem of the +sexes. "If a lot of women fall in the fight with us men and become our +slaves--serving us as the paid women do--need they fuss about it? Let +them be game and try to help work it out as men have been game and +have worked and thought through ages of perplexity and defeat." + +The barber stopped on the street corner to fill and light his pipe. +"Women can change everything when they want to," he said, looking at +McGregor and letting the match burn out in his fingers. "They can have +motherhood pensions and room to work out their own problem in the +world or anything else that they really want. They can stand up face +to face with men. They don't want to. They want to enslave us with +their faces and their bodies. They want to carry on the old, old weary +fight." He tapped McGregor on the arm. "If a few of us--wanting with +all our might to get something done--beat them at their own game, +don't we deserve the victory?" he asked. + +"But sometimes I think I would like a woman to live with, you know, +just to sit and talk with me," said McGregor. + +The barber laughed. Puffing at his pipe he walked down the street. "To +be sure! To be sure!" he said. "I would. Any man would. I like to sit +in the room for a spell in the evening talking to you but I would hate +to give up violin making and be bound all my life to serve you and +your purposes just the same." + +In the hallway of their own house the barber spoke to McGregor as he +looked down the hallway to where the door of the black eyed girl's +room had just crept open. "You let women alone," he said; "when you +feel you can't stay away from them any longer you come and talk it +over with me." + +McGregor nodded and went along the hallway to his own room. In the +darkness he stood by the window and looked down into the court. The +feeling of hidden power, the ability to rise above the mess into which +modern life had sunk that had come to him in the park, returned and he +walked nervously about. When finally he sat down upon a chair and +leaning forward put his head in his hands he felt like one who has +started on a long journey through a strange and dangerous country and +who has unexpectedly come upon a friend going the same way. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The people of Chicago go home from their work at evening--drifting +they go in droves, hurrying along. It is a startling thing to look +closely at them. The people have bad mouths. Their mouths are slack +and the jaws do not hang right. The mouths are like the shoes they +wear. The shoes have become run down at the corners from too much +pounding on the hard pavements and the mouths have become crooked from +too much weariness of soul. + +Something is wrong with modern American life and we Americans do not +want to look at it. We much prefer to call ourselves a great people +and let it go at that. + +It is evening and the people of Chicago go home from work. Clatter, +clatter, clatter, go the heels on the hard pavements, jaws wag, the +wind blows and dirt drifts and sifts through the masses of the people. +Every one has dirty ears. The stench in the street cars is horrible. +The antiquated bridges over the rivers are packed with people. The +suburban trains going away south and west are cheaply constructed and +dangerous. A people calling itself great and living in a city also +called great go to their houses a mere disorderly mass of humans +cheaply equipped. Everything is cheap. When the people get home to +their houses they sit on cheap chairs before cheap tables and eat +cheap food. They have given their lives for cheap things. The poorest +peasant of one of the old countries is surrounded by more beauty. His +very equipment for living has more solidity. + +The modern man is satisfied with what is cheap and unlovely because he +expects to rise in the world. He has given his life to that dreary +dream and he is teaching his children to follow the same dream. +McGregor was touched by it. Being confused by the matter of sex he had +listened to the advice of the barber and meant to settle things in the +cheap way. One evening a month after the talk in the park he hurried +along Lake Street on the West Side with that end in view. It was near +eight o'clock and growing dark and McGregor should have been at the +night school. Instead he walked along the street looking at the ill- +kept frame houses. A fever burned in his blood. An impulse, for the +moment stronger than the impulse that kept him at work over books +night after night there in the big disorderly city and as yet stronger +than any new impulse toward a vigorous compelling march through life, +had hold of him. His eyes stared into the windows. He hurried along +filled with a lust that stultified his brain and will. A woman sitting +at the window of a little frame house smiled and beckoned to him. + +McGregor walked along the path leading to the little frame house. The +path ran through a squalid yard. It was a foul place like the court +under his window behind the house in Wycliff Place. Here also +discoloured papers worried by the wind ran about in crazy circles. +McGregor's heart pounded and his mouth felt dry and unpleasant. He +wondered what he should say and how he should say it when he came into +the presence of the woman. He wished there were some one to be hit +with his fist. He didn't want to make love, he wanted relief. He would +have much preferred a fight. + +The veins in McGregor's neck began to swell and as he stood in the +darkness before the door of the house he swore. He stared up and down +the street but the sky, the sight of which might have helped him, was +hidden from view by the structure of an elevated railroad. Pushing +open the door of the house he stepped in. In the dim light he could +see nothing but a form sprang out of the darkness and a pair of +powerful arms pinned his hands to his sides. McGregor looked quickly +about A man huge as himself held him tightly against the door. He had +one glass eye and a stubby black beard and in the half light looked +sinister and dangerous. The hand of the woman who had beckoned to him +from the window fumbled in McGregor's pockets and came out clutching a +little roll of money. Her face, set now and ugly like the man's, +looked up at him from under the arms of her ally. + +In a moment McGregor's heart stopped pounding and the dry unpleasant +taste went out of his mouth. He felt relieved and glad at this sudden +turn to the affair. + +With a quick upward snap of his knees into the stomach of the man who +had held him McGregor freed himself. A swinging blow to the neck sent +his assailant groaning to the floor. McGregor sprang across the room. +In the corner by the bed he caught the woman. Clutching her by the +hair he whirled her about. "Hand over that money," he said fiercely. + +The woman put up her hands and plead with him. The grip of his hands +in her hair brought the tears to her eyes. She thrust the roll of +bills into his hands and waited, trembling, thinking he intended to +kill her. + +A new feeling swept over McGregor. The thought of having come into the +house at the invitation of this woman was revolting to him. He +wondered how he could have been such a beast. As he stood in the dim +light thinking of this and looking at the woman he became lost in +thought and wondered why the idea given him by the barber, that had +seemed so clear and sensible, now seemed so foolish. His eyes stared +at the woman as his mind returned to the black-bearded barber talking +on the park bench and he was seized with a blind fury, a fury not +directed at the people in the foul little room but at himself and his +own blindness. Again a great hatred of the disorder of life took hold +of him and as though all of the disorderly people of the world were +personified in her he swore and shook the woman as a dog might have +shaken a foul rag. + +"Sneak. Dodger. Mussy fool," he muttered, thinking of himself as a +giant attacked by some nauseous beast. The woman screamed with terror. +Seeing the look on her assailant's face and mistaking the meaning of +his words she trembled and thought again of death. Reaching under the +pillow on the bed she got another roll of bills and thrust that also +into McGregor's hands. "Please go," she plead. "We were mistaken. We +thought you were some one else." + +McGregor strode to the door past the man on the floor who groaned and +rolled about. He walked around the corner to Madison Street and +boarded a car for the night school. Sitting in the car he counted the +money in the roll thrust into his hand by the kneeling woman and +laughed so that the people in the car looked at him in amazement. +"Turner has spent eleven dollars among them in two years and I have +got twenty-seven dollars in one night," he thought. He jumped off the +car and walked along under the street lights striving to think things +out. "I can't depend on any one," he muttered. "I have to make my own +way. The barber is as confused as the rest of them and he doesn't know +it. There is a way out of the confusion and I'm going to find it, but +I'll have to do it alone. I can't take any one's word for anything." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The matter of McGregor's attitude toward women and the call of sex was +not of course settled by the fight in the house in Lake Street. He was +a man who, even in the days of his great crudeness, appealed strongly +to the mating instinct in women and more than once his purpose was to +be shaken and his mind disturbed by the forms, the faces and the eyes +of women. + +McGregor thought he had settled the matter. He forgot the black-eyed +girl in the hallway and thought only of advancement in the warehouse +and of study in his room at night. Now and then he took an evening off +and went for a walk through the streets or in one of the parks. + +In the streets of Chicago, under the night lights, among the restless +moving people he was a figure to be remembered. Sometimes he did not +see the people at all but went swinging along in the same spirit in +which he had walked in the Pennsylvania hills. He was striving to get +a hold of some elusive quality in life that seemed to be forever out +of reach. He did not want to be a lawyer or a warehouseman. What did +he want? Along the street he went trying to make up his mind and +because his was not a gentle nature his perplexity drove him to anger +and he swore. + +Up and down Madison Street he went striding along, his lips muttering +words. In a corner saloon some one played a piano. Groups of girls +passed laughing and talking. He came to the bridge that led over the +river into the loop district and then turned restlessly back. On the +sidewalks along Canal Street he saw strong-bodied men loitering before +cheap lodging houses. Their clothing was filthy with long wear and +there was no light of determination in their faces. In the little fine +interstices of the cloth of which their clothes were made was gathered +the filth of the city in which they lived and in the stuff of their +natures the filth and disorder of modern civilisation had also found +lodging. + +On walked McGregor looking at man-made things and the flame of anger +within burned stronger and stronger. He saw the drifting clouds of +people of all nations that wander at night in Halstead Street and +turning into a side street saw also the Italians, Poles and Russians +that at evening gather on the sidewalks before tenements in that +district. + +The desire in McGregor for some kind of activity became a madness. His +body shook with the strength of his desire to end the vast disorder of +life. With all the ardour of youth he wanted to see if with the +strength of his arm he could shake mankind out of its sloth. A drunken +man passed and following him came a large man with a pipe in his +mouth. The large man did not walk with any suggestion of power in his +legs. He shambled along. He was like a huge child with fat cheeks and +great untrained body, a child without muscles and hardness, clinging +to the skirts of life. + +McGregor could not bear the sight of the big ungainly figure. The man +seemed to personify all of the things against which his soul was in +revolt and he stopped and stood crouched, a ferocious light burning in +his eyes. + +Into the gutter rolled the man stunned by the force of the blow dealt +him by the miner's son. He crawled on his hands and knees and cried +for help. His pipe had rolled away into the darkness. McGregor stood +on the sidewalk and waited. A crowd of men standing before a tenement +house started to run toward him. Again he crouched. He prayed that +they would come on and let him fight them also. In anticipation of a +great struggle joy shone in his eyes and his muscles twitched. + +And then the man in the gutter got to his feet and ran away. The men +who had started to run toward him stopped and turned back. McGregor +walked on, his heart heavy with the sense of defeat. He was a little +sorry for the man he had struck and who had made so ridiculous a +figure crawling about on his hands and knees and he was more perplexed +than ever. + + * * * * * + +McGregor tried again to solve the problem of women. He had been much +pleased by the outcome of the affair in the little frame house and the +next day bought law books with the twenty-seven dollars thrust into +his hand by the frightened woman. Later he stood in his room +stretching his great body like a lion returned from the kill and +thought of the little black-bearded barber in the room at the end of +the hall stooping over his violin, his mind busy with the attempt to +justify himself because he would not face one of life's problems. The +feeling of resentment against the man had gone. He thought of the +course laid out for himself by that philosopher and laughed. "There is +something about it to avoid, like giving yourself up to digging in the +dirt under the ground," he told himself. + +McGregor's second adventure began on a Saturday night and again he let +himself be led into it by the barber. The night was hot and the +younger man sat in his room filled with a desire to go forth and +explore the city. The quiet of the house, the distant rumble of street +cars, the sound of a band playing far down the street disturbed and +diverted his mind. He wished that he might take a stick in his hands +and go forth to prowl among the hills as he had gone on such nights in +his youth in the Pennsylvania town. + +The door to his room opened and the barber came in. In his hand he +held two tickets. He sat on the window sill to explain. + +"There is a dance in a hall on Monroe Street," said the barber +excitedly. "I have two tickets here. A politician sold them to the +boss in the shop where I work." The barber threw back his head and +laughed. To his mind there was something delicious in the thought of +the boss barber being forced by the politicians to buy dance tickets. +"They cost two dollars each," he cried and shook with laughter "You +should have seen my boss squirm. He didn't want the tickets but was +afraid not to take them. The politician could make trouble for him and +he knew it. You see we make a hand-book on the races in the shop and +that is against the law. The politician could make trouble for us. The +boss paid out the four dollars swearing under his breath and when the +politician had gone out he threw them at me. 'There, take them,' he +shouted, 'I don't want the rotten things. Is a man a horse trough at +which every beast can stop to drink?'" + +McGregor and the barber sat in the room laughing at the boss barber +who had smilingly bought the tickets while consumed with inward wrath. +The barber urged McGregor to go with him to the dance. "We will make a +night of it," he said. "We will see women there--two that I know. They +live upstairs over a grocery store. I have been with them. They will +open your eyes. They are a kind of women you haven't known, bold and +clever and good fellows too." + +McGregor got up and pulled his shirt over his head. A wave of feverish +excitement ran over his body. "We shall see about this," he said, "we +shall see if this is another wrong trail you are starting me on. You +go to your room and get ready. I am going to fix myself up." + +In the dance hall McGregor sat on a seat by the wall with one of the +two women lauded by the barber and a third one who was frail and +bloodless. To him the adventure had been a failure. The swing of the +dance music struck no answering chord in him. He saw the couples on +the floor clasped in each other's arms, writhing and turning, swaying +back and forth, looking into each other's eyes and turned aside +wishing himself back in his room among the law books. + +The barber talked to two of the women, bantering them. McGregor +thought the conversation inane and trivial. It skirted the edge of +things and ran off into vague references to other times and adventures +of which he knew nothing. + +The barber danced away with one of the women. She was tall and the +head of the barber barely Passed her shoulder. His black beard shone +against her white dress. The two women sat beside him and talked. +McGregor gathered that the frail woman was a maker of hats. Something +about her attracted him and he leaned against the wall and looked at +her, not hearing the talk. + +A youth came up and took the other woman away. From across the hall +the barber beckoned to him. + +A thought flashed into his mind. This woman beside him was frail and +thin and bloodless like the women of Coal Creek. A feeling of intimacy +with her came over him. He felt as he had felt concerning the tall +pale girl of Coal Creek when they together gether had climbed the hill +to the eminence that looked down into the valley of farms. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Edith Carson the milliner, whom fate had thrown into the company of +McGregor, was a frail woman of thirty-four and lived alone in two +rooms at the back of her millinery store. Her life was almost devoid +of colour. On Sunday morning she wrote a long letter to her family on +an Indiana farm and then put on a hat from among the samples in the +show case along the wall and went to church, sitting by herself in the +same seat Sunday after Sunday and afterward remembering nothing of the +sermon. + +On Sunday afternoon Edith went by street-car to a park and walked +alone under the trees. If it threatened rain she sat in the larger of +the two rooms back of the shop sewing on new dresses for herself or +for a sister who had married a blacksmith in the Indiana town and who +had four children. + +Edith had soft mouse-coloured hair and grey eyes with small brown +spots on the iris. She was so slender that she wore pads about her +body under her dress to fill it out. In her youth she had had a +sweetheart--a fat round-cheeked boy who lived on the next farm. Once +they had gone together to the fair at the county seat and coming home +in the buggy at night he had put his arm about her and kissed her. +"You ain't very big," he had said. + +Edith sent to a mail order house in Chicago and bought the padding +which she wore under her dress With it came an oil which she rubbed on +herself. The label on the bottle spoke of the contents with great +respect as a wonderful developer. The heavy pads wore raw places on +her side against which her clothes rubbed but she bore the pain with +grim stoicism, remembering what the fat boy had said. + +After Edith came to Chicago and opened a shop of her own she had a +letter from her former admirer. "It pleases me to think that the same +wind that blows over me blows also over you," it said. After that one +letter she did not hear from him again. He had the phrase out of a +book he had read and had written the letter to Edith that he might use +it. After the letter had gone he thought of her frail figure and +repented of the impulse that had tricked him into writing. Half in +alarm he began courting and soon married another girl. + +Sometimes on her rare visits home Edith had seen her former lover +driving along the road. The sister who had married the blacksmith said +that he was stingy, that his wife had nothing to wear but a cheap +calico dress and that on Saturday he drove off to town alone, leaving +her to milk the cows and feed the pigs and horses. Once he encountered +Edith on the road and tried to get her into the wagon to ride with +him. Although she had walked along the road ignoring him she took the +letter about the wind that blew over them both out of a drawer on +spring evenings or after a walk in the park and read it over. After +she had read it she sat in the darkness at the front of the store +looking through the screen door at people in the street and wondered +what life would mean to her if she had a man on whom she could bestow +her love. In her heart she believed that, unlike the wife of the fat +youth, she would have borne children. + +In Chicago Edith Carson had made money. She had a genius for economy +in the management of her business. In six years she had cleared a +large debt from the shop and had a comfortable balance in the bank. +Girls who worked in factories or in stores came and left most of their +meagre surplus in her shop and other girls who didn't work came in, +throwing dollars about and talking about "gentlemen friends." Edith +hated the bargaining but attended to it with shrewdness and with a +quiet disarming little smile on her face. What she liked was to sit +quietly in the room and trim hats. When the business grew she had a +woman to tend the shop and a girl to sit beside her and help with the +hats. She had a friend, the wife of a motorman on the street-car line, +who sometimes came to see her in the evening. The friend was a plump +little woman, dissatisfied with her marriage, and she got Edith to +make her several new hats a year for which she paid nothing. + +Edith went to the dance at which she met McGregor with the motorman's +wife and a girl who lived upstairs over a bakery next door to the +shop, The dance was held in a hall over a saloon and was given for the +benefit of a political organisation in which the baker was a leader. +The wife of the baker came in and sold Edith two tickets, one for +herself and one for the wife of the motorman who happened to be +sitting with her at the time. + +That evening after the motorman's wife had gone home Edith decided to +go to the dance and the decision was something like an adventure in +itself. The night was hot and sultry, lightning flashed in the sky and +clouds of dust swept down the street. Edith sat in the darkness behind +the bolted screen door and looked at the people who hurried homeward +down the street. A wave of revolt at the narrowness and emptiness of +her life ran through her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed the +shop door and going into the room at the back lighted the gas and +stood looking at herself in the mirror. "I'll go to the dance," she +thought. "Perhaps I shall get a man. If he won't marry me he can have +what he wants of me anyway." + +In the dance hall Edith sat demurely by the wall near a window and +watched the couples whirl about on the floor. Through an open door she +could see couples sitting in another room around tables and drinking +beer. A tall young man in white trousers and white slippers went about +on the dance floor. He smiled and bowed to the women. Once he started +across the floor toward Edith and her heart beat rapidly, but just +when she thought he intended to speak to her and to the motorman's +wife he turned and went to another part of the room. Edith followed +him with her eyes, admiring his white trousers and his shining white +teeth. + +The wife of the motorman went away with a small straight man with a +grey moustache whom Edith thought had unpleasant eyes and two girls +came and sat beside her. They were customers of her store and lived +together in a flat over a grocery on Monroe Street. Edith had heard +the girl who sat in the workroom with her speak slightingly of them. +The three sat together along the wall and talked of hats. + +And then across the floor of the dance hall came two men, a huge red- +haired fellow and a little man with a black beard. The two women +hailed them and the five sat together making a party by the wall, the +little man keeping up a running stream of comments about the people on +the floor with Edith's two companions. A dance struck up and taking +one of the women the black-bearded man danced away. Edith and the +other woman again talked of hats. The huge fellow beside her said +nothing but followed the women about the dance hall with his eyes. +Edith thought she had never seen so homely a fellow. + +At the end of the dance the black-bearded man went through the door +into the room filled with little tables and made a sign to the red- +haired man to follow. A boyish looking fellow appeared and went away +with the other woman and Edith sat alone on the bench by the wall +beside McGregor. + +"This place doesn't interest me," said McGregor quickly. "I don't like +to sit watching people hop about on their toes. If you want to come +with me we'll get out of here and go to some place where we can talk +and get acquainted." + + * * * * * + +The little milliner walked across the floor on the arm of McGregor, +her heart jumping with excitement. "I've got a man," she thought, +exulting. That the man had deliberately chosen her she knew. She had +heard the introductions and the bantering talk of the black-bearded +man and had noted the indifference of the big man to the other women. + +Edith looked at her companion's huge frame and forgot his homeliness. +Into her mind came a picture of the fat boy, grown into a man, driving +down the road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride with him. +A flood of anger at the memory of the look of greedy assurance in his +eyes came over her. "This one could knock him over a six-rail fence," +she thought. + +"Where are we going now?" she asked. + +McGregor looked down at her. "To some place where we can talk," he +said. "I was sick of this place. You ought to know where we're going. +I'm going with you. You aren't going with me." + +McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt he would like to take +this woman over the hill and sit on the log to talk of his father. + +As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of the resolution she +had made as she stood before the mirror in her room at the back of the +shop on the evening when she had decided to come to the dance. She +wondered if the great adventure was about to come to her and her hand +trembled on McGregor's arm. A hot wave of hope and fear shot through +her. + +At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with uncertain hands as +she unlocked the door. A delicious feeling shook her. She felt like a +bride, glad and yet ashamed and afraid. + +In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted the gas and +pulling off his overcoat threw it on the couch at the side of the +room. He was not in the least excited and with a steady hand lighted +the fire in the little stove and then looking up he asked Edith if he +might smoke. He had the air of a man come home to his own house and +the woman sat on the edge of her chair to unpin her hat and waited +hopefully to see what course the night's adventure would take. + +For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in Edith Carson's room +and talked of Coal Creek and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely, +letting himself go as a man might in talking to one of his own people +after a long absence. His attitude and the quiet ring in his voice +confused and puzzled Edith. She had expected something quite +different. + +Going to the little room at the side she brought forth a teakettle and +prepared to make tea. The big man still sat in her chair smoking and +talking. A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over her. +She thought her room beautiful but mingled with her satisfaction was a +faint grey streak of fear. "Of course he won't come back again," she +thought. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the year following the beginning of his acquaintanceship with Edith +Carson McGregor continued to work hard and steadily in the warehouse +and with his books at night. He was promoted to be foreman, replacing +the German, and he thought he had made progress with his studies. When +he did not go to the night school he went to Edith Carson's place and +sat reading a book and smoking his pipe by a little table in the back +room. + +About the room and in and out of her shop moved Edith, going softly +and quietly. A light began to come into her eyes and colour into her +cheeks. She did not talk but new and daring thoughts visited her mind +and a thrill of reawakened life ran through her body. With gentle +insistence she did not let her dreams express themselves in words and +almost hoped that she might be able to go on forever thus, having this +strong man come into her presence and sit absorbed in his own affairs +within the walls of her house. Sometimes she wanted him to talk and +wished that she had the power to lead him into the telling of little +facts of his life. She wanted to be told of his mother and father, of +his boyhood in the Pennsylvania town, of his dreams and his desires +but for the most part she was content to wait and only hoped that +nothing would happen to bring an end to her waiting. + +McGregor began to read books of history and became absorbed in the +figures of certain men, all soldiers and leaders of soldiers who +stalked across the pages wherein was written the story of man's life. +The figures of Sherman, Grant, Lee, Jackson, Alexander, Caesar, +Napoleon, and Wellington seemed to him to stand starkly up among the +other figures in the books and going to the Public Library at the noon +hour he got books concerning these men and for a time lost interest in +the study of law and devoted himself to contemplation of the breakers +of laws. + +There was something beautiful about McGregor in those days. He was as +virginal and pure as a chunk of the hard black coal out of the hills +of his own state and like the coal ready to burn himself out into +power. Nature had been kind to him. He had the gift of silence and of +isolation. All about him were other men, perhaps as strong physically +as himself and with better trained minds who were being destroyed and +he was not being destroyed. For the others life let itself run out in +the endless doing of little tasks, the thinking of little thoughts and +the saying of groups of words over and over endlessly like parrots +that sit in cages and earn their bread by screaming two or three +sentences to passers by. + +It is a terrible thing to speculate on how man has been defeated by +his ability to say words. The brown bear in the forest has no such +power and the lack of it has enabled him to retain a kind of nobility +of bearing sadly lacking in us. On and on through life we go, +socialists, dreamers, makers of laws, sellers of goods and believers +in suffrage for women and we continuously say words, worn-out words, +crooked words, words without power or pregnancy in them. + +The matter is one to be thought of seriously by youths and maidens +inclined to garrulousness. Those who have the habit of it will never +change. The gods who lean over the rim of the world to laugh at us +have marked them for their barrenness. + +And yet the word must run on. McGregor, the silent, wanted his word. +He wanted his true note as an individual to ring out above the hubbub +of voices and then he wanted to use the strength and the virility +within himself to carry his word far. What he did not want was that +his mouth become foul and his brain become numb with the saying of the +words and the thinking of the thoughts of other men and that he in his +turn become a mere toiling food-consuming chattering puppet to the +gods. + +For a long time the miner's son wondered what power lay in the men +whose figures stood up so boldly in the pages of the books he read. He +tried to think the matter out as he sat in Edith's room or walked by +himself through the streets. In the warehouse he looked with new +curiosity at the men who worked in the great rooms piling and unpiling +apple barrels and the boxes of eggs and fruit When he came into one of +the rooms the men who had been standing in groups idly talking of +their own affairs began to run busily about. They no longer chattered +but as long as he remained worked desperately, furtively watching as +he stood staring at them. + +McGregor wondered. He tried to fathom the mystery of the power that +made them willing to work until their bodies were bent and stooped, +that made them unashamed to be afraid and that left them in the end +mere slaves to words and formulas. + +The perplexed young man who watched the men in the warehouse began to +think that the passion for reproduction might have something to do +with the matter. Perhaps his constant association with Edith awakened +the thought. His own loins were heavy with the seeds of children and +only his absorption in the thought of finding himself kept him from +devoting himself to the feeding of his lusts. One day he had a talk +concerning the matter with a at the warehouse. The talk came about in +this way. + +In the warehouse the men came in at the door in the morning, drifting +in like flies that wander in at the open windows on a summer day. With +downcast eyes they shuffled across the long floor, white with lime. +Morning after morning they came in at the door and went silently to +their places looking at the floor and scowling. A slender bright-eyed +young man who acted as shipping clerk during the day sat in a little +coop and to him the men as they passed called out their numbers. From +time to time the shipping clerk who was an Irishman tried to joke with +one of them, tapping sharply upon his desk with a pencil as though to +compel attention. "They are no good," he said to himself, when in +response to his sallies they only smiled vaguely. "Although they get +but a dollar and a half a day they are overpaid!" Like McGregor he had +nothing but contempt for the men whose numbers he put in the book. +Their stupidity he took as a compliment to himself. "We are the kind +who get things done," he thought as he put the pencil back of his ear +and closed the book. In his mind the futile pride of the middle class +man flamed up. In his contempt for the workers he forgot also to have +contempt for himself. + +One morning McGregor and the shipping clerk stood upon a board +platform facing the street and the shipping clerk talked of parentage. +"The wives of the workers here have children as cattle have calves," +said the Irishman. Moved by some hidden sentiment within himself he +added heartily. "Oh well, what's a man for? It's nice to see kids +around the house. I've got four kids myself. You should see them play +about in the garden at my place in Oak Park when I come home in the +evening." + +McGregor thought of Edith Carson and a faint hunger began to grow +within him. A desire that was later to come near to upsetting the +purpose of his life began to make itself felt. With a growl he fought +against the desire and confused the Irishman by making an attack upon +him. "Well how are you any better?" he asked bluntly. "Do you think +your children any more important than theirs? You may have a better +mind but their bodies are better and your mind hasn't made you a very +striking figure as far as I can see." + +Turning away from the Irishman who had begun to sputter with wrath +McGregor went up an elevator to a distant part of the building to +think of the Irishman's words. From time to time he spoke sharply to a +workman who loitered in one of the passages between the piles of boxes +and barrels. Under his hand the work in the warehouse had begun to +take on order and the little grey-haired superintendent who had +employed him rubbed his hands with delight. + +In a corner by a window stood McGregor wondering why he also did not +want to devote his life to being the father of children. In the dim +light across the face of the window a fat old spider crawled slowly. +In the hideous body of the insect there was something that suggested +to the mind of the struggling thinker the sloth of the world. Vaguely +his mind groped about trying to get hold of words and ideas to express +what was in his brain. "Ugly crawling things that look at the floor," +he muttered. "If they have children it is without order or orderly +purpose. It is an accident like the accident of the fly that falls +into the net built by the insect here. The coming of the children is +like the coming of the flies, it feeds a kind of cowardice in men. In +the children men hope vainly to see done what they have not the +courage to try to do." + +With an oath McGregor smashed with his heavy leather glove the fat +thing wandering aimlessly across the light. "I must not be confused by +little things. There is still going on the attempt to force me into +the hole in the ground. There is a hole here in which men live and +work just as there is in the mining town from which I came." + + * * * * * + +Hurrying out of his room that evening McGregor went to see Edith. He +wanted to look at her and to think. In the little room at the back he +sat for an hour trying to read a book and then for the first time +shared his thoughts with her. "I am trying to discover why men are of +so little importance," he said suddenly. "Are they mere tools for +women? Tell me that. Tell me what women think and what they want?" + +Without waiting for an answer he turned again to the reading of the +book. "Oh well," he added "it doesn't need to bother me. I won't let +any women lead me into being a reproductive tool for her." + +Edith was alarmed. She took McGregor's outburst as a declaration of +war against herself and her influence and her hands began to tremble. +Then a new thought came to her. "He needs money to get on in the +world," she told herself and a little thrill of joy ran through her as +she thought of her own carefully guarded hoard. She wondered how she +could offer it to him so that there would be no danger of a refusal. + +"You're all right," said McGregor, preparing to depart. "You do not +interfere with a man's thoughts." + +Edith blushed and like the workmen in the warehouse looked at the +floor. Something in his words startled her and when he was gone she +went to her desk and taking out her bankbook turned its pages with new +pleasure. Without hesitation she who indulged herself in nothing would +have given all to McGregor. + +And out into the street went the man, thinking of his own affairs. He +dismissed from his mind the thoughts of women and children and began +again to think of the stirring figures of history that had made so +strong an appeal to him. As he passed over one of the bridges he +stopped and stood leaning over the rail to look at the black water +below. "Why has thought never succeeded in replacing action?" he asked +himself. "Why are the men who write books in some way less full of +meaning than the men who do things?" + +McGregor was staggered by the thought that had come to him and +wondered if he had started on a wrong trail by coming to the city and +trying to educate himself. For an hour he stood in the darkness and +tried to think things out. It began to rain but he did not mind. Into +his brain began to creep a dream of a vast order coming out of +disorder. He was like one standing in the presence of some gigantic +machine with many intricate parts that had begun to run crazily, each +part without regard to the purpose of the whole. "There is danger in +thinking too," he muttered vaguely. "Everywhere there is danger, in +labour, in love and in thinking. What shall I do with myself?" + +McGregor turned about and threw up his hands. A new thought swept like +a broad path of light across the darkness of his mind. He began to see +that the soldiers who had led thousands of men into battle had +appealed to him because in the working out of their purposes they had +used human lives with the recklessness of gods. They had found the +courage to do that and their courage was magnificent. Away down deep +in the hearts of men lay sleeping a love of order and they had taken +hold of that love. If they had used it badly did that matter? Had they +not pointed the way? + +Back into McGregor's mind came a night scene in his home town. Vividly +he saw in fancy the poor unkempt little street facing the railroad +tracks and the groups of striking miners huddled in the light before +the door of a saloon while in the road a body of soldiers marched +past, their uniforms looking grey and their faces grim in the +uncertain light. "They marched," whispered McGregor. "That's what made +them seem so powerful. They were just ordinary men but they went +swinging along, all as one man. Something in that fact ennobled them. +That's what Grant knew and what Caesar knew. That's what made Grant +and Caesar seem so big. They knew and they were not afraid to use +their knowledge. Perhaps they did not bother to think how it would all +come out. They hoped for another kind of man to do the thinking. +Perhaps they did not think of anything at all but just went ahead and +tried to do each his own part. + +"I will do my part here," shouted McGregor. "I will find the way." His +body shook and his voice roared along the footpath of the bridge. Men +stopped to look back at the big shouting figure. Two women walking +past screamed and ran into the roadway. McGregor walked rapidly away +toward his own room and his books. He did not know how he would be +able to use the new impulse that had come to him but as he swung along +through dark streets and past rows of dark buildings he thought again +of the great machine running crazily and without purpose and was glad +he was not a part of it. "I will keep myself to myself and be ready +for what happens," he said, burning with new courage. + + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + + +When McGregor had secured the place in the apple-warehouse and went +home to the house in Wycliff Place with his first week's pay, twelve +dollars, in his pocket he thought of his mother, Nance McGregor, +working in the mine offices in the Pennsylvania town and folding a +five dollar bill sent it to her in a letter. "I will begin to take +care of her now," he thought and with the rough sense of equity in +such matters, common to labouring people, had no intention of giving +himself airs. "She has fed me and now I will begin to feed her," he +told himself. + +The five dollars came back. "Keep it. I don't want your money," the +mother wrote. "If you have money left after your expenses are paid +begin to fix yourself up. Better get a new pair of shoes or a hat. +Don't try to take care of me. I won't have it. I want you to look out +for yourself. Dress well and hold up your head, that's all I ask. In +the city clothes mean a good deal. In the long run it will mean more +to me to see you be a real man than to be a good son." + +Sitting in her rooms over the vacant bake-shop in Coal Creek Nance +began to get new satisfaction out of the contemplation of herself as a +woman with a son in the city. In the evening she thought of him moving +along the crowded thoroughfares among men and women and her bent +little old figure straightened with pride. When a letter came telling +of his work in the night school her heart jumped and she wrote a long +letter filled with talk of Garfield and Grant and of Lincoln lying by +the burning pine knot reading his books. It seemed to her unbelievably +romantic that her son should some day be a lawyer and stand up in a +crowded court room speaking thoughts out of his brain to other men. +She thought that if this great red-haired boy, who at home had been so +unmanageable and so quick with his fists, was to end by being a man of +books and of brains then she and her man, Cracked McGregor, had not +lived in vain. A sweet new sense of peace came to her. She forgot her +own years of toil and gradually her mind went back to the silent boy +sitting on the steps with her before her house in the year after her +husband's death while she talked to him of the world, and thus she +thought of him, a quiet eager boy, going about bravely there in the +distant city. + +Death caught Nance McGregor off her guard. After one of her long days +of toil in the mine office she awoke to find him sitting grim and +expectant beside her bed. For years she in common with most of the +women of the coal town had been afflicted with what is called "trouble +with the heart." Now and then she had "bad spells." On this spring +evening she got into bed and sitting propped among the pillows fought +out her fight alone like a worn-out animal that has crept into a hole +in the woods. + +In the middle of the night the conviction came to her that she would +die. Death seemed moving about in the room and waiting for her. In the +street two drunken men stood talking, their voices concerned with +their own human affairs coming in through the window and making life +seem very near and dear to the dying woman. "I've been everywhere," +said one of the men. "I've been in towns and cities I don't even +remember the names of. You ask Alex Fielder who keeps a saloon in +Denver. Ask him if Gus Lamont has been there." + +The other man laughed. "You've been in Jake's drinking too much beer," +he jeered. + +Nance heard the two men stumble off down the street, the traveller +protesting against the unbelief of his friend. It seemed to her that +life with all of its colour sound and meaning was running away from +her presence. The exhaust of the engine over at the mine rang in her +ears. She thought of the mine as a great monster lying asleep below +the ground, its huge nose stuck into the air, its mouth open to eat +men. In the darkness of the room her coat, flung over the back of a +chair, took the shape and outline of a face, huge and grotesque, +staring silently past her into the sky. + +Nance McGregor gasped and struggled for breath. She clutched the +bedclothes with her hands and fought grimly and silently. She did not +think of the place to which she might go after death. She was trying +hard not to go there. It had been her habit of life to fight not to +dream dreams. + +Nance thought of her father, drunk and throwing his money about in the +old days before her marriage, of the walks she as a young girl had +taken with her lover on Sunday afternoons and of the times when they +had gone together to sit on the hillside overlooking the farming +country. As in a vision the dying woman saw the broad fertile land +spread out before her and blamed herself that she had not done more +toward helping her man in the fulfilment of the plans she and he had +made to go there and live. Then she thought of the night when her boy +came and of how, when they went to bring her man from the mine, they +found him apparently dead under the fallen timbers so that she thought +life and death had visited her hand in hand in one night. + +Nance sat stiffly up in bed. She thought she heard the sound of heavy +feet on the stairs. "That will be Beaut coming up from the shop," she +muttered and fell back upon the pillow dead. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Beaut McGregor went home to Pennsylvania to bury his mother and on a +summer afternoon walked again on the streets of his native town. From +the station he went at once to the empty bake-shop, above which he had +lived with his mother but he did not stay there. For a moment he stood +bag in hand listening to the voices of the miners' wives in the room +above and then put the bag behind an empty box and hurried away. The +voices of women broke the stillness of the room in which he stood. +Their thin sharpness hurt something within him and he could not bear +the thought of the equally thin sharp silence he knew would fall upon +the women who were attending his mother's body in the room above when +he came into the presence of the dead. + +Along Main Street he went to a hardware store and from there went to +the mine office. Then with a pick and shovel on his shoulder he began +to climb the hill up which he had walked with his father when he was a +lad. On the train homeward bound an idea had come to him. "I will her +among the bushes on the hillside that looks down into the fruitful +valley," he told himself. The details of a religious discussion +between two labourers that had gone on one day during the noon hour at +the warehouse had come into his mind and as the train ran eastward he +for the first time found himself speculating on the possibility of a +life after death. Then he brushed the thoughts aside. "Anyway if +Cracked McGregor does come back it is there you will find him, sitting +on the log on the hillside," he thought. + +With the tools on his shoulder McGregor climbed the long hillside +road, now deep with black dust. He was going to dig the grave for the +burial of Nance McGregor. He did not glare at the miners who passed +swinging their dinner-pails as they had done in the old days but +looked at the ground and thought of the dead woman and a little +wondered what place a woman would yet come to occupy in his own life. +On the hillside the wind blew sharply and the great boy just emerging +into manhood worked vigorously making the dirt fly. When the hole had +grown deep he stopped and looked to where in the valley below a man +who was hoeing corn shouted to a woman who stood on the porch of a +farm house. Two cows that stood by a fence in a field lifted up their +heads and bawled lustily. "It is the place for the dead to lie," +whispered McGregor. "When my own time comes I shall be brought up +here." An idea came to him. "I will have father's body moved," he told +himself. "When I have made some money I will have that done. Here we +shall all lie in the end, all of us McGregors." + +The thought that had come to McGregor pleased him and he was pleased +also with himself for thinking the thought. The male in him made him +throw back his shoulders. "We are two of a feather, father and me," he +muttered, "two of a feather and mother has not understood either of +us. Perhaps no woman was ever intended to understand us." + +Jumping out of the hole he strode over the crest of the hill and began +the descent toward the town. It was late afternoon and the sun had +gone down behind clouds. "I wonder if I understand myself, if any one +understands," he thought as he went swiftly along with the tools +clanking on his shoulder. + +McGregor did not want to go back to the town and to the dead woman in +the little room. He thought of the miners' wives, attendants to the +dead, who would sit with crossed hands looking at him and turned out +of the road to sit on the fallen log where once on a Sunday afternoon +he had sat with the black-haired boy who worked in the poolroom and +where the daughter of the undertaker had come to sit beside him. + +And then up the long hill came the woman herself. As she drew near he +recognised her tall figure and for some reason a lump came into his +throat She had seen him depart from the town with the pick and shovel +on his shoulder and after waiting what she thought an interval long +enough to still the tongues of gossip had followed. "I wanted to talk +with you," she said, climbing over logs and coming to sit beside him. + +For a long time the man and woman sat in silence and stared at the +town in the valley below. McGregor thought she had grown more pale +than ever and looked at her sharply. His mind, more accustomed to look +critically at women than had been the mind of the boy who had once sat +talking to her on the same log, began to inventory her body. "She is +already becoming stooped," he thought. "I would not want to make love +to her now." + +Along the log toward him moved the undertaker's daughter and with a +swift impulse toward boldness slipped a thin hand into his. She began +to talk of the dead woman lying in the upstairs room in the town. "We +have been friends since you went away," she explained. "She liked to +talk of you and I liked that too." + +Made bold by her own boldness the woman hurried on. "I do not want you +to misunderstand me," she said. "I know I can't get you. I'm not +thinking of that." + +She began to talk of her own affairs and of the dreariness of life +with her father but McGregor's mind could not centre itself on her +talk. When they started down the hill he had the impulse to take her +in his arms and carry her as Cracked McGregor had once carried him but +was so embarrassed that he did not offer to help her. He thought that +for the first time some one from his native town had come close to him +and he watched her stooped figure with an odd new feeling of +tenderness. "I won't be alive long, maybe not a year. I've got the +consumption," she whispered softly as he left her at the entrance to +the hallway leading up to her home, and McGregor was so stirred by her +words that he turned back and spent another hour wandering alone on +the hillside before he went to see the body of his mother. + + * * * * * + +In the room above the bakery McGregor sat at an open window and looked +down into the dimly lighted street. In a corner of the room lay his +mother in a coffin and two miners' wives sat in the darkness behind +him. All were silent and embarrassed. + +McGregor leaned out of the window and watched a group of miners who +gathered at a corner. He thought of the undertaker's daughter, now +nearing death, and wondered why she had suddenly come so close to him. +"It is not because she is a woman, I know that," he told himself and +tried to dismiss the matter from his mind by watching the people in +the street below. + +In the mining town a meeting was being held. A box lay at the edge of +the sidewalk and upon it climbed that same young Hartnet who had once +talked to McGregor and who made his living by gathering birds' eggs +and trapping squirrels in the hills. He was frightened and talked +rapidly. Presently he introduced a large man with a flat nose who, +when he had in turn climbed upon the box, began to tell stories and +anecdotes designed to make the miners laugh. + +McGregor listened. He wished the undertaker's daughter were there to +sit in the darkened room beside him. He thought he would like to tell +her of his life in the city and of how disorganised and ineffective +all modern life seemed to him. Sadness invaded his mind and he thought +of his dead mother and of how this other woman would presently die. +"It's just as well. Perhaps there is no other way, no orderly march +toward an orderly end. Perhaps one has to die and return to nature to +achieve that," he whispered to himself. + +In the street below the man upon the box, who was a travelling +socialist orator, began to talk of the coming social revolution. As he +talked it seemed to McGregor that his jaw had become loose from much +wagging and that his whole body was loosely put together and without +force. The speaker danced up and down on the box and his arms flapped +about and these also seemed loose, not a part of the body. + +"Vote with us and the thing is done," he shouted. "Are you going to +let a few men run things forever? Here you live like beasts paying +tribute to your masters. Arouse yourselves. Join us in the struggle. +You yourselves can be masters if you will only think so." + +"You will have to do something more than think," roared McGregor, as +he leaned far out at the window. Again as always when he had heard men +saying words he was blind with anger. Sharply he remembered the walks +he had sometimes taken at night in the city streets and the air of +disorderly ineffectiveness all about him. And here in the mining town +it was the same. On every side of him appeared blank empty faces and +loose badly knit bodies. + +"Mankind should be like a great fist ready to smash and to strike. It +should be ready to knock down what stands in its way," he cried, +astonishing the crowd in the street and frightening into something +like hysterics the two women who sat with him beside the dead woman in +the darkened room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The funeral of Nance McGregor was an event in Coal Creek. In the minds +of the miners she stood for something. Fearing and hating the husband +and the tall big-fisted son they had yet a tenderness for the mother +and wife. "She lost her money handing us out bread," they said as they +pounded on the bar in the saloon. Word ran about among them and they +returned again and again to the subject. The fact that she had lost +her man twice--once in the mine when the timber fell and clouded his +brain, and then later when his body lay black and distorted near the +door to the McCrary cut after the dreadful time of the fire in the +mine--was perhaps forgotten but the fact that she had once kept a +store and that she had lost her money serving them was not forgotten. + +On the day of the funeral the miners came up out of the mine and stood +in groups in the open street and in the vacant bake shop. The men of +the night shift had their faces washed and had put white paper collars +about their necks. The man who owned the saloon locked the front door +and putting the keys into his pocket stood on the side-walk looking +silently at the windows of Nance McGregor's rooms. Out along the +runway from the mines came other miners--men of the day shift. Setting +their dinner pails on the stone along the front of the saloon and +crossing the railroad they kneeled and washed their blackened faces in +the red stream that flowed at the foot of the embankment The voice of +the preacher, a slender wasp-like young man with black hair and dark +shadows under his eyes, floated out to the listening men. A train of +loaded coke cars rumbled past along the back of the stores. + +McGregor sat at the head of the coffin dressed in a new black suit. He +stared at the wall back of the head of the preacher, not hearing, +thinking his own thoughts. + +Back of McGregor sat the undertaker's pale daughter. She leaned +forward until she touched the back of the chair in front and sat with +her face buried in a white handkerchief. Her weeping cut across the +voice of the preacher in the closely crowded little room filled with +miners' wives and in the midst of his prayer for the dead she was +taken with a violent fit of coughing and had to get up and hurry out +of the room. + +After the services in the rooms above the bake shop a procession +formed on Main Street. Like awkward boys the miners fell into groups +and walked along behind the black hearse and the carriage in which sat +the dead woman's son with the minister. The men kept looking at each +other and smiling sheepishly. There had been no arrangement to follow +the body to its grave and when they thought of the son and the +attitude he had always maintained toward them they wondered whether or +not he wanted them to follow. + +And McGregor was unconscious of all this. He sat in the carriage +beside the minister and with unseeing eyes stared over the heads of +the horses. He was thinking of his life in the city and of what he +should do there in the future, of Edith Carson, sitting in the cheap +dance hall and of the evenings he had spent with her, of the barber on +the park bench talking of women and of his life with his mother when +he was a boy in the mining town. + +As the carriage climbed slowly up the hill followed by the miners +McGregor began to love his mother. For the first time he realised that +her life was full of meaning and that in her woman's way she had been +quite as heroic in her years of patient toil as had been her man +Cracked McGregor when he ran to his death in the burning mine. +McGregor's hands began to tremble and his shoulders straightened. He +became conscious of the men, the dumb blackened children of toil +dragging their weary legs up the hill. + +For what? McGregor stood up in the carriage and turning about looked +at the men. Then he fell upon his knees on the carriage seat and +watched them eagerly, his soul crying out to something he thought must +be hidden away among the black mass of them, something that was the +keynote of their lives, something for which he had not looked and in +which he had not believed. + +McGregor, kneeling in the open carriage at the top of the hill and +watching the marching men slowly toiling upward, had of a sudden one +of those strange awakenings that are the reward of stoutness in stout +souls. A strong wind lifted the smoke from the coke ovens and blew it +up the face of the hill on the farther side of the valley and the wind +seemed to have lifted also some of the haze that had covered his eyes. +At the foot of the hill along the railroad he could see the little +stream, one of the blood red streams of the mine country, and the dull +red houses of the miners. The red of the coke ovens, the red sun +setting behind the hills to the west and last of all the red stream +flowing like a river of blood down through the valley made a scene +that burned itself into the brain of the miner's son. A lump came into +his throat and for a moment he tried vainly to get back his old +satisfying hate of the town and the miners but it would not come. Long +he looked down the hill to where the miners of the night shift marched +up the hill after the carriage and the slowly moving hearse. It seemed +to him that they like himself were marching up out of the smoke and +the little squalid houses away from the shores of the blood red river +into something new. What? McGregor shook his head slowly like an +animal in pain. He wanted something for himself, for all these men. It +seemed to him that he would gladly lie dead like Nance McGregor to +know the secret of that want. + +And then as though in answer to the cry out of his heart the file of +marching men fell into step. An instantaneous impulse seemed to run +through the ranks of stooped toiling figures. Perhaps they also +looking backward had caught the magnificence of the picture scrawled +across the landscape in black and red and had been moved by it so that +their shoulders straightened and the long subdued song of life began +to sing in their bodies. With a swing the marching men fell into step. +Into the mind of McGregor flashed a thought of another day when he had +stood upon this same hill with the half crazed man who stuffed birds +and sat upon a log by the roadside reading the Bible and how he had +hated these men because they did not march with orderly precision like +the soldiers who came to subdue them. In a flash he knew that he who +had hated the miners hated them no more. With Napoleonic insight he +read a lesson into the accident of the men's falling into step behind +his carriage. A big grim thought flashed into his brain. "Some day a +man will come who will swing all of the workers of the world into step +like that," he thought. "He will make them conquer, not one another +but the terrifying disorder of life. If their lives have been wrecked +by disorder it is not their fault. They have been betrayed by the +ambitions of their leaders, all men have betrayed them." McGregor +thought that his mind swept down over the men, that the impulses of +his mind like living things ran among them, crying to them, touching +them, caressing them. Love invaded his spirit and made his body +tingle. He thought of the workers in the Chicago warehouse and of the +millions of others workers who in that great city, in all cities, +everywhere, went at the end of the day shuffling off along the streets +to their houses carrying with them no song, no hope, nothing but a few +paltry dollars with which to buy food and keep the endless hurtful +scheme of things alive. "There is a curse on my country," he cried. +"Everyone has come here for gain, to grow rich, to achieve. Suppose +they should begin to want to live here. Suppose they should quit +thinking of gain, leaders and followers of leaders. They are children. +Suppose like children they should begin to play a bigger game. Suppose +they could just learn to march, nothing else. Suppose they should +begin to do with their bodies what their minds are not strong enough +to do--to just learn the one simple thing, to march, whenever two or +four or a thousand of them get together, to march." + +McGregor's thoughts moved him so that he wanted to yell. Instead his +face grew stern and he tried to command himself. "No, wait," he +whispered. "Train yourself. Here is something to give point to your +life. Be patient and wait." Again his thoughts swept away, running +down to the advancing men. Tears came into his eyes. "Men have taught +them that big lesson only when they wanted to kill. This must be +different. Some one must teach them the big lesson just for their own +sakes, that they also may know. They must march fear and disorder and +purposelessness away. That must come first." + +McGregor turned and compelled himself to sit quietly beside the +minister in the carriage. He became bitter against the leaders of men, +the figures in old history that had once loomed so big in his mind. + +"They have half taught them the secret only to betray them," he +muttered. "The men of books and of brains have done the same. That +loose-jawed fellow in the street last night--there must be thousands +of such, talking until their jaws hang loose like worn-out gates. +Words mean nothing but when a man marches with a thousand other men +and is not doing it for the glory of some king, then it will mean +something. He will know then that he is a part of something real and +he will catch the rhythm of the mass and glory in the fact that he is +a part of the mass and that the mass has meaning. He will begin to +feel great and powerful." McGregor smiled grimly. "That is what the +great leaders of armies have known," he whispered. "And they have sold +men out. They have used that knowledge to subdue men, to make them +serve their own little ends." + +McGregor continued to look back at the men and in an odd sort of way +to wonder at himself and the thought that had come to him. "It can be +done," he presently said aloud. "It will be done by some one, +sometime. Why not by me?" + +They buried Nance McGregor in the deep hole dug by her son before the +log on the hillside. On the morning of his arrival he had secured +permission of the mining company who owned the land to make this the +burial place of the McGregors. + +When the service over the grave was finished he looked about him at +the miners, standing uncovered along the hill and in the road leading +down into the valley, and felt that he should like to tell them what +was in his mind. He had an impulse to jump upon the log beside the +grave and in the presence of the green fields his father loved and +across the grave of Nance McGregor shout to them saying, "Your cause +shall be my cause. My brain and strength shall be yours. Your enemies +I shall smite with my naked fist." Instead he walked rapidly past them +and topping the hill went down toward the town into the gathering +night. + +McGregor could not sleep on that last night he was ever to spend in +Coal Creek. When darkness came he went along the street and stood at +the foot of the stairs leading to the home of the undertaker's +daughter. The emotions that had swept over him during the afternoon +had subdued his spirit and he wanted to be with some one who would +also be subdued and quiet. When the woman did not come down the stairs +to stand in the hallway as she had done in his boyhood he went up and +knocked at her door. Together they went along Main Street and climbed +the hill. + +The undertaker's daughter walked with difficulty and was compelled to +stop and sit upon a stone by the roadside. When she attempted to rise +McGregor gathered her into his arms and when she protested patted her +thin shoulder with his big hand and whispered to her. "Be quiet," he +said. "Do not talk about anything. Just be quiet." + +The nights in the hills above mining towns are magnificent. The long +valleys, cut and slashed by the railroads and made ugly by the squalid +little houses of the miners are half lost in the soft blackness. Out +of the darkness sounds emerge. Coal cars creak and protest as they are +pushed along rails. Voices cry out. With a long reverberating rattle +one of the mine cars dumps its load down a metal chute into a car +standing on the railroad tracks. In the winter little fires are +started along the tracks by the workmen who are employed about the +tipple and on summer nights the moon comes out and touches with wild +beauty the banks of black smoke that drift upward from the long rows +of coke ovens. + +With the sick woman in his arms McGregor sat in silence on the +hillside above Coal Creek and let new thoughts and new impulses play +with his spirit. The love for the figure of his mother that had come +to him during the afternoon returned and he took the woman of the mine +country into his arms and held her closely against his breast. + +The struggling man in the hills of his own country, who was trying to +clear his soul of the hatred of men bred in him by the disorder of +life, lifted his head and pressed the body of the undertaker's +daughter hard against his own body. The woman, understanding his mood, +picked with her thin fingers at his coat and wished she might die +there in the darkness in the arms of the man she loved. When he became +conscious of her presence and relaxed the grip of his arms about her +shoulders she lay still and waited for him to forget again and again +to press her tightly and let her feel in her worn-out body his massive +strength and virility. + +"It is a job. It is something big I can try to do," he whispered to +himself and in fancy saw the great disorderly city on the western +plains rocked by the swing and rhythm of men, aroused and awakening +with their bodies a song of new life. + + + + + +BOOK IV + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Chicago is a vast city and millions of people live within the limits +of its influence. It stands at the heart of America almost within +sound of the creaking green leaves of the corn in the vast corn fields +of the Mississippi Valley. It is inhabited by hordes of men of all +nations who have come across the seas or out of western corn--shipping +towns to make their fortunes. On all sides men are busy making +fortunes. + +In little Polish villages the word has been whispered about, "In +America one gets much money," and adventurous souls have set forth +only to land at last, a little perplexed and disconcerted, in narrow +ill--smelling rooms in Halstead Street in Chicago. + +In American villages the tale has been told. Here it has not been +whispered but shouted. Magazines and newspapers have done the job. The +word regarding the making of money runs over the land like a wind +among the corn. The young men listen and run away to Chicago. They +have vigour and youth but in them has been builded no dream no +tradition of devotion to anything but gain. + +Chicago is one vast gulf of disorder. Here is the passion for gain, +the very spirit of the bourgeoise gone drunk with desire. The result +is something terrible. Chicago is leaderless, purposeless, slovenly, +down at the heels. + +And back of Chicago lie the long corn fields that are not disorderly. +There is hope in the corn. Spring comes and the corn is green. It +shoots up out of the black land and stands up in orderly rows. The +corn grows and thinks of nothing but growth. Fruition comes to the +corn and it is cut down and disappears. Barns are filled to bursting +with the yellow fruit of the corn. + +And Chicago has forgotten the lesson of the corn. All men have +forgotten. It has never been told to the young men who come out of the +corn fields to live in the city. + +Once and once only in modern times the soul of America was stirred. +The Civil War swept like a purifying fire through the land. Men +marched together and knew the feel of shoulder to shoulder action. +Brown stout bearded figures returned after the war to the villages. +The beginning of a literature of strength and virility arose. + +And then the time of sorrow and of stirring effort passed and +prosperity returned. Only the aged are now cemented together by the +sorrow of that time and there has been no new national sorrow. + +It is a summer evening in America and the citizens sit in their houses +after the effort of the day. They talk of the children in school or of +the new difficulty of meeting the high prices of food stuff. In cities +the bands play in the parks. In villages the lights go out and one +hears the sound of hurrying horses on distant roads. + +A thoughtful man walking in the streets of Chicago on such an evening +sees women in white shirt waists and men with cigars in their mouths +who sit on the porches of the houses. The man is from Ohio. He owns a +factory in one of the large industrial towns there and has come to the +city to sell his product. He is a man of the better sort, quiet, +efficient, kindly. In his own community every one respects him and he +respects himself. Now he walks and gives himself over to thoughts. He +passes a house set among trees where a man cuts grass by the streaming +light from a window. The song of the lawn mower stirs the walker. He +idles along the street and looks in through the windows at Prints upon +the walls. A white--clad woman sits playing on a piano. "Life is +good," he says, lighting a cigar; "it climbs on and up toward a kind +of universal fairness." + +And then in the light from a street lamp the walker sees a man +staggering along the sidewalk, muttering and helping himself with his +hands upon a wall. The sight does not greatly disturb the pleasant +satisfying thoughts that stir in his mind. He has eaten a good dinner +at the hotel, he knows that drunken men are often but gay money- +spending dogs who to-morrow morning will settle down to their work +feeling secretly better for the night of wine and song. + +My thoughtful man is an American with the disease of comfort and +prosperity in his blood. He strolls along and turns a corner. He is +satisfied with the cigar he smokes and, he decides, satisfied with the +age in which he lives. "Agitators may howl," he says, "but on the +whole life is good, and as for me I am going to spend my life +attending to the business in hand." + +The walker has turned a corner into a side street. Two men emerge from +the door of a saloon and stand upon the sidewalk under a light. They +wave their arms up and down. Suddenly one of them springs forward and +with a quick forward thrust of his body and the flash of a clenched +fist in the lamp light knocks his companion into the gutter. Down the +street he sees rows of tall smoke-begrimed brick buildings hanging +black and ominous against the sky. At the end of a street a huge +mechanical apparatus lifts cars of coal and dumps them roaring and +rattling into the bowels of a ship that lies tied in the river. + +The walker throws his cigar away and looks about. A man walks before +him in the silent street. He sees the man raise his fist to the sky +and notes with a shock the movement of the lips and the hugeness and +ugliness of the face in the lamplight. + +Again he goes on, hurrying now, around another corner into a street +filled with pawn shops, clothing stores and the clamour of voices. In +his mind floats a picture. He sees two boys, clad in white rompers, +feeding clover to a tame rabbit in a suburban back lawn and wishes he +were at home in his own place. In his fancy the two sons are walking +under apple trees and laughing and tusseling for a great bundle of +newly pulled sweet smelling clover. The strange looking red man with +the huge face he has seen in the street is looking at the two children +over a garden wall. There is a threat in the look and the threat +alarms him. Into his mind comes the notion that the man who looks over +the wall wants to destroy the future of his children. + +The night advances. Down a stairway beside a clothing store comes a +woman with gleaming white teeth who is clad in a black dress. She +makes a Peculiar little jerking movement with her head to the walker. +A patrol wagon with clanging bells rushes through the street, two blue +clad policemen sitting stiffly in the seat. A boy--he can't be above +six--runs along the street pushing soiled newspapers under the noses +of idlers on the corners, his shrill childish voice rises above the +din of the trolley cars and the clanging notes of the patrol wagon. + +The walker throws his cigar into the gutter and climbing the steps of +a street car goes back to his hotel. His fine reflective mood is gone. +He half wishes that something lovely might come into American life but +the wish does not persist. He is only irritated and feels that a +pleasant evening has been in some way spoiled. He is wondering if he +will be successful in the business that brought him to the city. As he +turns out the light in his room and putting his head upon the pillow +listens to the noises of the city merged now into a quiet droning roar +he thinks of the brick factory on the banks of the river in Ohio and +as he falls into sleep the face of the red-haired man lowers at him +from the factory door. + + * * * * * + +When McGregor returned to the city after the burial of his mother he +began at once to try to put his idea of the marching men into form. +For a long time he did not know how to begin. The idea was vague and +shadowy. It belonged to the nights in the hills of his own country and +seemed a little absurd when he tried to think of it in the daylight of +North State Street in Chicago. + +McGregor felt that he had to prepare himself. He believed that he +could study books and learn much from men's ideas expressed in books +without being overwhelmed by their thoughts. He became a student and +quit the place in the apple-warehouse to the secret relief of the +little bright-eyed superintendent who had never been able to get +himself up to the point of raging at this big red fellow as he had +raged at the German before McGregor's time. The warehouse man felt +that during the meeting on the corner before the saloon on the day +McGregor began to work for him something had happened. The miner's son +had unmanned him. "A man ought to be boss in his own place," he +sometimes muttered to himself, as he walked in the passageways among +rows of piled apple barrels in the upper part of the warehouse +wondering why the presence of McGregor irritated him. + +From six o'clock in the evening until two in the morning McGregor now +worked as night-cashier in a restaurant on South State Street below +Van Buren and from two until seven in the morning he slept in a room +whose windows looked down into Michigan Boulevard. On Thursday he was +free, his place being taken for the evening by the man who owned the +restaurant, a small excitable Irishman by the name of Tom O'Toole. + +McGregor got his chance to become a student through the bank account +belonging to Edith Carson. The opportunity arose in this way. On a +summer evening after his return from Pennsylvania he sat with her in +the darkened store back of the closed screen door. McGregor was morose +and silent. On the evening before he had tried to talk to several men +at the warehouse about the Marching Men and they had not understood. +He blamed his inability with words and sat in the half darkness with +his face in his hands and looked up the street saying nothing and +thinking bitter thoughts. + +The idea that had come to him made him half drunk with its +possibilities and he knew that he must not let it make him drunk. He +wanted to begin forcing men to do the simple thing full of meaning +rather than the disorganised ineffective things and he had an ever- +present inclination to arise, to stretch himself, to run into the +streets and with his great arms see if he could not sweep the people +before him, starting them on the long purposeful march that was to be +the beginning of the rebirth of the world and that was to fill with +meaning the lives of men. Then when he had walked the fever out of his +blood and had frightened the people in the streets by the grim look in +his face he tried to school himself to sit quietly waiting. + +The woman sitting beside him in a low rocking chair began trying to +tell him of something that had been in her mind. Her heart jumped and +she talked slowly, pausing between sentences to conceal the trembling +of her voice. "Would it help you in what you want to do if you could +quit at the warehouse and spend your days in study?" she asked. + +McGregor looked at her and nodded his head absent-mindedly. He thought +of the nights in his room when the hard heavy work of the day in the +warehouse seemed to have benumbed his brain. + +"Besides the business here I have seventeen hundred dollars in the +savings bank," said Edith, turning aside to conceal the eager hopeful +look in her eyes. "I want to invest it. I do not want it lying there +doing nothing. I want you to take it and make a lawyer of yourself." + +Edith sat rigid in her chair waiting for his answer. She felt that she +had put him to a test. In her mind was a new hope. "If he takes it he +will not be walking out at the door some night and never coming back." + +McGregor tried to think. He had not tried to explain to her his new +notion of life and did not know how to begin. + +"After all why not stick to my plan and be a lawyer?" he asked +himself. "That might open the door. I'll do that," he said aloud to +the woman. "Both you and mother have talked of it so I'll give it a +trial. Yes, I'll take the money." + +Again he looked at her as she sat before him flushed and eager and was +touched by her devotion as he had been touched by the devotion of the +undertaker's daughter in Coal Creek. "I don't mind being under +obligations to you," he said; "I don't know any one else I would take +it from." + +In the street later the troubled man walked about trying to make new +plans for the accomplishment of his purpose. He was annoyed by what he +thought to be the dulness of his own brain and he thrust his fist up +into the air to look at it in the lamplight. "I'll get ready to use +that intelligently," he thought; "a man wants trained brains backed up +by a big fist in the struggle I'm going into." + +It was then that the man from Ohio walked past with his hands in his +pockets and attracted his attention. To McGregor's nostrils came the +odour of rich fragrant tobacco. He turned and stood staring at the +intruder on his thoughts. "That's what I am going to fight," he +growled; "the comfortable well-to-do acceptance of a disorderly world, +the smug men who see nothing wrong with a world like this. I would +like to frighten them so that they throw their cigars away and run +about like ants when you kick over ant hills in the field." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +McGregor began to attend some classes at Chicago University and walked +about among the massive buildings, erected for the most part through +the bounty of one of his country's leading business men, wondering why +the great centre of learning seemed so little a part of the city. To +him the University seemed something entirely apart, not in tune with +its surrounding. It was like an expensive ornament worn on the soiled +hand of a street urchin. He did not stay there long. + +One day he got into disfavour with the professor in one of the +classes. He sat in a room among other students, his mind busy with +thoughts of the future and of how he might get his movement of the +marching men under way. In a chair beside him sat a large girl with +blue eyes and hair like yellow wheat. She like McGregor was +unconscious of what was going on about her and sat with half-closed +eyes watching him. In the corners of her eyes lurked a gleam of +amusement. She drew sketches of his huge mouth and nose on a pad of +Paper. + +At McGregor's left with his legs sprawled into the aisle sat a youth +who was thinking of the yellow-haired girl and planning a campaign +against her. His father was a manufacturer of berry boxes in a brick +building on the West Side and he wished he were in school in another +city so that it would not be necessary to live at home. All day he +thought of the evening meal and of the coming of his father, nervous +and tired, to quarrel with his mother about the management of the +servants. Now he was trying to evolve a plan for getting money from +his mother with which to enjoy a dinner at a downtown restaurant. With +delight he contemplated such an evening with a box of cigarettes on +the table and the yellow-haired girl sitting opposite him under red +lights. He was a typical American youth of the upper middle class and +was in the University only because he was in no hurry to begin his +life in the commercial world. + +In front of McGregor sat another typical student, a pale nervous young +man who drummed with his fingers on the back of a book. He was very +serious about acquiring learning and when the professor paused in his +talk he threw up his hands and asked a question. When the professor +smiled he laughed loudly. He was like an instrument on which the +professor struck chords. + +The professor, a short man with a bushy black beard, heavy shoulders +and large powerful eye-glasses, spoke in a shrill voice surcharged +with excitement. + +"The world is full of unrest," he said; "men are struggling like +chicks in the shell. In the hinterland of every man's mind uneasy +thoughts stir. I call your attention to what is going on in the +Universities of Germany." + +The professor paused and glared about. McGregor was so irritated by +what he took to be the wordiness of the man that he could not restrain +himself. He felt as he had felt when the socialist orator talked on +the streets of Coal Creek. With an oath he arose and kicked out his +foot to push his chair away. The pad of paper fell out of the large +girl's lap and scattered its leaves about the floor. A light burned in +McGregor's blue eyes. As he stood in the classroom before the startled +class his head, big and red, had something of nobility about it like +the head of a fine beast. His voice rumbled out of his throat and the +girl looked at him, her mouth standing open. + +"We go from room to room hearing talk," began McGregor. "On the street +corners downtown in the evenings and in towns and villages men talk +and talk. Books are written, jaws wag. The jaws of men are loose. They +wabble about--saying nothing." + +McGregor's excitement grew. "If there is all this unrest why does it +not come to something?" he demanded. "Why do not you who have trained +brains strive to find the secret of order in the midst of this +disorder? Why is something not done?" + +The professor ran up and down on the platform. "I do not know what you +mean," he cried nervously. McGregor turned slowly and stared at the +class. He tried to explain. "Why do not men lead their lives like +men?" he asked. "They must be taught to march, hundreds of thousands +of men. Do you not think so?" + +McGregor's voice rose and his great fist was raised. "The world should +become a great camp," he cried. "The brains of the world should be at +the organisation of mankind. Everywhere there is disorder and men +chatter like monkeys in a cage. Why should some man not begin the +organisation of a new army? If there are men who do not understand +what is meant let them be knocked down." + +The professor leaned forward and peered through his spectacles at +McGregor. "I understand your kind," he said, and his voice trembled. +"The class is dismissed. We deprecate violence here." + +The professor hurried through a door and down a long hallway with the +class chattering at his heels. McGregor sat in his chair in the empty +class room and stared at the wall. As the professor hurried away he +muttered to himself: "What's getting in here? What's getting into our +schools?" + + * * * * * + +Late on the following afternoon McGregor sat in his room thinking of +what had happened in the class. He had decided that he would not spend +any more time at the University but would devote himself entirely to +the study of law. Several young men came in. + +Among the students at the University McGregor had seemed very old. +Secretly he was much admired and had often been the subject of talk. +Those who had now come to see him wanted him to join a Greek Letter +Fraternity. They sat about his room, on the window sill and on a trunk +by the wall. They smoked pipes and were boyishly eager and +enthusiastic. A glow shone in the cheeks of the spokesman--a clean- +looking youth with black curly hair and round pink--and--white cheeks, +the son of a Presbyterian minister from Iowa. + +"You have been picked by our fellows to be one of us," said the +spokesman. "We want you to become an Alpha Beta Pi. It is a grand +fraternity with chapters in the best schools in the country. Let me +tell you." + +He began reeling off a list of names of statesmen, college professors, +business men and well known athletes who belonged to the order. + +McGregor sat by the wall looking at his guests and wondering what he +would say. He was a little amused and half hurt and felt like a man +who has had a Sunday School scholar stop him on the street to ask him +about the welfare of his soul. He thought of Edith Carson waiting for +him in her store on Monroe Street, of the angry miners standing in the +saloon in Coal Creek plotting to break into the restaurant while he +sat with the hammer in his hands waiting for battle, of old Mother +Misery walking at the heels of the soldiers' horses through the +streets of the mining village, and last of all of the terrible +certainty that these bright-eyed boys would be destroyed, swallowed up +by the huge commercial city in which they were to live. + +"It means a lot to be one of us when a chap gets out into the world," +the curly-haired youth said. "It helps you get on, get in with the +right people. You can't go on without men you know. You ought to get +in with the best fellows." He hesitated and looked at the floor. "I +don't mind telling you," he said with an outburst of frankness, "that +one of our stronger men--Whiteside, the mathematician--wanted us to +have you. He said you were worth while. He thought you ought to see us +and get to know us and that we ought to see and get to know you." + +McGregor got up and took his hat from a nail on the wall. He felt the +utter futility of trying to express what was in his mind and walked +down the stairs to the street with the file of boys following in +embarrassed silence and stumbling in the darkness of the hallway at +his heels. At the street door he stopped and faced them, struggling to +put his thoughts into words. + +"I can't do what you ask," he said. "I like you and like your asking +me to come in with you, but I'm going to quit the University." His +voice softened. "I would like to have you for friends," he added. "You +say a man needs to know people after awhile. Well, I would like to +know you while you are what you are now. I don't want to know you +after you become what you will become." + +McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalk +and went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face and +he knew he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened. +"I hate hitting boys," he thought as he hurried away to his evening's +work at the restaurant. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When McGregor was admitted to the bar and ready to take his place +among the thousands of young lawyers scattered over the Chicago loop +district he half drew back from beginning the practice of his +profession. To spend his life quibbling over trifles with other +lawyers was not what he wanted. To have his place in life fixed by his +ability in quibbling seemed to him hideous. + +Night after night he walked alone in the streets thinking of the +matter. He grew angry and swore. Sometimes he was so stirred by the +meaninglessness of whatever way of life offered itself that he was +tempted to leave the city and become a tramp, one of the hordes of +adventurous dissatisfied souls who spend their lives drifting back and +forth along the American railroads. + +He continued to work in the South State Street restaurant that got its +patronage from the underworld. In the evenings from six until twelve +trade was quiet and he sat reading books and watching the restless +thrashing crowds that passed the window. Sometimes he became so +absorbed that one of the guests sidled past and escaped through the +door without paying his bill. In State Street the people moved up and +down nervously, wandering here and there, going without purpose like +cattle confined in a corral. Women in cheap imitations of the gowns +worn by their sisters two blocks away in Michigan Avenue and with +painted faces leered at the men. In gaudily lighted store-rooms that +housed cheap suggestive shows pianos kept up a constant din. + +In the eyes of the people who idled away the evenings in South State +Street was the vacant purposeless stare of modern life accentuated and +made horrible. With the stare went the shuffling walk, the wagging +jaw, the saying of words meaning nothing. On the wall of a building +opposite the door of the restaurant hung a banner marked "Socialist +Headquarters." There where modern life had found well-nigh perfect +expression, where there was no discipline and no order, where men did +not move, but drifted like sticks on a sea-washed beach, hung the +socialist banner with its promise of the co-operative commonwealth. + +McGregor looked at the banner and at the moving people and was lost in +meditation. Walking from behind the cashier's desk he stood in the +street by the door and stared about. A fire began to burn in his eyes +and the fists that were thrust into his coat pockets were clenched. +Again as when he was a boy in Coal Creek he hated the people. The fine +love of mankind that had its basis in a dream of mankind galvanised by +some great passion into order and meaning was lost. + +In the restaurant after midnight trade briskened Waiters and +bartenders from fashionable restaurants of the loop district began to +drop in to meet friends from among the women of the town. When a woman +came in she walked up to one of these young men. "What kind of a night +have you had?" they asked each other. + +The visiting waiters stood about and talked in low tones. As they +talked they absentmindedly practised the art of withholding money from +customers, a source of income to them. They played with coins, pitched +them into the air, palmed them, made them appear and disappear with +marvellous rapidity. Some of them sat on stools along the counter +eating pie and drinking cups of hot coffee. + +A cook clad in a long dirty apron came into the room from the kitchen +and putting a dish on the counter stood eating its contents. He tried +to win the admiration of the idlers by boasting. In a blustering voice +he called familiarly to women seated at tables along the wall. At some +time in his life the cook had worked for a travelling circus and he +talked continually of his adventures on the road, striving to make +himself a hero in the eyes of his audience. + +McGregor read the book that lay before him on the counter and tried to +forget the squalid disorder of his surroundings. Again he read of the +great figures of history, the soldiers and statesmen who have been +leaders of men. When the cook asked him a question or made some remark +intended for his ears he looked up, nodded and read again. When a +disturbance started in the room he growled out a command and the +disturbance subsided. From time to time well dressed middle-aged men, +half gone in drink, came and leaned over the counter to whisper to +him. He made a motion with his hand to one of the women sitting at the +tables along the wall and idly playing with toothpicks. When she came +to him he pointed to the man and said, "He wants to buy you a dinner." + +The women of the underworld sat at the tables and talked of McGregor, +each secretly wishing he might become her lover. They gossiped like +suburban wives, filling their talk with vague reference to things he +had said. They commented upon his clothes and his reading. When he +looked at them they smiled and stirred uneasily about like timid +children. + +One of the women of the underworld, a thin woman with hollow red +cheeks, sat at a table talking with the other women of the raising of +white leghorn chickens. She and her husband, a fat old roan, a waiter +in a loop restaurant, had bought a ten-acre farm in the country and +she was helping to pay for it with the money made in the streets in +the evening. A small black-eyed woman who sat beside the chicken +raiser reached up to a raincoat hanging on the wall and taking a piece +of white cloth from the pocket began to work out a design in pale blue +flowers for the front of a shirtwaist. A youth with unhealthy looking +skin sat on a stool by the counter talking to a waiter. + +"The reformers have raised hell with business," the youth boasted as +he looked about to be sure of listeners. "I used to have four women +working for me here in State Street in World's Fair year and now I +have only one and she crying and sick half the time." + +McGregor stopped reading the book. "In every city there is a vice +spot, a place from which diseases go out to poison the people. The +best legislative brains in the world have made no progress against +this evil," it said. + +He closed the book, threw it away from him and looked at his big fist +lying on the counter and at the youth talking boastfully to the +waiter. A smile played about the corners of his mouth. He opened and +closed his fist reflectively. Then taking a law book from a shelf +below the counter he began reading again, moving his lips and resting +his head upon his hands. + +McGregor's law office was upstairs over a secondhand clothing store in +Van Buren Street. There he sat at his desk reading and waiting and at +night he returned to the State Street restaurant. Now and then he went +to the Harrison Street police station to hear a police court trial and +through the influence of O'Toole was occasionally given a case that +netted him a few dollars. He tried to think that the years spent in +Chicago were years of training. In his own mind he knew what he wanted +to do but did not know how to begin. Instinctively he waited. He saw +the march and countermarch of events in the lives of the people +tramping on the sidewalks below his office window, saw in his mind the +miners of the Pennsylvania village coming down from the hills to +disappear below the ground, looked at the girls hurrying through the +swinging doors of department stores in the early morning, wondering +which of them would presently sit idling with toothpicks in O'Toole's +and waited for the word or the stir on the surface of that sea of +humanity that would be a sign to him. To an onlooker he might have +seemed but another of the wasted men of modern life, a drifter on the +sea of things--but it was not so. The people plunging through the +streets afire with earnestness concerning nothing had not succeeded in +sucking him into the whirlpool of commercialism in which they +struggled and into which year after year the best of America's youth +was drawn. + +The idea that had come into his mind as he sat on the hill above the +mining town grew and grew. Day and night he dreamed of the actual +physical phenomena of the men of labour marching their way into power +and of the thunder of a million feet rocking the world and driving the +great song of order purpose and discipline into the soul of Americans. + +Sometimes it seemed to him that the dream would never be more than a +dream. In the dusty little office he sat and tears came into his eyes. +At such times he was convinced that mankind would go on forever along +the old road, that youth would continue always to grow into manhood, +become fat, decay and die with the great swing and rhythm of life a +meaningless mystery to them. "They will see the seasons and the +planets marching through space but they will not march," he muttered, +and went to stand by the window and stare down into the dirt and +disorder of the street below. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In the office McGregor occupied in Van Buren Street there was another +desk besides his own. The desk was owned by a small man with an +extraordinary long moustache and with grease spots on the lapel of his +coat. In the morning he came in and sat in his chair with his feet on +his desk. He smoked long black stogies and read the morning papers. On +the glass panel of the door was the inscription, "Henry Hunt, Real +Estate Broker." When he had finished with the morning papers he +disappeared, returning tired and dejected late in the afternoon. + +The real estate business of Henry Hunt was a myth. Although he bought +and sold no property he insisted on the title and had in his desk a +pile of letterheads setting forth the kind of property in which he +specialised. He had a picture of his daughter, a graduate of the Hyde +Park High School, in a glass frame on the wall. When he went out at +the door in the morning he paused to look at McGregor and said, "If +any one comes in about property tend to them for me. I'll be gone for +a while." + +Henry Hunt was a collector of tithes for the political bosses of the +first ward. All day he went from place to place through the ward +interviewing women, checking their names off a little red book he +carried in his pocket, promising, demanding, making veiled threats. In +the evening he sat in his flat overlooking Jackson Park and listened +to his daughter play on the piano. With all his heart he hated his +place in life and as he rode back and forth to town on the Illinois +Central trains he stared at the lake and dreamed of owning a farm and +living a free life in the country. In his mind he could see the +merchants standing gossiping on the sidewalk before the stores in an +Ohio village where he had lived as a boy and in fancy saw himself +again a boy, driving cows through the village street in the evening +and making a delightful little slap slap with his bare feet in the +deep dust. + +It was Henry Hunt in his secret office as collector and lieutenant to +the "boss" of the first ward who shifted the scenes for McGregor's +appearance as a public character in Chicago. + +One night a young man--son of one of the city's plunging millionaire +wheat speculators--was found dead in a little blind alley back of a +resort known as Polk Street Mary's place. He lay crumpled up against a +board fence quite dead and with a bruise on the side of his head. A +policeman found him and dragged him to the street light at the corner +of the alley. + +For twenty minutes the policeman had been standing under the light +swinging his stick. He had heard nothing. A young man came up, touched +him on the arm and whispered to him. When he turned to go down the +alley the young man ran away up the street. + + * * * * * + +The powers that rule the first ward in Chicago were furious when the +identity of the dead man became known. The "boss," a mild-looking +blue-eyed little man in a neat grey suit and with a silky moustache, +stood in his office opening and closing his fists convulsively. Then +he called a young man and sent for Henry Hunt and a well known police +official. + +For some weeks the newspapers of Chicago had been conducting a +campaign against vice. Swarms of reporters had over-run the ward. +Daily they issued word pictures of life in the underworld. On the +front pages of the papers with senators and governors and millionaires +who had divorced their wives, appeared also the names of Ugly Brown +Chophouse Sam and Carolina Kate with descriptions of their places, +their hours of closing and the class and quantity of their patronage. +A drunken man rolled on the floor at the back of a Twenty-second +Street saloon and robbed of his pocketbook had his picture on the +front page of the morning papers. + +Henry Hunt sat in his office on Van Buren Street trembling with +fright. He expected to see his name in the paper and his occupation +disclosed. + +The powers that ruled the First--quiet shrewd men who knew how to make +and to take profits, the very flower of commercialism--were +frightened. They saw in the prominence of the dead man a real +opportunity for their momentary enemies the press. For weeks they had +been sitting quietly, weathering the storm of public disapproval. In +their minds they thought of the ward as a kingdom in itself, something +foreign and apart from the city. Among their followers were men who +had not been across the Van Buren Street line into foreign territory +for years. + +Suddenly through the minds of these men floated a menace. Like the +small soft-speaking boss the ward gripped its fist conclusively. +Through the streets and alleys ran a cry, a warning. Like birds of +prey disturbed in their nesting places they fluttered, uttering cries. +Throwing his stogie into the gutter Henry Hunt ran through the ward. +From house to house he uttered his cry--"Lay low! Pull off nothing." + +The little boss in his office at the front of his saloon looked from +Henry Hunt to the police official. "It is no time for hesitation," he +said. "It will prove a boon if we act quickly. We have got to arrest +and try that murderer and do it now. Who is our man? Quick. Let's have +action." + +Henry Hunt lighted a fresh stogie. He played nervously with the ends +of his fingers and wished he were out of the ward and safely out of +range of the prying eyes of the press. In fancy he could hear his +daughter screaming with horror at the sight of his name spread in +glaring letters before the world and thought of her with a flush of +abhorrence on her young face turning from him forever. In his terror +his mind darted here and there. A name sprang to his lips. "It might +have been Andy Brown," he said, puffing at the stogie. + +The little boss whirled his chair about. He began picking up the +papers scattered about his desk. When he spoke his voice was again +soft and mild. "It was Andy Brown," he said. "Whisper the word about. +Let a _Tribune_ man locate Brown for you. Handle this right and +you will save your own scalp and get the fool papers off the back of +the First." + + * * * * * + +The arrest of Brown brought respite to the ward. The prediction of the +shrewd little boss made good. The newspapers dropped the clamorous cry +for reform and began demanding instead the life of Andrew Brown. +Newspaper artists rushed into police headquarters and made hurried +sketches to appear an hour later blazoned across the face of extras on +the streets. Grave scientific men got their pictures printed at the +heads of articles on "Criminal Characteristics of the Head and Face." + +An adept and imaginative writer for an afternoon paper spoke of Brown +as a Jekyll and Hyde of the Tenderloin and hinted at other murders by +the same hand. From the comparatively quiet life of a not markedly +industrious yeggman Brown came out of the upper floor of a State +Street lodging house to stand stoically before the world of men--a +storm centre about which swirled and eddied the wrath of an aroused +city. + +The thought that had flashed into the mind of Henry Hunt as he sat in +the office of the soft-voiced boss was the making of an opportunity +for McGregor. For months he and Andrew Brown had been friends. The +yeggman, a strongly built slow talking man, looked like a skilled +mechanic of a locomotive engineer. Coming into O'Toole's in the quiet +hours between eight and twelve he sat eating his evening meal and +talking in a half bantering humorous vein to the young lawyer. In his +eyes lurked a kind of hard cruelty tempered by indolence. It was he +who gave McGregor the name that still clings to him in that strange +savage land--"Judge Mac, the Big 'un." + +When he was arrested Brown sent for McGregor and offered to give him +charge of his case. When the young lawyer refused he was insistent. In +a cell at the county jail they talked it over. By the door stood a +guard watching them. McGregor peered into the half darkness and said +what he thought should be said. "You are in a hole," he began. "You +don't want me, you want a big name. They're all set to hang you over +there." He waved his hand in the direction of the First. "They're +going to hand you over as an answer to a stirred up city. It's a job +for the biggest and best criminal lawyer in town. Name the man and +I'll get him for you and help raise the money to pay him." + +Andrew Brown got up and walked to McGregor. Looking down at him he +spoke quickly and determinedly. "You do what I say," he growled. "You +take this case. I didn't do the job. I was asleep in my room when it +was pulled off. Now you take the case. You won't clear me. It ain't in +the cards. But you get the job just the same." + +He sat down again upon the iron cot at the corner of the cell. His +voice became slow and had in it a touch of cynical humour. "Look here, +Big 'un," he said, "the gang's picked my number out of the hat. I'm +going across but there's good advertising in the job for some one and +you get it." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The trial of Andrew Brown was both an opportunity and a test for +McGregor. For a number of years he had lived a lonely life in Chicago. +He had made no friends and his mind had not been confused by the +endless babble of small talk on which most of us subsist. Evening +after evening he had walked alone through the streets and had stood at +the door of the State Street restaurant a solitary figure aloof from +life. Now he was to be drawn into the maelstrom. In the past he had +been let alone by life. The great blessing of isolation had been his +and in his isolation he had dreamed a big dream. Now the quality of +the dream and the strength of its hold upon him was to be tested. + +McGregor was not to escape the influence of the life of his day. Deep +human passion lay asleep in his big body. Before the time of his +Marching Men he had yet to stand the most confusing of all the modern +tests of men, the beauty of meaningless women and the noisy clamour of +success that is equally meaningless. + +On the day of his conversation with Andrew Brown in the old Cook +County jail on Chicago's North Side we are therefore to think of +McGregor as facing these tests. After the talk with Brown he walked +along the street and came to the bridge that led over the river into +the loop district. In his heart he knew that he was facing a fight and +the thought thrilled him. With a new lift to his shoulders he walked +over the bridge. He looked at the people and again let his heart be +filled with contempt for them. + +He wished that the fight for Brown were a fight with fists. Boarding a +west side car he sat looking out through the car window at the passing +crowd and imagined himself among them, striking right and left, +gripping throats, demanding the truth that would save Brown and set +himself up before the eyes of men. + +When McGregor got to the Monroe Street millinery store it was evening +and Edith was preparing to go out to the evening meal. He stood +looking at her. In his voice rang a note of triumph. Out of his +contempt for the men and women of the underworld came boastfulness. +"They have given me a job they think I can't do," he said. "I'm to be +Brown's counsel in the big murder case." He put his hands on her frail +shoulders and pulled her to the light. "I'm going to knock them over +and show them," he boasted. "They think they're going to hang Brown-- +the oily snakes. Well they didn't count on me. Brown doesn't count on +me. I'm going to show them." He laughed noisily in the empty shop. + +At a little restaurant McGregor and Edith talked of the test he was to +go through. As he talked she sat in silence and looked at his red +hair. + +"Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart," she said, thinking of +herself. + + * * * * * + +America is the land of murders. Day after day in cities and towns and +on lonely country roads violent death creeps upon men. Undisciplined +and disorderly in their way of life the citizens can do nothing. After +each murder they cry out for new laws which, when they are written +into the books of laws, the very lawmaker himself breaks. Harried +through life by clamouring demands, their days leave them no time for +the quietude in which thoughts grow. After days of meaningless hurry +in the city they jump upon trains or street cars and hurry through +their favourite paper to the ball game, the comic pictures and the +market reports. + +And then something happens. The moment arrives. A murder that might +have got a single column on an inner page of yesterday's paper today +spreads its terrible details over everything. + +Through the streets hurry the restless scurrying newsboys, stirring +the crowds with their cries. The men who have passed impatiently the +tales of a city's shame snatch the papers and read eagerly and +exhaustively the story of a crime. + +And into the midst of such a maelstrom of rumours, hideous impossible +stories and well-laid plans to defeat the truth, McGregor hurled +himself. Day after day he wandered through the vice district south of +Van Buren Street. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and saloon hangers-on +looked at him and smiled knowingly. As the days passed and he made no +progress he became desperate. One day an idea came to him. "I'll go to +the good looking woman at the settlement house," he told himself. "She +won't know who killed the boy but she can find out. I'll make her find +out." + + * * * * * + +In Margaret Ormsby McGregor was to know what was to him a new kind of +womanhood, something sure, reliant, hedged about and prepared as a +good soldier is prepared, to have the best of it in the struggle for +existence. Something he had not known was yet to make its cry to the +man. + +Margaret Ormsby like McGregor himself had not been defeated by life. +She was the daughter of David Ormsby, head of the great plough trust +with headquarters in Chicago, a man who because of a certain fine +assurance in his attitude toward life had been called "Ormsby the +Prince" by his associates. Her mother Laura Ormsby was small nervous +and intense. + +With a self-conscious abandonment, lacking just a shade of utter +security, Margaret Ormsby, beautiful in body and beautifully clad, +went here and there among the outcasts of the First Ward. She like all +women was waiting for an opportunity of which she did not talk even to +herself. She was something for the single-minded and primitive +McGregor to approach with caution. + +Hurrying along a narrow street lined with cheap saloons McGregor went +in at the door of the settlement house and sat in a chair at a desk +facing Margaret Ormsby. He knew something of her work in the First +Ward and that she was beautiful and self-possessed. He was determined +that she should help him. Sitting in the chair and looking at her +across the flat-top desk he choked back into her throat the terse +sentences with which she was wont to greet visitors. + +"It is all very well for you to sit there dressed up and telling me +what women in your position can do and can't do," he said, "but I've +come here to tell you what you will do if you are of the kind that +want to be useful." + +The speech of McGregor was a challenge which Margaret, the modern +daughter of one of our modern great men, could not well let pass. Had +she not brazened out her timidity to go calmly among prostitutes and +sordid muttering drunkards, serene in her consciousness of business- +like purpose? "What is it you want?" she asked sharply. + +"You have just two things that will help me," said McGregor; "your +beauty and your virginity. These things are a kind of magnet, drawing +the women of the street to you. I know. I've heard them talk. + +"There are women who come in here who know who it was killed that boy +in the passageway and why it was done," McGregor went on. "You're a +fetish with these women. They are children and they come in here to +look at you as children peep around curtains at guests sitting in the +parlour of their houses. + +"Well I want you to call these children into the room and let them +tell you family secrets. The whole ward here knows the story of that +killing. The air is filled with it. The men and women keep trying to +tell me, but they're afraid. The police have them scared and they +half-tell me and then run away like frightened animals. + +"I want them to tell you. You don't count with the police down here. +They think you're too beautiful and too good to touch the real life of +these people. None of them--the bosses or the police--are watching +you. I'll keep kicking up dust and you get the information I want. You +can do the job if you're any good." + +After McGregor's speech the woman sat in silence and looked at him. +For the first time she had met a man who overwhelmed her and was in no +way diverted by her beauty nor her self--possession. A hot wave, half +anger, half admiration, swept over her. + +McGregor stared at the woman and waited. "I've got to have facts," he +said. "Give me the story and the names of those who know the story and +I'll make them tell. I have some facts now--got them by bullying a +girl and by choking a bartender in an alley. Now I want you in your +way to put me in the way of getting more facts. You make the women +talk and tell you and then you tell me." + +When McGregor had gone Margaret Ormsby got up from her desk in the +settlement house and walked across the city toward her father's +office. She was startled and frightened. In a moment and by the speech +and manner of this brutal young lawyer she had been made to realise +that she was but a child in the hands of the forces that played about +her in the First Ward. Her self--possession was shaken. "If they are +children--these women of the town--then I am a child, a child swimming +with them in a sea of hate and ugliness." + +A new thought came into her mind. "But he is no child--that McGregor. +He is a child of nothing. He stands on a rock unshaken." + +She tried to become indignant because of the blunt frankness of the +man's speech. "He talked to me as he would have talked to a woman of +the streets," she thought. "He was not afraid to assume that at bottom +we are alike, just playthings in the hands of the man who dares." + +In the street she stopped and looked about. Her body trembled and she +realised that the forces about her had become living things ready to +pounce upon her. "Anyway, I will do what I can. I will help him. I +will have to do that," she whispered to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The clearing of Andrew Brown made a sensation in Chicago. At the trial +McGregor was able to introduce one of those breath-taking dramatic +climaxes that catch the attention of the mob. At the tense dramatic +moment of the trial a frightened hush fell upon the court room and +that evening in their houses men turned instinctively from the reading +of the papers to look at their beloved sitting about them. A chill of +fear ran over the bodies of women. For a moment Beaut McGregor had +given them a peep under the crust of civilisation that awoke an age- +old trembling in their hearts. In his fervour and impatience McGregor +had cried out, not against the incidental enemies of Brown but against +all modern society and its formlessness. To the listeners it seemed +that he shook mankind by the throat and that by the power and +purposefulness of his own solitary figure he revealed the pitiful +weakness of his fellows. + +In the court room McGregor had sat, grim and silent, letting the State +build up its case. In his face was a challenge. His eyes looked out +from beneath swollen eyelids. For weeks he had been as tireless as a +bloodhound running through the First Ward and building his case. +Policemen had seen him emerge from alleyways at three in the morning, +the soft spoken boss hearing of his activities had eagerly questioned +Henry Hunt, a bartender in a dive on Polk Street had felt the grip of +a hand at his throat and a trembling girl of the town had knelt before +him in a little dark room begging protection from his wrath. In the +court room he sat waiting and watching. + +When the special counsel for the State, a man of great name in the +courts, had finished his insistent persistent cry for the blood of the +silent unemotional Brown, McGregor acted. Springing to his feet he +shouted hoarsely across the silent court room to a large woman sitting +among the witnesses. "They have tricked you Mary," he roared. "The +tale about the pardon after the excitement dies is a lie. They're +stringing you. They're going to hang Andy Brown. Get up there and tell +the naked truth or his blood be on your hands." + +A furor arose in the crowded court room. Lawyers sprang to their feet, +objecting, protesting. Above the noise arose a hoarse accusing voice. +"Keep Polk Street Mary and every woman from her place in here," he +shouted. "They know who killed your man. Put them back there on the +stand. They'll tell. Look at them. The truth is coming out of them." + +The clamour in the room subsided. The silent red-haired attorney, the +joke of the case, had scored. Walking in the streets at night the +words of Edith Carson had come back into his brain, and with the help +of Margaret Ormsby he had been able to follow a clue given by her +suggestion. + +"Find out if your man Brown has a sweetheart." + +In a moment he saw the message the women of the underworld, patrons of +O'Toole's, had been trying to convey to him. Polk Street Mary was the +sweetheart of Andy Brown. Now in the silent court room the voice of a +woman arose broken with sobs. To the listening crowd in the packed +little room came the story of the tragedy in the darkened house before +which stood the policeman idly swinging his night stick--the story of +a girl from an Illinois village procured and sold to the broker's son +--of the desperate struggle in the little room between the eager +lustful man and the frightened brave-hearted girl--of the blow with +the chair in the hands of the girl that brought death to the man--of +the women of the house trembling on the stairs and the body hastily +pitched into the passageway. + +"They told me they would get Andy off when this blew over," wailed the +woman. + + * * * * * + +McGregor went out of the court room into the street. The glow of +victory was on him and he strode along with his heart beating high. +His way led over a bridge into the North Side and in his wanderings he +passed the apple warehouse where he had made his start in the city and +where he had fought with the German. When night came he walked in +North Clark Street and heard the newsboys shouting of his victory. +Before him danced a new vision, a vision of himself as a big figure in +the city. Within himself he felt the power to stand forth among men, +to outwit them and outfight them, to get for himself power and place +in the world. + +The miner's son was half drunk with the new sense of achievement that +swept in on him. Out of Clark Street he went and walked east along a +residence street to the lake. By the lake he saw a street of great +houses surrounded by gardens and the thought came that at some time he +might have such a house of his own. The disorderly clatter of modern +life seemed very far away. When he came to the lake he stood in the +darkness thinking of the useless rowdy of the mining town suddenly +become a great lawyer in the city and the blood ran swiftly through +his body. "I am to be one of the victors, one of the few who emerge," +he whispered to himself and with a jump of the heart thought also of +Margaret Ormsby looking at him with her fine questioning eyes as he +stood before the men in the court room and by the force of his +personality pushed his way through a fog of lies to victory and truth. + + + + + +BOOK V + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Margaret Ormsby was a natural product of her age and of American +social life in our times. As an individual she was lovely. Although +her father David Ormsby the plough king had come up to his position +and his wealth out of obscurity and poverty and had known during his +early life what it was to stand face to face with defeat, he had made +it his business to see that his daughter had no such experience. The +girl had been sent to Vassar, she had been taught to catch the fine +distinction between clothes that are quietly and beautifully expensive +and clothes that merely look expensive, she knew how to enter a room +and how to leave a room and had also a strong well trained body and an +active mind. Added to these things she had, without the least +knowledge of life, a vigorous and rather high handed confidence in her +ability to meet life. + +During the years spent in the eastern college Margaret had made up her +mind that whatever happened she was not going to let her life be dull +or uninteresting. Once when a girl friend from Chicago came to the +college to visit her the two went for a day out of doors and sat down +upon a hillside to talk things over. "We women have been fools," +Margaret had declared. "If Father and Mother think that I am going to +come home and marry some stick of a man they are mistaken. I have +learned to smoke cigarettes and have had my share of a bottle of wine. +That may not mean anything to you. I do not think it amounts to much +either but it expresses something. It fairly makes me ill when I think +of how men have always patronised women. They want to keep evil things +away from us--Bah! I am sick of that idea and a lot of the other girls +here feel the same way. What right have they? I suppose some day some +little whiffit of a business man will set himself up to take care of +me. He had better not. I tell you there is a new kind of women growing +up and I am going to be one of them. I am going to adventure, to taste +life strongly and deeply. Father and Mother might as well make up +their minds to that." + +The excited girl had walked up and down before her companion, a mild +looking young woman with blue eyes, and had raised her hands above her +head as though to strike a blow. Her body was like the body of a fine +young animal standing alert to meet an enemy and her eyes reflected +the intoxication of her mood. "I want all of life," she cried; "I want +the lust and the strength and the evil of it. I want to be one of the +new women, the saviours of our sex." + +Between David Ormsby and his daughter there was an unusual bond. Six +foot three, blue eyed, broad shouldered, his presence had a strength +and dignity which marked him out among men and the daughter sensed his +strength. She was right in that. In his way the man was inspired. +Under his eye the trivialities of plough-making had become the details +of a fine art. In the factory he never lost the air of command which +inspires confidence. Foremen running into the office filled with +excitement because of a break in the machinery or an accident to a +workman returned to do his bidding quietly and efficiently. Salesmen +going from village to village to sell ploughs became under his +influence filled with the zeal of missionaries carrying the gospel to +the unenlightened. Stockholders of the plough company rushing to him +with rumours of coming business disaster stayed to write checks for +new assessments on their stock. He was a man who gave men back their +faith in business and their faith in men. + +To David plough-making was an end in life. Like other men of his type +he had other interests but they were secondary. In secret he thought +of himself as capable of a broader culture than most of his daily +associates and without letting it interfere with his efficiency tried +to keep in touch with the thoughts and movements of the world by +reading. After the longest and hardest day in the office he sometimes +spent half the night over a book in his room. + +As Margaret Ormsby grew into womanhood she was a constant source of +anxiety to her father. To him it seemed that she had passed from an +awkward and rather jolly girlhood into a peculiarly determined new +kind of womanhood over night. Her adventurous spirit worried him. One +day he had sat in his office reading a letter announcing her +homecoming. The letter seemed no more than a characteristic outburst +from an impulsive girl who had but yesterday fallen asleep at evening +in his arms. It confused him to think that an honest ploughmaker +should have a letter from his little girl talking of the kind of +living that he believed could only lead a woman to destruction. + +And then the next day there sat beside him at his table a new and +commanding figure demanding his attention. David got up from the table +and hurried away to his room. He wanted to readjust his thoughts. On +his desk was a photograph brought home by the daughter from school. He +had the common experience of being told by the photograph what he had +been trying to grasp. Instead of a wife and child there were two women +in the house with him. + +Margaret had come out of college a thing of beauty in face and figure. +Her tall straight well-trained body, her coal-black hair, her soft +brown eyes, the air she had of being prepared for life's challenge +caught and held the attention of men. There was in the girl something +of her father's bigness and not a little of the secret blind desires +of her mother. To an attentive household on the night of her arrival +she announced her intention of living her life fully and vividly. "I +am going to know things I can not get from books," she said. "I am +going to touch life at many corners, getting the taste of things in my +mouth. You thought me a child when I wrote home saying that I wouldn't +be cooped up in the house and married to a tenor in the church choir +or to an empty-headed young business man but now you are going to see. +I am going to pay the price if necessary, but I am going to live." + +In Chicago Margaret set about the business of living as though nothing +were needed but strength and energy. In a characteristic American way +she tried to hustle life. When the men in her own set looked confused +and shocked by the opinions she expressed she got out of her set and +made the common mistake of supposing that those who do not work and +who talk rather glibly of art and of freedom are by that token free +men and artists. + +Still she loved and respected her father. The strength in him made an +appeal to the native strong-thing in her. To a young socialist writer +who lived in the settlement house where she presently went to live and +who sought her out to sit by her desk berating men of wealth and +position she showed the quality of her ideals by pointing to David +Ormsby. "My father, the leader of an industrial trust, is a better man +than all of the noisy reformers that ever lived," she declared. "He +makes ploughs anyway--makes them well--millions of them. He does not +spend his time talking and running his ringers through his hair. He +works and his work has lightened the labours of millions while the +talkers sit thinking noisy thoughts and getting round-shouldered." + +In truth Margaret Ormsby was puzzled. Had she been allowed by a common +fellowship in living to be a real sister to all other women and to +know their common heritage of defeat, had she like her father when he +was a boy but known what it was to walk utterly broken and beaten in +the face of men and then to rise again and again to battle with life +she would have been splendid. + +She did not know. To her mind any kind of defeat had in it a touch of +something like immorality. When she saw all about her only a vast mob +of defeated and confused human beings trying to make headway in the +midst of a confused social organisation she was beside herself with +impatience. + +The distraught girl turned to her father and tried to get hold of the +keynote of his life; "I want you to tell me things," she said, but the +father not understanding only shook his head. It did not occur to him +to talk to her as to a fine man friend and a kind of bantering half +serious companionship sprang up between them. The ploughmaker was +happy in the thought that the jolly girl he had known before his +daughter went to college had come back to live with him. + +After Margaret went to the settlement house she lunched with her +father almost every day. The hour together in the midst of the din +that filled their lives became for them both a treasured privilege. +Day after day they sat for an hour in a fashionable down-town eating +place renewing and strengthening their comradeship, laughing and +talking amid the crowds, delightful in their intimacy. With each other +they playfully took on the air of the two men of affairs, each in turn +treating the work of the other as something to be passed over lightly. +Secretly neither believed as he talked. + +In her effort to get hold of and move the sordid human wrecks floating +in and out of the door of the settlement house Margaret thought of her +father at his desk directing the making of ploughs. "It is clean and +important work," she thought. "He is a big and effective man." + +At his desk in the office of the plough trust David thought of his +daughter in the settlement house at the edge of the First Ward. "She +is a white shining thing amid dirt and ugliness," he thought "Her +whole life is like the life of her mother during the hours when she +once lay bravely facing death for the sake of a new life." + +On the day of her meeting with McGregor, father and daughter sat as +usual in the restaurant. Men and women passed up and down the long +carpeted aisles and looked at them admiringly. A waiter stood at +Ormsby's shoulder anxious for the generous tip. Into the air that hung +over them, the little secret atmosphere of comradeship they cherished +so carefully, was thrust the sense of a new personality. Floating in +Margaret's mind beside the quiet noble face of her father, with its +stamp of ability and kindliness, was another face--the face of the man +who had talked to her in the settlement house, not as Margaret Ormsby +daughter of David Ormsby of the plough trust but as a woman who could +serve his ends and whom he meant should serve. The vision in her mind +haunted her and she listened indifferently to the talk of her father. +She felt that the stern face of the young lawyer with its strong mouth +and its air of command was as something impending and tried to get +back the feeling of dislike she had felt when first he thrust himself +in at the settlement house door. She succeeded only in recalling +certain firm lines of purpose that offset and tempered the brutality +of his face. + +Sitting there in the restaurant opposite her father, where day after +day they had tried so hard to build a real partnership in existence, +Margaret suddenly burst into tears. + +"I have met a man who has compelled me to do what I did not want to +do," she explained to the astonished man and then smiled at him +through the tears that glistened in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In Chicago the Ormsbys lived in a large stone house in Drexel +Boulevard. The house had a history. It was owned by a banker who was a +large stockholder and one of the directors of the plough trust. Like +all men who knew him well the banker admired and respected the ability +and integrity of David Ormsby. When the ploughmaker came to the city +from a town in Wisconsin to be the master of the plough trust he +offered him the house to use. + +The house had come to the banker from his father, a grim determined +old money-making merchant of a past generation who had died hated by +half Chicago after toiling sixteen hours daily for sixty years. In his +old age the merchant had built the house to express the power wealth +had given him. It had floors and woodwork cunningly wrought of +expensive woods by workmen sent to Chicago by a firm in Brussels. In +the long drawing room at the front of the house hung a chandelier that +had cost the merchant ten thousand dollars. The stairway leading to +the floor above was from the palace of a prince in Venice and had been +bought for the merchant and brought over seas to the house in Chicago. + +The banker who inherited the house did not want to live in it. Even +before the death of his father and after his own unsuccessful marriage +he lived at a down town club. In his old age the merchant, retired +from business, lived in the house with another old man, an inventor. +He could not rest although he had given up business with that end in +view. Digging a trench in the lawn at the back of the house he with +his friend spent his days trying to reduce the refuse of one of his +factories to something having commercial value. Fires burned in the +trench and at night the grim old man, hands covered with tar, sat in +the house under the chandelier. After the death of the merchant the +house stood empty, staring at passers-by in the street, its walks and +paths overgrown with weeds and rank grass. + +David Ormsby fitted into his house. Walking through the long halls or +sitting smoking his cigar in an easy chair on the wide lawn he looked +arrayed and environed. The house became a part of him like a well-made +and intelligently worn suit of clothes. Into the drawing room under +the ten thousand dollar chandelier he moved a billiard table and the +click of ivory balls banished the churchliness of the place. + +Up and down the stairway moved American girls, friends of Margaret, +their skirts rustling and their voices running through the huge rooms. +In the evening after dinner David played billiards. The careful +calculation of the angles and the English interested him. Playing in +the evening with Margaret or with a man friend the fatigue of the day +passed and his honest voice and reverberating laugh brought a smile to +the lips of people passing in the street. In the evening David brought +his friends to sit in talk with him on the wide verandas. At times he +went alone to his room at the top of the house and buried himself in +books. On Saturday evenings he had a debauch and with a group of +friends from town sat at a card table in the long parlour playing +poker and drinking highballs. + +Laura Ormsby, Margaret's mother, had never seemed a real part of the +life about her. Even as a child the daughter had thought her +hopelessly romantic. Life had treated her too well and from every one +about her she expected qualities and reactions which in her own person +she would not have tried to achieve. + +David had already begun to rise when he married her, the slender +brown-haired daughter of a village shoemaker, and even in those days +the little plough company with its ownership scattered among the +merchants and farmers of the vicinity had started under his hand to +make progress in the state. People already spoke of its master as a +coming man and of Laura as the wife of a coming man. + +To Laura this was in some way unsatisfactory. Sitting at home and +doing nothing she had still a passionate wish to be known as a +character, an individual, a woman of action. On the street as she +walked beside her husband, she beamed upon people but when the same +people spoke, calling them a handsome couple, a flush rose to her +cheeks and a flash of indignation ran through her brain. + +Laura Ormsby lay awake in her bed at night thinking of her life. She +had a world of fancies in which she at such times lived. In her dream +world a thousand stirring adventures came to her. She imagined a +letter received through the mail, telling of an intrigue in which +David's name was coupled with that of another woman and lay abed +quietly hugging the thought. She looked at the face of the sleeping +David tenderly. "Poor hard-pressed boy," she muttered. "I shall be +resigned and cheerful and lead him gently back to his old place in my +heart." + +In the morning after a night spent in this dream world Laura looked at +David, so cool and efficient, and was irritated by his efficiency. +When he playfully dropped his hand upon her shoulder she drew away and +sitting opposite him at breakfast watched him reading the morning +paper all unconscious of the rebel thoughts in her mind. + +Once after she had moved to Chicago and after Margaret's return from +college Laura had the faint suggestion of an adventure. Although it +turned out tamely it lingered in her mind and in some way sweetened +her thoughts. + +She was alone on a sleeping car coming from New York. A young man sat +in a seat opposite her and the two fell into talk. As she talked Laura +imagined herself eloping with the young man and under her lashes +looked sharply at his weak and pleasant face. She kept the talk alive +as others in the car crawled away for the night behind the green +swaying curtains. + +With the young man Laura discussed ideas she had got from reading +Ibsen and Shaw. She grew bold and daring in the advancing of opinions +and tried to stir the young man to some overt speech or action that +might arouse her indignation. + +The young man did not understand the middle-aged woman who sat beside +him and talked so boldly. He knew of but one prominent man named Shaw +and that man had been governor of Iowa and later a member of the +cabinet of President McKinley. It startled him to think that a +prominent member of the Republican party should have such thoughts or +express such opinions. He talked of fishing in Canada and of a comic +opera he had seen in New York and at eleven o'clock yawned and +disappeared behind the green curtains. As the young man lay in his +berth he muttered to himself, "Now what did that woman want?" A +thought came into his mind and he reached up to where his trousers +swung in a little hammock above the window and looked to see that his +watch and pocket-book were still there. + +At home Laura Ormsby nursed the thought of the talk with the strange +man on the train. In her mind he became something romantic and daring, +a streak of light across what she was pleased to think of as her +sombre life. + +Sitting at dinner she talked of him describing his charms. "He had a +wonderful mind and we sat late into the night talking," she said, +watching the face of David. + +When she had spoken Margaret looked up and said laughingly, "Have a +heart Dad. Here is romance. Do not be blind to it. Mother is trying to +scare you about an alleged love affair." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +One evening three weeks after the great murder trial McGregor took a +long walk in the streets of Chicago and tried to plan out his life. He +was troubled and disconcerted by the event that had crowded in upon +the heels of his dramatic success in the court room and more than +troubled by the fact that his mind constantly played with the dream of +having Margaret Ormsby as his wife. In the city he had become a power +and instead of the names and the pictures of criminals and keepers of +disorderly houses his name and his picture now appeared on the front +pages of newspapers. Andrew Leffingwell, the political representative +in Chicago of a rich and successful publisher of sensational +newspapers, had visited him in his office and had proposed to make him +a political figure in the city. Finley a noted criminal lawyer had +offered him a partnership. The lawyer, a small smiling man with white +teeth, had not asked McGregor for an immediate decision. In a way he +had taken the decision for granted. Smiling genially and rolling a +cigar across McGregor's desk he had spent an hour telling stories of +famous court room triumphs. + +"One such triumph is enough to make a man," he declared. "You have no +idea how far such a success will carry you. The word of it keeps +running through men's minds. A tradition is built up. The remembrance +of it acts upon the minds of jurors. Cases are won for you by the mere +connection of your name with the case." + +McGregor walked slowly and heavily through the streets without seeing +the people. In Wabash Avenue near Twenty-third Street he stopped in a +saloon and drank beer. The saloon was in a room below the level of the +sidewalk and the floor was covered with sawdust. Two half drunken +labourers stood by the bar quarrelling. One of the labourers who was a +socialist continually cursed the army and his words started McGregor +to thinking of the dream he had so long held and that now seemed +fading. "I was in the army and I know what I am talking about," +declared the socialist. "There is nothing national about the army. It +is a privately owned thing. Here it is secretly owned by the +capitalists and in Europe by the aristocracy. Don't tell me--I know. +The army is made up of bums. If I'm a bum I became one then. You will +see fast enough what fellows are in the army if the country is ever +caught and drawn into a great war." + +Becoming excited the socialist raised his voice and pounded on the +bar. "Hell, we don't know ourselves at all," he cried. "We never have +been tested. We call ourselves a great nation because we are rich. We +are like a fat boy who has had too much pie. Yes sir--that's what we +are here in America and as far as our army goes it is a fat boy's +plaything. Keep away from it." + +McGregor sat in the corner of the saloon and looked about. Men came in +and went out at the door. A child carried a pail down the short flight +of steps from the street and ran across the sawdust floor. Her voice, +thin and sharp, pierced through the babble of men's voices. "Ten +cents' worth--give me plenty," she pleaded, raising the pail above her +head and putting it on the bar. + +The confident smiling face of Finley the lawyer came back into +McGregor's mind. Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the +lawyer looked upon men as pawns in a great game and like the +ploughmaker his intentions were honourable and his purpose clear. He +was intent upon making much of his life, being successful. If he +played the game on the side of the criminal that was but a chance. +Things had fallen out so. In his mind was something else--the +expression of his own purpose. + +McGregor rose and went out of the saloon. In the street men stood +about in groups. At Thirty-ninth Street a crowd of youths scuffling on +the sidewalk pushed against the tall muttering man who passed with his +hat in his hand. He began to feel that he was in the midst of +something too vast to be moved by the efforts of any one man. The +pitiful insignificance of the individual was apparent. As in a long +procession the figures of the individuals who had tried to rise out of +the ruck of American life passed before him. With a shudder he +realised that for the most part the men whose names filled the pages +of American history meant nothing. The children who read of their +deeds were unmoved. Perhaps they had only increased the disorder. Like +the men passing in the street they went across the face of things and +disappeared into the darkness. + +"Perhaps Finley and Ormsby are right," he whispered. "They get what +they can, they have the good sense to know that life runs quickly like +a flying bird passing an open window. They know that if a man thinks +of anything else he is likely to become another sentimentalist and +spend his life being hypnotised by the wagging of his own jaw." + + * * * * * + +In his wanderings McGregor came to an out-of-door restaurant and +garden far out on the south side. The garden had been built for the +amusement of the rich and successful. Upon a little platform a band +played. Although the garden was walled about it was open to the sky +and above the laughing people seated at the tables shone the stars. + +McGregor sat alone at a little table on a balcony beneath a shaded +light. Below him along a terrace were other tables occupied by men and +women. On a platform in the centre of the garden dancers appeared. + +McGregor who had ordered a dinner left it untouched. A tall graceful +girl, strongly suggestive of Margaret Ormsby, danced upon the +platform. With infinite grace her body gave expression to the +movements of the dance and like a thing blown by the wind she moved +here and there in the arms of her partner, a slender youth with long +black hair. In the figure of the dancing woman there was expressed +much of the idealism man has sought to materialise in women and +McGregor was thrilled by it. A sensualism so delicate that it did not +appear to be sensualism began to invade him. With a new hunger he +looked forward to the time when he would again see Margaret. + +Upon the platform in the garden appeared other dancers. The lights at +the tables were turned low. From the darkness laughter arose. McGregor +stared about. The people seated at the tables on the terrace caught +and held his attention and he began looking sharply at the faces of +the men. How cunning they were, these men who had been successful in +life. Were they not after all the wise men? Behind the flesh that had +grown so thick upon their bones what cunning eyes. There was a game of +life and they had played it. The garden was a part of the game. It was +beautiful and did not all that was beautiful in the world end by +serving them? The arts of men, the thoughts of men, the impulses +toward loveliness that came into the minds of men and women, did not +all these things work solely to lighten the hours of the successful? +The eyes of the men at the tables as they looked at the women who +danced were not too greedy. They were filled with assurance. Was it +not for them that the dancers turned here and there revealing their +grace? If life was a struggle had they not been successful in the +struggle? + +McGregor arose from the table and left his food untouched. Near the +entrance to the gardens he stopped and leaning against a pillar looked +again at the scene before him. Upon the platform appeared a whole +troupe of women-dancers. They were dressed in many-coloured garments +and danced a folk dance. As McGregor watched a light began to creep +back into his eyes. The women who now danced were unlike her who had +reminded him of Margaret Ormsby. They were short of stature and there +was something rugged in their faces. Back and forth across the +platform they moved in masses. By their dancing they were striving to +convey a message. A thought came to McGregor. "It is the dance of +labour," he muttered. "Here in this garden it is corrupted but the +note of labour is not lost. There is a hint of it left in these +figures who toil even as they dance." + +McGregor moved away from the shadows of the pillar and stood, hat in +hand, beneath the garden lights waiting as though for a call out of +the ranks of the dancers. How furiously they worked. How the bodies +twisted and squirmed. Out of sympathy with their efforts sweat +appeared on the face of the man who stood watching. "What a storm must +be going on just below the surface of labour," he muttered. +"Everywhere dumb brutalised men and women must be waiting for +something, not knowing what they want. I will stick to my purpose but +I will not give up Margaret," he said aloud, turning and half running +out of the garden and into the street. + +In his sleep that night McGregor dreamed of a new world, a world of +soft phrases and gentle hands that stilled the rising brute in man. It +was a world-old dream, the dream out of which such women as Margaret +Ormsby have been created. The long slender hands he had seen lying on +the desk in the settlement house now touched his hands. Uneasily he +rolled about in bed and desire came to him so that he awakened. On the +Boulevard people still passed up and down. McGregor arose and stood in +the darkness by the window of his room watching. A theatre had just +spat forth its portion of richly dressed men and women and when he had +opened the window the voices of the women came clear and sharp to his +ears. + +The distracted man stared into the darkness and his blue eyes were +troubled. The vision of the disordered and disorganised band of miners +marching silently in the wake of his mother's funeral into whose lives +he by some supreme effort was to bring order was disturbed and +shattered by the more definite and lovely vision that had come to him. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +During the days since she had seen McGregor Margaret had thought of +him almost constantly. She weighed and balanced her own inclinations +and decided that if the opportunity came she would marry the man whose +force and courage had so appealed to her. She was half disappointed +that the opposition she had seen in her father's face when she had +told him of McGregor and had betrayed herself by her tears did not +become more active. She wanted to fight, to defend the man she had +secretly chosen. When nothing was said of the matter she went to her +mother and tried to explain. "We will have him here," the mother said +quickly. "I am giving a reception next week. I will make him the chief +figure. Let me have his name and address and I will attend to the +matter." + +Laura arose and went into the house. A shrewd gleam came into her +eyes. "He will act like a fool before our people," she told herself. +"He is a brute and will be made to look like a brute." She could not +restrain her impatience and sought out David. "He is a man to fear," +she said; "he would stop at nothing. You must think of some way to put +an end to Margaret's interest in him. Do you know of a better plan +than to have him here where he will look the fool?" + +David took the cigar from his lips. He felt annoyed and irritated that +an affair concerning Margaret had been brought forward for discussion. +In his heart he also feared McGregor. "Let it alone," he said sharply. +"She is a woman grown and has more judgment and good sense than any +other woman I know." He got up and threw the cigar over the veranda +into the grass. "Women are not understandable," he half shouted. "They +do inexplicable things, have inexplicable fancies. Why do they not go +forward along straight lines like a sane man? I years ago gave up +understanding you and now I am being compelled to give up +understanding Margaret." + + * * * * * + +At Mrs. Ormsby's reception McGregor appeared arrayed in the black suit +he had purchased for his mother's funeral. His flaming red hair and +rude countenance arrested the attention of all. About him on all sides +crackled talk and laughter. As Margaret had been alarmed and ill at +ease in the crowded court room where a fight for life went on, so he +among these people who went about uttering little broken sentences and +laughing foolishly at nothing, felt depressed and uncertain. In the +midst of the company he occupied much the same position as a new and +ferocious animal safely caught and now on caged exhibition. They +thought it clever of Mrs. Ormsby to have him and he was, in not quite +the accepted sense, the lion of the evening. The rumour that he would +be there had induced more than one woman to cut other engagements and +come to where she could take the hand of and talk with this hero of +the newspapers, and the men shaking his hand, looked at him sharply +and wondered what power and what cunning lay in him. + +In the newspapers after the murder trial a cry had sprung up about the +person of McGregor. Fearing to print in full the substance of his +speech on vice, its ownership and its significance, they had filled +their columns with talk of the man. The huge Scotch lawyer of the +Tenderloin was proclaimed as something new and startling in the grey +mass of the city's population. Then as in the brave days that followed +the man caught irresistibly the imagination of writing men, himself +dumb in written or spoken words except in the heat of an inspired +outburst when he expressed perfectly that pure brute force, the lust +for which sleeps in the souls of artists. + +Unlike the men the beautifully gowned women at the reception had no +fear of McGregor. They saw in him something to be tamed and conquered +and they gathered in groups to engage him in talk and return the +inquiring stare in his eyes. They thought that with such an +unconquered soul about, life might take on new fervour and interest. +Like the women who sat playing with toothpicks in O'Toole's +restaurant, more than one of the women at Mrs. Ormsby's reception had +a half unconscious wish that such a man might be her lover. + +One after another Margaret brought forward the men and women of her +world to couple their names with McGregor's and try to establish him +in the atmosphere of assurance and ease that pervaded the house and +the people. He stood by the wall bowing and staring boldly about and +thought that the confusion and distraction of mind that had followed +his first visit to Margaret at the settlement house was being +increased immeasurably with every passing moment. He looked at the +glittering chandelier on the ceiling and at the people moving about-- +the men at ease, comfortable--the women with wonderfully delicate +expressive hands and with their round white necks and shoulders +showing above their gowns and a feeling of utter helplessness pervaded +him. Never before had he been in a company so feminine. He thought of +the beautiful women about him, seeing them in his direct crude and +forceful way merely as females at work among males, carrying forward +some purpose. "With all the softly suggestive sensuality of their +dress and their persons they must in some way have sapped the strength +and the purpose of these men who move among them so indifferently," he +thought. Within himself he knew of nothing to set up as a defence +against what he believed such beauty must become to the man who lived +with it. Its power he thought must be something monumental and he +looked with admiration at the quiet face of Margaret's father, moving +among his guests. + +McGregor went out of the house and stood in the half darkness on the +veranda. When Mrs. Ormsby and Margaret followed he looked at the older +woman and sensed her antagonism. The old love of battle swept in on +him and he turned and stood in silence looking at her. "The fine +lady," he thought, "is no better than the women of the First Ward. She +has an idea I will surrender without a fight." + +Out of his mind went the fear of the assurance and stability of +Margaret's people that had almost overcome him in the house. The woman +who had all her life thought of herself as one waiting only the +opportunity to appear as a commanding figure in affairs made by her +presence a failure of the effort to submerge McGregor. + + * * * * * + +On the veranda stood the three people. McGregor the silent became the +talkative. Seized with one of the inspirations that were a part of his +nature he threw talk about, sparring and returning thrust for thrust +with Mrs. Ormsby. When he thought that the time had come for him to +get at the thing that was in his mind he went into the house and +presently came out carrying his hat. The quality of harshness that +crept into his voice when he was excited or determined startled Laura +Ormsby. Looking down at her, he said, "I am going to take your +daughter for a walk in the street. I want to talk with her." + +Laura hesitated and smiled uncertainly. She determined to speak out, +to be like the man crude and direct. When she had her mind fixed and +ready Margaret and McGregor were already half way down the gravel walk +to the gate and the opportunity to distinguish herself had passed. + + * * * * * + +McGregor walked beside Margaret, absorbed in thoughts of her. "I am +engaged in a work here," he said, waving his hand vaguely toward the +city. "It is a big work and it takes a lot out of me. I have not come +to see you, because I've been uncertain. I've been afraid you would +overcome me and drive thoughts of the work out of my head." + +By the iron gate at the end of the gravel walk they turned and faced +each other. McGregor leaned against the brick wall and looked at her. +"I want you to marry me," he said. "I think of you constantly. +Thinking of you I can only half do my work. I get to thinking that +another man may come and take you and I waste hour after hour being +afraid." + +She put a trembling hand upon his arm and he thinking to check an +attempt at an answer before he had finished, hurried on. + +"There are things to be said and understood between us before I can +come to you as a suitor. I did not think I should feel toward a woman +as I feel toward you and I have certain adjustments to make. I thought +I could get along without your kind of women. I thought you were not +for me--with the work I have thought out to do in the world. If you +will not marry me I'll be glad to know now so that I can get my mind +straightened out." + +Margaret raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder. The act was a +kind of acknowledgment of his right to talk to her so directly. She +said nothing. Filled with a thousand messages of love and tenderness +she longed to pour into his ear she stood in silence on the gravel +path with her hand on his shoulder. + +And then an absurd thing happened. The fear that Margaret might come +to some quick decision that would affect all of their future together +made McGregor frantic. He did not want her to speak and wished his own +words unsaid. "Wait. Not now," he cried and threw up his hand +intending to take her hand. His fist struck the arm that lay on his +shoulder and it in turn knocked his hat flying into the road. McGregor +started to run after it and then stopped. He put his hand to his head +and appeared lost in thought. When he turned again to pursue the hat +Margaret, unable longer to control herself, shouted with laughter. + +Hatless, McGregor walked up Drexel Boulevard in the soft stillness of +the summer night. He was annoyed at the outcome of the evening and in +his heart half wished that Margaret had sent him away defeated. His +arms ached to have her against his breast but his mind kept presenting +one after another the objections to marriage with her. "Men are +submerged by such women and forget their work," he told himself. "They +sit looking into the soft brown eyes of their beloved, thinking of +happiness. A man should go about his work thinking of that. The fire +that runs through the veins of his body should light his mind. One +wants to take the love of woman as an end in life and the woman +accepts that and is made happy by it." He thought with gratitude of +Edith in her shop on Monroe Street. "I do not sit in my room at night +dreaming of taking her in my arms and pouring kisses on her lips," he +whispered. + + * * * * * + +In the door of her house Mrs. Ormsby had stood watching McGregor and +Margaret. She had seen them stop at the end of the walk. The figure of +the man was lost in shadows and that of Margaret stood alone, outlined +against a distant light. She saw Margaret's hand thrust out--was she +clutching his sleeve--and heard the murmur of voices. And then the man +precipitating himself into the street. His hat catapulted ahead of him +and a quick outburst of half-hysterical laughter broke the stillness. + +Laura Ormsby was furious. Although she hated McGregor she could not +bear the thought that laughter should break the spell of romance. "She +is just like her father," she muttered. "At least she might show some +spirit and not be like a wooden thing, ending her first talk with a +lover with a laugh like that." + +As for Margaret she stood in the darkness trembling with happiness. +She imagined herself going up the dark stairway to McGregor's office +in Van Buren Street where once she had gone to take him news of the +murder case--laying her hand upon his shoulder and saying, "Take me in +your arms and kiss me. I am your woman. I want to live with you. I am +ready to renounce my people and my world and to live your life for +your sake." Margaret, standing in the darkness before the huge old +house in Drexel Boulevard, imagined herself with Beaut McGregor-- +living with him as his wife in a small apartment over a fish market on +a West Side street. Why a fish market she could not have said. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Edith Carson was six years older than McGregor and lived entirely +within herself. Hers was one of those natures that do not express +themselves in words. Although at his coming into the shop her heart +beat high no colour came to her cheeks and her pale eyes did not flash +back into his a message. Day after day she sat in her shop at work, +quiet, strong in her own kind of faith, ready to give her money, her +reputation, and if need be her life to the working out of her own +dream of womanhood. She did not see in McGregor the making of a man of +genius as did Margaret and did not hope to express through him a +secret desire for power. She was a working woman and to her he +represented all men. In her secret heart she thought of him merely as +the man--her man. + +And to McGregor Edith was companion and friend. He saw her sitting +year after year in her shop, putting money into the savings bank, +keeping a cheerful front before the world, never assertive, kindly, in +her own way sure of herself. "We could go on forever as we are now and +she be none the less pleased," he told himself. + +One afternoon after a particularly hard week of work he went out to +her place to sit in her little workroom and think out the matter of +marrying Margaret Ormsby. It was a quiet season in Edith's trade and +she was alone in the shop serving a customer. McGregor lay down upon +the little couch in the workroom. For a week he had been speaking to +gatherings of workmen night after night and later had sat in his own +room thinking of Margaret. Now on the couch with the murmur of voices +in his ears he fell asleep. + +When he awoke it was late in the night and on the floor by the side of +the couch sat Edith with her ringers in his hair. + +McGregor opened his eyes quietly and looked at her. He could see a +tear running down her cheek. She was staring straight ahead at the +wall of the room and by the dim light that came through a window he +could see the drawn cords of her little neck and the knot of mouse +coloured hair on her head. + +McGregor closed his eyes quickly. He felt like one who has been +aroused out of sleep by a dash of cold water across his breast. It +came over him with a rush that Edith Carson had been expecting +something from him--something he was not prepared to give. + +She got up after a time and crept quietly away into the shop and with +a great clatter and bustle he arose also and began calling loudly. He +demanded the time and complained about a missed appointment. Turning +up the gas, Edith walked with him to the door. On her face sat the old +placid smile. McGregor hurried away into the darkness and spent the +rest of the night walking in the streets. + +The next day he went to Margaret Ormsby at the settlement house. With +her he used no art. Driving straight to the point he told her of the +undertaker's daughter sitting beside him on the eminence above Coal +Creek, of the barber and his talk of women on the park bench and how +that had led him to that other woman kneeling on the floor in the +little frame house, his fists in her hair and of Edith Carson whose +companionship had saved him from all of these. + +"If you can't hear all of this and still want life with me," he said, +"there is no future for us together. I want you. I'm afraid of you and +afraid of my love for you but still I want you. I've been seeing your +face floating above the audiences in the halls where I've been at +work. I've looked at babies in the arms of workingmen's wives and +wanted to see my babe in your arms. I care more for what I am doing +than I do for you but I love you." + +McGregor arose and stood over her. "I love you with my arms aching to +close about you, with my brain planning the triumph of the workers, +with all of the old perplexing human love that I had almost thought I +would never want. + +"I can't bear this waiting. I can't bear this not knowing so that I +can tell Edith. I can't have my mind filled with the need of you just +as men are beginning to catch the infection of an idea and are looking +to me for clear-headed leadership. Take me or let me go and live my +life." + +Margaret Ormsby looked at McGregor. When she spoke her voice was as +quiet as the voice of her father telling a workman in the shop what to +do with a broken machine. + +"I am going to marry you," she said simply. "I am full of the thought +of it. I want you, want you so blindly that I think you can't +understand." + +She stood up facing him and looked into his eyes. + +"You must wait," she said. "I must see Edith, I myself must do that. +All these years she has served you--she has had that privilege." + +McGregor looked across the table into the beautiful eyes of the woman +he loved. + +"You belong to me even if I do belong to Edith," he said. + +"I will see Edith," Margaret answered again. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +McGregor left the telling of the story of his love to Margaret. Edith +Carson who knew defeat so well and who had in her the courage of +defeat was to meet defeat at his hands through the undefeated woman +and he let himself forget the whole matter. For a month he had been +trying to get workingmen to take up the idea of the Marching Men +without success and after the talk with Margaret he kept doggedly at +the work. + +And then one evening something happened that aroused him. The Marching +Men idea that had become more than half intellectualised became again +a burning passion and the matter of his life with women got itself +cleared up swiftly and finally. + +It was night and McGregor stood upon the platform of the Elevated +Railroad at State and Van Buren Streets. He had been feeling guilty +concerning Edith and had been intending to go out to her place but the +scene in the street below fascinated him and he remained standing, +looking along the lighted thoroughfare. + +For a week there had been a strike of teamsters in the city and that +afternoon there had been a riot. Windows had been smashed and several +men injured. Now the evening crowds gathered and speakers climbed upon +boxes to talk. Everywhere there was a great wagging of jaws and waving +of arms. McGregor grew reminiscent. Into his mind came the little +mining town and he saw himself again a boy sitting in the darkness on +the steps before his mother's bake shop and trying to think. Again in +fancy he saw the disorganised miners tumbling out of the saloon to +stand on the street swearing and threatening and again he was filled +with contempt for them. + +And then in the heart of the great western city the same thing +happened that had happened when he was a boy in Pennsylvania. The +officials of the city, having decided to startle the striking +teamsters by a display of force, sent a regiment of state troops +marching through the streets. The soldiers were dressed in brown +uniforms. They were silent. As McGregor looked down they turned out of +Polk Street and came with swinging measured tread up State Street past +the disorderly mobs on the sidewalk and the equally disorderly +speakers on the curb. + +McGregor's heart beat so that he nearly choked. The men in the +uniforms, each in himself meaning nothing, had become by their +marching together all alive with meaning. Again he wanted to shout, to +run down into the street and embrace them. The strength in them seemed +to kiss, as with the kiss of a lover, the strength within himself and +when they had passed and the disorderly jangle of voices broke out +again he got on a car and went out to Edith's with his heart afire +with resolution. + +Edith Carson's millinery shop was in the hands of a new owner. She had +sold out and fled. McGregor stood in the show room looking about him +at the cases filled with their feathery finery and at the hats along +the wall. The light from a street lamp that came in at the window +started millions of tiny motes dancing before his eyes. + +Out of the room at the back of the shop--the room where he had seen +the tears of suffering in Edith's eyes--came a woman who told him of +Edith's having sold the business. She was excited by the message she +had to deliver and walked past the waiting man, going to the screen +door to stand with her back to him and look up the street. + +Out of the corners of her eyes the woman looked at him. She was a +small black-haired woman with two gleaming gold teeth and with glasses +on her nose. "There has been a lovers' quarrel here," she told +herself. + +"I have bought the store," she said aloud. "She told me to tell you +that she had gone." + +McGregor did not wait for more but hurried past the woman into the +street. In his heart was a feeling of dumb aching loss. On an impulse +he turned and ran back. + +Standing in the street by the screen door he shouted hoarsely. "Where +did she go?" he demanded. + +The woman laughed merrily. She felt that she was getting with the shop +a flavour of romance and adventure very attractive to her. Then she +walked to the door and smiled through the screen. "She has only just +left," she said. "She went to the Burlington station. I think she has +gone West. I heard her tell the man about her trunk. She has been +around here for two days since I bought the shop. I think she has been +waiting for you to come. You did not come and now she has gone and +perhaps you won't find her. She did not look like one who would +quarrel with a lover." + +The woman in the shop laughed softly as McGregor hurried away. "Now +who would think that quiet little woman would have such a lover?" she +asked herself. + +Down the street ran McGregor and raising his hand stopped a passing +automobile. The woman saw him seated in the automobile talking to a +grey-haired man at the wheel and then the machine turned and +disappeared up the street at a law-breaking pace. + +McGregor had again a new light on the character of Edith Carson. "I +can see her doing it," he told himself--"cheerfully telling Margaret +that it didn't matter and all the time planning this in the back of +her head. Here all of these years she has been leading a life of her +own. The secret longings, the desires and the old human hunger for +love and happiness and expression have been going on under her placid +exterior as they have under my own." + +McGregor thought of the busy days behind him and realised with shame +how little Edith had seen of him. It was in the days when his big +movement of The Marching Men was just coming into the light and on the +night before he had been in a conference of labour men who had wanted +him to make a public demonstration of the power he had secretly been +building up. Every day his office was filled with newspaper men who +asked questions and demanded explanations. And in the meantime Edith +had been selling her shop to that woman and getting ready to +disappear. + +In the railroad station McGregor found Edith sitting in a corner with +her face buried in the crook of her arm. Gone was the placid exterior. +Her shoulders seemed narrower. Her hand, hanging over the back of the +seat in front of her, was white and lifeless. + +McGregor said nothing but snatched up the brown leather bag that sat +beside her on the floor and taking her by the arm led her up a flight +of stone steps to the street. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the Ormsby household father and daughter sat in the darkness on the +veranda. After Laura Ormsby's encounter with McGregor there had been +another talk between her and David. Now she had gone on a visit to her +home-town in Wisconsin and father and daughter sat together. + +To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. "It is +not a matter of good sense," he had said; "one can not pretend there +is a prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and +may some day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that +will bring either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret. +He may end his life in jail." + + * * * * * + +McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front +door of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the +hearty voice of David. "Come and sit out here," he said. + +McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got +up and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart +she sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people. +Her voice trembled with alarm. "Come in," she said, turning and +leading the way into the house. + +The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and +called to David. "We want you in here with us," he said harshly. + +In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw +its light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the +floor. + +"I've made a mistake," said McGregor. "I've been going on and on +making a mistake." He turned to Margaret. "We didn't count on +something here. There is Edith. She isn't what we thought." + +Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt +that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he +loved to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over +and then go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion. + +To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She +also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also +looked at the floor. To herself she was saying, "He is going to take +himself away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear +him say that." In the doorway stood David. "He is going to give me +back Margaret," he thought, and his heart danced with happiness. + +McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. +His blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning +them and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. "If I am +clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream," he thought. "If I fail +in this I shall fail in everything." Turning he took hold of the +sleeve of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two +men stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to +her he continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The +action caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through +him. "Here is a man," he told himself. + +"You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She +is now and you see what it has done to her," said McGregor. + +The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky +white. McGregor threw up his hands. + +"Wait," he said, "a man and woman can't live together for years and +then part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent. +They find they love each other. I've found out that though I want you, +I love Edith. She loves me. Look at her." + +Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice +came the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. "Oh, we'll +be married, Margaret and I," he said; "her beauty has won me. I follow +beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right." + +He turned to Edith and stood staring at her. + +"You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we +looked into each other's eyes. We ached with it--each wanting the +other. You are made to endure. You would get over anything and be +cheerful after a while. You know that--don't you?" + +The eyes of Edith came up level with his own. + +"Yes I know," she said. + +Margaret Ormsby jumped up from her chair, her eyes swimming. + +"Stop," she cried. "I do not want you. I would never marry you now. +You belong to her. You are Edith's." + +McGregor's voice became soft and quiet. + +"Oh, I know," he said; "I know! I know! But I want children. Look at +Edith. Do you think she could bear children to me?" + +A change came over Edith Carson. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders +straightened. + +"That's for me to say," she cried, springing forward and clutching his +arm. "That is between me and God. If you intend to marry me come now +and do it. I was not afraid to give you up and I'm not afraid that I +shall die bearing children." + +Dropping McGregor's arm Edith ran across the room and stood before +Margaret. "How do you know you are more beautiful or can bear more +beautiful children?" she demanded. "What do you mean by beauty anyway? +I deny your beauty." She turned to McGregor. "Look," she cried, "she +does not stand the test." + +Pride swept over the woman that had come to life within the body of +the little milliner. With calm eyes she stared at the people in the +room and when she looked again toward Margaret there was a challenge +in her voice. + +"Beauty has to endure," she said swiftly. "It has to be daring. It has +to outlive long years of life and many defeats." A hard look came into +her eyes as she challenged the daughter of wealth. "I had the courage +to be defeated and I have the courage to take what I want," she said. +"Have you that courage? If you have take this man. You want him and so +do I. Take his arm and walk away with him. Do it now, here before my +eyes." + +Margaret shook her head. Her body trembled and her eyes looked wildly +about. She turned to David Ormsby. "I did not know that life could be +like this," she said. "Why didn't you tell me? She is right. I am +afraid." + +A light came into McGregor's eyes and he turned quickly about. "I +see," he said, looking sharply at Edith, "you have also your purpose." +Turning again he looked into the eyes of David. + +"There is something to be decided here. It is perhaps the supreme test +of a man's life. One struggles to keep a thought in mind, to be +impersonal, to see that life has a purpose outside his own purpose. +You have perhaps made that struggle. You see I'm making it now. I'm +going to take Edith and go back to work." + +At the door McGregor stopped and put out his hand to David who took it +and looked at the big lawyer respectfully. + +"I'm glad to see you go," said the ploughmaker briefly. + +"I'm glad to be going," said McGregor, understanding that there was +nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind +of David Ormsby. + + + + + +BOOK VI + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The Marching Men Movement was never a thing to intellectualise. For +years McGregor tried to get it under way by talking. He did not +succeed. The rhythm and swing that was at the heart of the movement +hung fire. The man passed through long periods of depression and had +to drive himself forward. And then after the scene with Margaret and +Edith in the Ormsby house came action. + +There was a man named Mosby about whose figure the action for a time +revolved. He was bartender for Neil Hunt, a notorious character of +South State Street, and had once been a lieutenant in the army. Mosby +was what in modern society is called a rascal. After West Point and a +few years at some isolated army post he began to drink and one night +during a debauch and when half crazed by the dullness of his life he +shot a private through the shoulder. He was arrested and put on his +honour not to escape but did escape. For years he drifted about the +world a haggard cynical figure who got drunk whenever money came his +way and who would do anything to break the monotony of existence. + +Mosby was enthusiastic about the Marching Men idea. He saw in it an +opportunity to worry and alarm his fellow men. He talked a union of +bartenders and waiters to which he belonged into giving the idea a +trial and in the morning they began to march up and down in the strip +of parkland that faced the lake at the edge of the First Ward. "Keep +your mouths shut," commanded Mosby. "We can worry the officials of +this town like the devil if we work this right. When you are asked +questions say nothing. If the police try to arrest us we will swear we +are only doing it for the sake of exercise." + +Mosby's plan worked. Within a week crowds began to gather in the +morning to watch the Marching Men and the police started to make +inquiry. Mosby was delighted. He threw up his job as bartender and +recruited a motley company of young roughs whom he induced to practise +the march step during the afternoons. When he was arrested and dragged +into court McGregor acted as his lawyer and he was discharged. "I want +to get these men out into the open," Mosby declared, looking very +innocent and guileless. "You can see for yourself that waiters and +bartenders get pale and stoop-shouldered at their work and as for +these young roughs isn't it better for society to have them out there +marching about than idling in bar rooms and planning God knows what +mischief?" + +A grin appeared over the face of the First Ward. McGregor and Mosby +organised another company of marchers and a young man who had been a +sergeant in a company of regulars was induced to help with the +drilling. To the men themselves it was all a joke, a game that +appealed to the mischievous boy in them. Everybody was curious and +that gave the thing tang. They grinned as they marched up and down. +For a while they exchanged gibes with the spectators but McGregor put +a stop to that. "Be silent," he said, going about among the men during +the rest periods. "That's the best thing to do. Be silent and attend +to business and your marching will be ten times as effective." + +The Marching Men Movement grew. A young Jewish newspaper man, half +rascal, half poet, wrote a scare-head story for one of the Sunday +papers announcing the birth of the Republic of Labour. The story was +illustrated by a drawing showing McGregor leading a vast horde of men +across an open plain toward a city whose tall chimneys belched forth +clouds of smoke. Beside McGregor in the picture and arrayed in a gaudy +uniform was Mosby the ex-army officer. In the article he was called +the war lord of "The secret republic growing up within a great +capitalistic empire." + +It had begun to take form--the movement of the Marching Men. Rumours +began to run here and there. There was a question in men's eyes. +Slowly at first it began to rumble through their minds. There was the +tap of feet clicking sharply on pavements. Groups formed, men laughed, +the groups disappeared only to again reappear. In the sun before +factory doors men stood talking, half understanding, beginning to +sense the fact that there was something big in the wind. + +At first the movement did not get anywhere with the ranks of labour. +There would be a meeting, perhaps a series of meetings in one of the +little halls where labourers gather to attend to the affairs of their +unions. McGregor would speak. His voice harsh and commanding could be +heard in the streets below. Merchants came out of the stores and stood +in the doorways listening. Young fellows who smoked cigarettes stopped +looking at passing girls and gathered in crowds below the open +windows. The slow working brain of labour was being aroused. + +After a time a few young men, fellows who worked at the saws in a box +factory and others who ran machines in a factory where bicycles were +made, volunteered to follow the lead of the men of the First Ward. On +summer evenings they gathered in vacant lots and marched back and +forth looking at their feet and laughing. + +McGregor insisted upon the training. He never had any intention of +letting his Marching Men Movement become merely a disorganised band of +walkers such as we have all seen in many a labour parade. He meant +that they should learn to march rhythmically, swinging along like +veterans. He was determined that the thresh of feet should come +finally to sing a great song, carrying the message of a powerful +brotherhood into the hearts and brains of the marchers. + +McGregor gave all of his time to the movement. He made a scant living +by the practice of his profession but gave it no thought. The murder +case had brought him other cases and he had taken a partner, a ferret- +eyed little man who worked out the details of what cases came to the +firm and collected the fees, half of which he gave to the partner who +was intent upon something else. Day after day, week after week, month +after month, McGregor went up and down the city, talking to workers, +learning to talk, striving to make his idea understood. + +One evening in September he stood in the shadow of a factory wall +watching a group of men who marched in a vacant lot. The movement had +become by that time really big. A flame burned in his heart at the +thought of what it might become. It was growing dark and the clouds of +dust raised by the feet of the men swept across the face of the +departing sun. In the field before him marched some two hundred men, +the largest company he had been able to get together. For a week they +had stayed at the marching evening after evening and were beginning a +little to understand the spirit of it. Their leader on the field, a +tall square shouldered man, had once been a captain in the State +Militia and now worked as engineer in a factory where soap was made. +His commands rang out sharp and crisp on the evening air. "Fours right +into line," he cried. The words were barked forth. The men +straightened their shoulders and swung out vigorously. They had begun +to enjoy the marching. + +In the shadow of the factory wall McGregor moved uneasily about. He +felt that this was the beginning, the real birth of his movement, that +these men had really come out of the ranks of labour and that in the +breasts of the marching figures there in the open space understanding +was growing. + +He muttered and walked back and forth. A young man, a reporter on one +of the city's great daily papers, leaped from a passing street car and +came to stand near him. "What's up here? What's this going on? What's +it all about? You better tell me," he said. + +In the dim light McGregor raised his fists above his head and talked +aloud. "It's creeping in among them," he said. "The thing that can't +be put into words is getting itself expressed. Something is being done +here in this field. A new force is coming into the world." + +Half beside himself McGregor ran up and down swinging his arms. Again +turning to the reporter who stood by a factory wall--a rather +dandified figure he was with a tiny moustache--he shouted: + +"Don't you see?" he cried. His voice was harsh. "See how they march! +They are finding out what I mean. They have caught the spirit of it!" + +McGregor began to explain. He talked hurriedly, his words coming forth +in short broken sentences. "For ages there has been talk of +brotherhood. Always men have babbled of brotherhood. The words have +meant nothing. The words and the talking have but bred a loose-jawed +race. The jaws of men wabble about but the legs of these men do not +wabble." + +He again walked up and down, dragging the half-frightened man along +the deepening shadow of the factory wall. + +"You see it begins--now in this field it begins. The legs and the feet +of men, hundreds of legs and feet make a kind of music. Presently +there will be thousands, hundreds of thousands. For a time men will +cease to be individuals. They will become a mass, a moving all- +powerful mass. They will not put their thoughts into words but +nevertheless there will be a thought growing up in them. They will of +a sudden begin to realise that they are a part of something vast and +mighty, a thing that moves, that is seeking new expression. They have +been told of the power of labour but now, you see, they will become +the power of labour." + +Swept along by his own words and perhaps by something rhythmical in +the moving mass of men McGregor became feverishly anxious that the +dapper young man should understand. "Do you remember--when you were a +boy--some man who had been a soldier telling you that the men who +marched had to break step and go in a disorderly mob across a bridge +because their orderly stride would have shaken the bridge to pieces?" + +A shiver ran over the body of the young man. In his off hours he was a +writer of plays and stories and his trained dramatic sense caught +quickly the import of McGregor's words. Into his mind came a scene on +a village street of his own place in Ohio. In fancy he saw the village +fife and drum corps marching past. His mind recalled the swing and the +cadence of the tune and again as when he was a boy his legs ached to +run out among the men and go marching away. + +Filled with excitement he began also to talk. "I see," he cried; "you +think there is a thought in that, a big thought that men have not +understood?" + +On the field the men, becoming bolder as they became less self- +conscious, came sweeping by, their bodies falling into a long swinging +stride. + +The young man pondered. "I see. I see. Every one who stood watching as +I did when the fife and drum corps went past felt what I felt. They +were hiding behind a mask. Their legs also tingled and the same wild +militant thumping went on in their hearts. You have found that out, +eh? You mean to lead labour that way?" + +With open mouth the young man stared at the field and at the moving +mass of men. He became oratorical in his thoughts. "Here is a big +man," he muttered. "Here is a Napoleon, a Caesar of labour come to +Chicago. He is not like the little leaders. His mind is not sicklied +over with the pale cast of thought. He does not think that the big +natural impulses of men are foolish and absurd. He has got hold of +something here that will work. The world had better watch this man." + +Half beside himself he walked up and down at the edge of the field, +his body trembling. + +Out of the ranks of the marching men came a workman. In the field +words arose. A petulant quality came into the voice of the captain who +gave commands. The newspaper man listened anxiously. "That's what will +spoil everything. The men will begin to lose heart and will quit," he +thought, leaning forward and waiting. + +"I've worked all day and I can't march up and down here all night," +complained the voice of the workman. + +Past the shoulder of the young man went a, shadow. Before his eyes on +the field, fronting the waiting ranks of men, stood McGregor. His fist +shot out and the complaining workman crumpled to the ground. + +"This is no time for words," said the harsh voice. "Get back in there. +This is not a game. It's the beginning of men's realisation of +themselves. Get in there and say nothing. If you can't march with us +get out. The movement we have started can pay no attention to +whimperers." + +Among the ranks of men a cheer arose. By the factory wall the excited +newspaper man danced up and down. At a word of command from the +captain the line of marching men again swept down the field and he +watched them with tears standing in his eyes. "It's going to work," he +cried. "It's bound to work. At last a man has come to lead the men of +labor." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John Van Moore a young Chicago advertising man went one afternoon to +the offices of the Wheelright Bicycle Company. The company had both +its factory and offices far out on the west side. The factory was a +huge brick affair fronted by a broad cement sidewalk and a narrow +green lawn spotted with flower beds. The building used for offices was +smaller and had a veranda facing the street. Up the sides of the +office building vines grew. + +Like the reporter who had watched the Marching Men in the field by the +factory wall John Van Moore was a dapper young man with a moustache. +In his leisure hours he played a clarinet. "It gives a man something +to cling to," he explained to his friends. "One sees life going past +and feels that he is not a mere drifting log in the stream of things. +Although as a musician I amount to nothing, it at least makes me +dream." + +Among the men in the advertising office where he worked Van Moore was +known as something of a fool, redeemed by his ability to string words +together. He wore a heavy black braided watch chain and carried a cane +and he had a wife who after marriage had studied medicine and with +whom he did not live. Sometimes on a Saturday evening the two met at +some restaurant and sat for hours drinking and laughing. When the wife +had gone to her own place the advertising man continued the fun, going +from saloon to saloon and making long speeches setting forth his +philosophy of life. "I am an individualist," he declared, strutting up +and down and swinging the cane about. "I am a dabbler, an experimenter +if you will. Before I die it is my dream that I will discover a new +quality in existence." + +For the bicycle company the advertising man was to write a booklet +telling in romantic and readable form the history of the company. When +finished the booklet would be sent out to those who had answered +advertisements put into magazines and newspapers. The company had a +process of manufacture peculiar to Wheelright bicycles and in the +booklet this was to be much emphasised. + +The manufacturing process in regard to which John Van Moore was to wax +eloquent had been conceived in the brain of a workman and was +responsible for the company's success. Now the workman was dead and +the president of the company had decided that he would take credit for +the idea. He had thought a good deal of the matter and had decided +that in truth the notion must have been more than a little his own. +"It must have been so," he told himself, "otherwise it would not have +worked out so well." + +In the offices of the bicycle company the president, a grey gross man +with tiny eyes, walked up and down a long room heavily carpeted. In +reply to questions asked by the advertising man, who sat at a table +with a pad of paper before him, he raised himself on his toes, put a +thumb in the armhole of his vest and told a long rambling tale of +which he was the hero. + +The tale concerned a purely imaginary young workman who spent all of +the earlier years of his life labouring terribly. At evening he ran +quickly from the shop where he was employed and going without sleep +toiled for long hours in a little garret. When the workman had +discovered the secret that made successful the Wheelright bicycle he +opened a shop and began to reap the reward of his efforts. + +"That was me. I was that fellow," cried the fat man who in reality had +bought his interest in the bicycle company after the age of forty. +Tapping himself on the breast he paused as though overcome with +feeling. Tears came into his eyes. The young workman had become a +reality to him. "All day I ran about the little shop crying 'Quality! +Quality!' I do that now. It is a fetish with me. I do not make +bicycles for money but because I am a workman with pride in my work. +You may put that in the book. You may quote me as saying that. A big +point should be made of my pride in my work." The advertising man +nodded his head and scribbled upon the pad of paper. Almost he could +have written the story without the visit to the factory. When the fat +man was not looking he turned his face to one side and listened +attentively. With a whole heart he wished the president would go away +and leave him alone to wander in the factory. + +On the evening before, John Van Moore had taken part in an adventure. +With a companion, a fellow who drew cartoons for the daily papers, he +had gone into a saloon and there had met another man of the +newspapers. + +In the saloon the three men had sat until late into the night drinking +and talking. The second newspaper man--that same dapper fellow who had +watched the marchers by the factory wall--had told over and over the +story of McGregor and his Marchers. "I tell you there is something +growing up here," he had said. "I have seen this McGregor and I know. +You may believe me or not but the fact is that he has found out +something. There is an element in men that up to now has not been +understood--there is a thought hidden away within the breast of +labour, a big unspoken thought--it is a part of men's bodies as well +as their minds. Suppose this fellow has figured that out and +understands it, eh!" + +Becoming more and more excited as he continued to drink the newspaper +man had been half wild in his conjectures as to what was to happen in +the world. Thumping with his fist upon a table wet with beer he had +addressed the writer of advertisements. "There are things that animals +know that have not been understood by men," he cried. "Consider the +bees. Have you thought that man has not tried to work out a collective +intellect? Why should man not try to work that out?" + +The newspaper man's voice became low and tense. "When you go into a +factory I want you to keep your eyes and your ears open," he said. "Go +into one of the great rooms where many men are at work. Stand +perfectly still. Don't try to think. Wait." + +Jumping out of his seat the excited man had walked up and down before +his companions. A group of men standing before the bar listened, their +glasses held half way to their lips. + +"I tell you there is already a song of labour. It has not got itself +expressed and understood but it is in every shop, in every field where +men work. In a dim way the men who work are conscious of the song +although if you talk of the matter they only laugh. The song is low +harsh rhythmical. I tell you it comes out of the very soul of labour. +It is akin to the thing that artists understand and that is called +form. This McGregor understands something of that. He is the first +leader of labour that has understood. The world shall hear from him. +One of these days the world shall ring with his name." + +In the bicycle factory John Van Moore looked at the pad of paper +before him and thought of the words of the half drunken man in the +saloon. In the great shop at his back there was the steady grinding +roar of many machines. The fat man, hypnotised by his own words, +continued to walk up and down telling of the hardship that had once +confronted the imaginary young workman and above which he had risen +triumphant. "We hear much of the power of labour but there has been a +mistake made," he said. "Such men as myself--we are the power. Do you +see we have come out of the mass? We stand forth." + +Stopping before the advertising man and looking down the fat man +winked. "You do not need to say that in the book. There is no need of +quoting me there. Our bicycles are being bought by workingmen and it +would be foolish to offend them but what I say is nevertheless true. +Do not such men as I, with our cunning brains and our power of +patience build these great modern organisations?" + +The fat man waved his arm toward the shops from which the roar of +machinery came. The advertising man absentmindedly nodded his head. He +was trying to hear the song of labour talked of by the drunken man. It +was quitting time and there was the sound of many feet moving about +the floor of the factory. The roar of the machinery stopped. + +Again the fat man walked up and down talking of the career of the +labourer who had come forth from the ranks of labour. From the factory +the men began filing out into the open. There was the sound of feet +scuffling along the wide cement sidewalk past the flowerbeds. + +Of a sudden the fat man stopped. The advertising man sat with pencil +suspended above the paper. From the walk below sharp commands rang +out. Again the sound of men moving about came in through the windows. + +The president of the bicycle company and the advertising man ran to +the window. There on the cement sidewalk stood the men of the company +formed into columns of fours and separated into companies. At the head +of each company stood a captain. The captains swung the men about. +"Forward! March!" they shouted. + +The fat man stood with his mouth open and looked at the men. "What's +going on down there? What do you mean? Quit that!" he bawled. + +A derisive laugh floated up through the window. + +"Attention! Forward, guide right!" shouted a captain. + +The men went swinging down the broad cement sidewalk past the window +and the advertising man. In their faces was something determined and +grim. A sickly smile flitted across the face of the grey-haired man +and then faded. The advertising man, without knowing just what was +going on felt that the older man was afraid. He sensed the terror in +his face. In his heart he was glad to see it. + +The manufacturer began to talk excitedly. "Now what's this?" he +demanded. "What's going on? What kind of a volcano are we men of +affairs walking over? Haven't we had enough trouble with labour? What +are they doing now?" Again he walked up and down past the table where +the advertising man sat looking at him. "We'll let the book go," he +said. "Come to-morrow. Come any time. I want to look into this. I want +to find out what's going on." + +Leaving the office of the bicycle company John Van Moore ran along the +street past stores and houses. He did not try to follow the Marching +Men but ran forward blindly, filled with excitement. He remembered the +words of the newspaper man about the song of labour, and was drunk +with the thought that he had caught the swing of it. A hundred times +he had seen men pouring out of factory doors at the end of the day. +Always before they had been just a mass of individuals. Each had been +thinking of his own affairs and each man had shuffled off into his own +street and had been lost in the dim alleyways between the tall grimy +buildings. Now all of this was changed. The men did not shuffle off +alone but marched along the street shoulder to shoulder. + +A lump came also into the throat of this man and he like that other by +the factory wall began to say words. "The song of labour is here. It +has begun to get itself sung!" he cried. + +John Van Moore was beside himself. The face of the fat man pale with +terror came back into his mind. On the sidewalk before a grocery store +he stopped and shouted with delight. Then he began dancing wildly +about, startling a group of children who with fingers in their mouths +stood with staring eyes watching. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +All through the early months of that year in Chicago, rumours of a new +and not understandable movement among labourers ran about among men of +affairs. In a way the labourers understood the undercurrent of terror +their marching together had inspired and like the advertising man +dancing on the sidewalk before the grocery were made happy by it. Grim +satisfaction dwelt in their hearts. Remembering their boyhoods and the +creeping terror that invaded their fathers' houses in times of +depression they were glad to spread terror among the homes of the rich +and the well-to-do. For years they had been going through life +blindly, striving to forget age and poverty. Now they felt that life +had a purpose, that they were marching toward some end. When in the +past they had been told that power dwelt in them they had not +believed. "He is not to be trusted," thought the man at the machine +looking at the man at work at the next machine. "I have heard him talk +and at bottom he is a fool." + +Now the man at the machine did not think of his brother at the next +machine. In his dreams at night he was beginning to have a new vision. +Power had breathed its message into his brain. Of a sudden he saw +himself as a part of a giant walking in the world. "I am like a drop +of blood running through the veins of labour," he whispered to +himself. "In my own way I am adding strength to the heart and the +brain of labour. I have become a part of this thing that has begun to +move. I will not talk but will wait. If this marching is the thing +then I will march. Though I am weary at the end of the day that shall +not stop me. Many times I have been weary and was alone. Now I am a +part of something vast. This I know, that a consciousness of power has +crept into my brain and although I be persecuted I shall not surrender +what I have gained." + +In the offices of the plough trust a meeting of men of affairs was +called. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the movement going +on among the workers. At the plough works it had broken out. No more +at evening did the men shuffle along, like a disorderly mob but +marched in companies along the brick-paved street that ran by the +factory door. + +At the meeting David Ormsby had been as always quiet and self- +possessed. A halo of kindly intent hung over him and when a banker, +one of the directors of the company, had finished a speech he arose +and walked up and down, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. +The banker was a fat man with thin brown hair and delicate hands. As +he talked he held a pair of yellow gloves and beat with them on a long +table at the centre of the room. The soft thump of the gloves upon the +table made a chorus to the things he had to say. David motioned for +him to be seated. "I will myself go to see this McGregor," he said, +walking across the room and putting an arm about the shoulder of the +banker. "Perhaps there is as you say a new and terrible danger here +but I do not think so. For thousands, no doubt for millions of years, +the world has gone on its way and I do not think it is to be stopped +now. + +"It has been my fortune to see and to know this McGregor," added David +smiling at the others in the room. "He is a man and not a Joshua to +make the sun stand still." + +In the office in Van Buren Street, David, the grey and confident, +stood before the desk at which sat McGregor. "We will get out of here +if you do not mind," he said. "I want to talk to you and I would not +like being interrupted. I have a fancy that we talk out of doors." + +The two men went in a street car to Jackson Park and, forgetting to +dine, walked for an hour along the paths under the trees. The wind +from the lake had chilled the air and the park was deserted. + +They went to stand on a pier that ran out into the lake. On the pier +David tried to begin the talk that was the object of their being +together but felt that the wind and the water that beat against the +piling of the pier made talk too difficult. Although he could not have +told why, he was relieved by the necessity of delay. Into the park +they went again and found a seat upon a bench facing a lagoon. + +In the presence of the silent McGregor David felt suddenly embarrassed +and awkward. "By what right do I question him?" he asked himself and +in his mind could find no answer. A half dozen times he started to say +what he had come to say but stopped and his talk ran off into +trivialities. "There are men in the world you have not taken into +consideration," he said finally, forcing himself to begin. With a +laugh he went on, relieved that the silence had been broken. "You see +the very inner secret of strong men has been missed by you and +others." + +David Ormsby looked sharply at McGregor. "I do not believe that you +believe we are after money, we men of affairs. I trust you see beyond +that. We have our purpose and we keep to our purpose quietly and +doggedly." + +Again David looked at the silent figure sitting in the dim light and +again his mind ran out, striving to penetrate the silence. "I am not a +fool and perhaps I know that the movement you have started among the +workers is something new. There is power in it as in all great ideas. +Perhaps I think there is power in you. Why else should I be here?" + +Again David laughed uncertainly. "In a way I am in sympathy with you," +he said. "Although all through my life I have served money I have not +been owned by it. You are not to suppose that men like me have not +something beyond money in mind." + +The old plough maker looked away over McGregor's shoulder to where the +leaves of the trees shook in the wind from the lake. "There have been +men and great leaders who have understood the silent competent +servants of wealth," he said half petulantly. "I want you to +understand these men. I should like to see you become such a one +yourself--not for the wealth it would bring but because in the end you +would thus serve all men. You would get at truth thus. The power that +is in you would be conserved and used more intelligently." + +"To be sure, history has taken little or no account of the men of whom +I speak. They have passed through life unnoticed, doing great work +quietly." + +The plough maker paused. Although McGregor had said nothing the older +man felt that the interview was not going as it should. "I should like +to know what you have in mind, what in the end you hope to gain for +yourself or for these men," he said somewhat sharply. "There is after +all no point to our beating about the bush." + +McGregor said nothing. Arising from the bench he began again to walk +along the path with Ormsby at his side. + +"The really strong men of the world have had no place in history," +declared Ormsby bitterly. "They have not asked that. They were in Rome +and in Germany in the time of Martin Luther but nothing is said of +them. Although they do not mind the silence of history they would like +other strong men to understand. The march of the world is a greater +thing than the dust raised by the heels of some few workers walking +through the streets and these men are responsible for the march of the +world. You are making a mistake. I invite you to become one of us. If +you plan to upset things you may get yourself into history but you +will not really count. What you are trying to do will not work. You +will come to a bad end." + +When the two men emerged from the park the older man had again the +feeling that the interview had not been a success. He was sorry. The +evening he felt had marked for him a failure and he was not accustomed +to failures. "There is a wall here that I cannot penetrate," he +thought. + +Along the front of the park beneath a grove of trees they walked in +silence. McGregor seemed not to have heard the words addressed to him. +When they came to where a long row of vacant lots faced the park he +stopped and stood leaning against a tree to look away into the park, +lost in thought. + +David Ormsby also became silent. He thought of his youth in the little +village plough factory, of his efforts to get on in the world, of the +long evenings spent reading books and trying to understand the +movements of men. + +"Is there an element in nature and in youth that we do not understand +or that we lose sight of?" he asked. "Are the efforts of the patient +workers of the world always to be abortive? Can some new phase of life +arise suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of +men like me as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us +individuality, the right to stand forth, the right to work things out +and to control?" + +The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree. +Again he was irritated and kept lighting cigars which after two or +three puffs he threw away. In the bushes at the back of the bench +insects began to sing. The wind coming now in gentle gusts swayed +slowly the branches of the trees overhead. + +"Is there an eternal youth in the world, a state out of which men pass +unknowingly, a youth that forever destroys, tearing down what has been +built?" he asked. "Are the mature lives of strong men of so little +account? Have you like the empty fields that bask in the sun in the +summer the right to remain silent in the presence of men who have had +thoughts and have tried to put their thoughts into deeds?" + +Still saying nothing McGregor pointed with his finger along the road +that faced the park. From a side street a body of men swung about a +corner, coming with long strides toward the two. As they passed +beneath a street lamp that swung gently in the wind their faces +flashing in and out of the light seemed to be mocking David Ormsby. +For a moment anger burned in him and then something, perhaps the +rhythm of the moving mass of men, brought a gentler mood. The men +swinging past turned another corner and disappeared beneath the +structure of an elevated railroad. + +The ploughmaker walked away from McGregor. Something in the interview, +terminating thus with, the presence of the marching figures had he +felt unmanned him. "After all there is youth and the hope of youth. +What he has in mind may work," he thought as he climbed aboard a +street car. + +In the car David put his head out at the window and looked at the long +line of apartment buildings that lined the streets. He thought again +of his own youth and of the evenings in the Wisconsin village when, +himself a youth, he went with other young men singing and marching in +the moonlight. + +In a vacant lot he again saw a body of the Marching Men moving back +and forth and responding quickly to the commands given by a slender +young man who stood on the sidewalk beneath a street lamp and held a +stick in his hand. + +In the car the grey-haired man of affairs put his head down upon the +back of the seat in front. Half unconscious of his own thoughts his +mind began to dwell upon the figure of his daughter. "Had I been +Margaret I should not have let him go. No matter what the cost I +should have clung to the man," he muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +It is difficult not to be of two minds about the manifestation now +called, and perhaps rightly, "The Madness of the Marching Men." In one +mood it comes back to the mind as something unspeakably big and +inspiring. We go each of us through the treadmill of our lives caught +and caged like little animals in some vast menagerie. In turn we love, +marry, breed children, have our moments of blind futile passion and +then something happens. All unconsciously a change creeps over us. +Youth passes. We become shrewd, careful, submerged in little things. +Life, art, great passions, dreams, all of these pass. Under the night +sky the suburbanite stands in the moonlight. He is hoeing his radishes +and worrying because the laundry has torn one of his white collars. +The railroad is to put on an extra morning train. He remembers that +fact heard at the store. For him the night becomes more beautiful. For +ten minutes longer he can stay with the radishes each morning. There +is much of man's life in the figure of the suburbanite standing +absorbed in his own thoughts in the midst of his radishes. + +And so about the business of our lives we go and then of a sudden +there comes again the feeling that crept over us all in the year of +the Marching Men. In a moment we are again a part of the moving mass. +The old religious exaltation, strange emanation from the man McGregor, +returns. In fancy we feel the earth tremble under the feet of the men +--the marchers. With a conscious straining of the mind we strive to +grasp the processes of the mind of the leader during that year when +men sensed his meaning, when they saw as he saw the workers--saw them +massed and moving through the world. + +My own mind, striving feebly to follow that greater and simpler mind, +gropes about. I remember sharply the words of a writer who said that +men make their own gods and realise that I myself saw something of the +birth of such a god. For he was near to being a god then--our +McGregor. The thing he did rumbles in the minds of men yet. His long +shadow will fall across men's thoughts for ages. The tantalising +effort to understand his meaning will tempt us always into endless +speculation. + +Only last week I met a man--he was a steward in a club and lingered +talking to me by a cigar case in an empty billiard-room--who suddenly +turned away to conceal from me two large tears that had jumped into +his eyes because of a kind of tenderness in my voice at the mention of +the Marching Men. + +Another mood comes. It may be the right mood. I see sparrows jumping +about in an ordinary roadway as I walk to my office. From the maple +trees the little winged seeds come fluttering down before my eyes. A +boy goes past sitting in a grocery wagon and over-driving a rather +bony horse. As I walk I overtake two workmen shuffling along. They +remind me of those other workers and I say to myself that thus men +have always shuffled, that never did they swing forward into that +world-wide rhythmical march of the workers. + +"You were drunk with youth and a kind of world madness," says my +normal self as I go forward again, striving to think things out. + +Chicago is still here--Chicago after McGregor and the Marching Men. +The elevated trains still clatter over the frogs at the turning into +Wabash Avenue; the surface cars clang their bells; the crowds pour up +in the morning from the runway leading to the Illinois Central trains; +life goes on. And men in their offices sit in their chairs and say +that the thing that happened was abortive, a brain storm, a wild +outbreak of the rebellious the disorderly and the hunger in the minds +of men. + +What begging of the question. The very soul of the Marching Men was a +sense of order. That was the message of it, the thing that the world +has not come up to yet. Men have not learned that we must come to +understand the impulse toward order, have that burned into our +consciousness, before we move on to other things. There is in us this +madness for individual expression. For each of us the little moment of +running forward and lifting our thin childish voices in the midst of +the great silence. We have not learned that out of us all, walking +shoulder to shoulder, there might arise a greater voice, something to +make the waters of the very seas to tremble. + +McGregor knew. He had a mind not sick with much thinking of trifles. +When he had a great idea he thought it would work and he meant to see +that it did work. + +Mightily was he equipped. I have seen the man in halls talking, his +huge body swaying back and forth, his great fists in the air, his +voice harsh, persistent, insistent--with something of the quality of +the drums in it--beating down into the upturned faces of the men +crowded into the stuffy little places. + +I remember that newspaper men used to sit in their little holes and +write saying of him that the times made McGregor. I do not know about +that. The city caught fire from the man at the time of that terrible +speech of his in the court room when Polk Street Mary grew afraid and +told the truth. There he stood, the raw untried red-haired miner from +the mines and the Tenderloin, facing an angry court and a swarm of +protesting lawyers and uttering that city-shaking philippic against +the old rotten first ward and the creeping cowardice in men that lets +vice and disease go on and pervade all modern life. It was in a way +another "J'Accuse!" from the lips of another Zola. Men who heard it +have told me that when he had finished in the whole court no man spoke +and no man dared feel guiltless. "For the moment something--a section, +a cell, a figment, of men's brains opened--and in that terrible +illuminating instant they saw themselves as they were and what they +had let life become." + +They saw something else, or thought they did, saw McGregor a new force +for Chicago to reckon with. After the trial one young newspaper man +returned to his office and running from desk to desk yelled in the +faces of his brother reporters: "Hell's out for noon. We've got a big +red-haired Scotch lawyer up here on Van Buren Street that is a kind of +a new scourge of the world. Watch the First Ward get it." + +But McGregor never looked at the First Ward. That wasn't bothering +him. From the court room he went to march with men in a new field. + +Followed the time of waiting and of patient quiet work. In the +evenings McGregor worked at the law cases in the bare room in Van +Buren Street. That queer bird Henry Hunt still stayed with him, +collecting tithes for the gang and going to his respectable home at +night--a strange triumph of the small that had escaped the tongue of +McGregor on that day in court when so many men had their names bruited +to the world in McGregor's roll call--the roll call of the men who +were but merchants, brothers of vice, the men who should have been +masters in the city. + +And then the movement of the Marching Men began to come to the +surface. It got into the blood of men. That harsh drumming voice began +to shake their hearts and their legs. + +Everywhere men began to see and hear of the Marchers. From lip to lip +ran the question, "What's going on?" + +"What's going on?" How that cry ran over Chicago. Every newspaper man +in town got assignments on the story. The papers were loaded with it +every day. All over the city they appeared, everywhere--the Marching +Men. + +There were leaders enough! The Cuban War and the State Militia had +taught too many men the swing of the march step for there not to be at +least two or three competent drill masters in every little company of +men. + +And there was the marching song the Russian wrote for McGregor. Who +could forget it? Its high pitched harsh feminine strain rang in the +brain. How it went pitching and tumbling along in that wailing calling +endless high note. It had strange breaks and intervals in the +rendering. The men did not sing it. They chanted it. There was in it +just the weird haunting something the Russians know how to put into +their songs and into the books they write. It isn't the quality of the +soil. Some of our own music has that. But in this Russian song there +was something else, something world-wide and religious--a soul, a +spirit. Perhaps it is just the spirit that broods over that strange +land and people. There was something of Russia in McGregor himself. + +Anyway the marching song was the most persistently penetrating thing +Americans had ever heard. It was in the streets, the shops, the +offices, the alleys and in the air overhead--the wail--half shout. No +noise could drown it. It swung and pitched and rioted through the air. + +And there was the fellow who wrote the music down for McGregor. He was +the real thing and he bore the marks of the shackles on his legs. He +had remembered the march from hearing the men sing it as they went +over the Steppes to Siberia, the men who were going up out of misery +to more misery. "It would come out of the air," he explained. "The +guards would run down the line of men to shout and strike out with +their short whips. 'Stop it!' they cried. And still it went on for +hours, defying everything, there on the cold cheerless plains." + +And he had brought it to America and put it to music for McGregor's +marchers. + +Of course the police tried to stop the marchers. Into a street they +would run crying "Disperse!" The men did disperse only to appear again +on some vacant lot working away at the perfection of the marching. +Once an excited squad of police captured a company of them. The same +men were back in line the next evening. The police could not arrest a +hundred thousand men because they marched shoulder to shoulder along +the streets and chanted a weird march song as they went. + +The whole thing was not an outbreak of labour. It was something +different from anything that had come into the world before. The +unions were in it but besides the unions there were the Poles, the +Russian Jews, the Hunks from the stockyards and the steel works in +South Chicago. They had their own leaders, speaking their own +languages. And how they could throw their legs into the march! The +armies of the old world had for years been training men for the +strange demonstration that had broken out in Chicago. + +The thing was hypnotic. It was big. It is absurd to sit writing of it +now in such majestic terms but you have to go back to the newspapers +of that day to realise how the imagination of men was caught and held. + +Every train brought writers tumbling into Chicago. In the evening +fifty of them would gather in the back room at Weingardner's +restaurant where such men congregate. + +And then the thing broke out all over the country, in steel towns like +Pittsburgh and Johnstown and Lorain and McKeesport and men working in +little independent factories in towns down in Indiana began drilling +and chanting the march song on summer evenings on the village baseball +ground. + +How the people, the comfortable well-fed middle class people were +afraid! It swept over the country like a religious revival, the +creeping dread. + +The writing men got to McGregor, the brain back of it all, fast +enough. Everywhere his influence appeared. In the afternoon there +would be a hundred newspaper men standing on the stairway leading up +to the big bare office in Van Buren Street. At his desk he sat, big +and red and silent. He looked like a man half asleep. I suppose the +thing that was in their minds had something to do with the way men +looked at him but in any case the crowd in Weingardner's agreed that +there was in the man something of the same fear-inspiring bigness +there was in the movement he had started and was guiding. + +It seems absurdly simple now. There he sat at his desk. The police +might have walked in and arrested him. But if you begin figuring that +way the whole thing was absurd. What differs it if men march coming +from work, swinging along shoulder to shoulder or shuffle aimlessly +along, and what harm can come out of the singing of a song? + +You see McGregor understood something that all of us had not counted +on. He knew that every one has an imagination. He was at war with +men's minds. He challenged something in us that we hardly realised was +there. He had been sitting there for years thinking it out. He had +watched Dr. Dowie and Mrs. Eddy. He knew what he was doing. + +A crowd of newspaper men went one night to hear McGregor at a big +outdoor meeting up on the North Side. Dr. Cowell was with them--the +big English statesman and writer who later was drowned on the +_Titanic._ He was a big man, physically and mentally, and was in +Chicago to see McGregor and try to understand what he was doing. + +And McGregor got him as he had all men. Out there under the sky the +men stood silent, Cowell's head sticking up above the sea of faces, +and McGregor talked. The newspaper men declared he could not talk. +They were wrong about that. McGregor had a way of throwing up his arms +and straining and shouting out his sentences, that got to the souls of +men. + +He was a kind of crude artist drawing pictures on the mind. + +That night he talked about labour as always--labour personified--huge +crude old Labour. How he made the men before him see and feel the +blind giant who has lived in the world since time began and who still +goes stumbling blindly about, rubbing his eyes and lying down to sleep +away centuries in the dust of the fields and the factories. + +A man arose in the audience and climbed upon the platform beside +McGregor. It was a daring thing to do and men's knees trembled. While +the man was crawling up to the platform shouts arose. One has in mind +a picture of a bustling little fellow going into the house and into +the upper room where Jesus and his followers were having the last +supper together, going in there to wrangle about the price to be paid +for the wine. + +The man who got on the platform with McGregor was a socialist. He +wanted to argue. + +But McGregor did not argue with him. He sprang forward, it was a quick +tiger-like movement, and spun the socialist about, making him stand +small and blinking and comical before the crowd. + +Then McGregor began to talk. He made of the little stuttering arguing +socialist a figure representing all labour, made him the +personification of the old weary struggle of the world. And the +socialist who went to argue stood with tears in his eyes, proud of his +position in men's eyes. + +All over the city McGregor talked of old Labour and how he was to be +built up and put before men's eyes by the movement of the Marching +Men. How our legs tingled to fall in step and go marching away with +him. + +Out of the crowds there came the note of that wailing march. Some one +always started that. + +That night on the North Side Doctor Cowell got hold of the shoulder of +a newspaper man and led him to a car. He who knew Bismarck and who had +sat in council with kings went walking and babbling half the night +through the empty streets. + +It is amusing now to think of the things men said under the influence +of McGregor. Like old Doctor Johnson and his friend Savage they walked +half drunk through the streets swearing that whatever happened they +would stick to the movement. Doctor Cowell himself said things just as +absurd as that. + +And all over the country men were getting the idea--the Marching Men-- +old Labour in one mass marching before the eyes of men--old Labour +that was going to make the world see--see and feel its bigness at +last. Men were to come to the end of strife--men united--Marching! +Marching! Marching! + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In all of the time of The Marching Men there was but one bit of +written matter from the leader McGregor. It had a circulation running +into the millions and was printed in every tongue spoken in America. A +copy of the little circular lies before me now. + +THE MARCHERS + + "They ask us what we mean. + Well, here is our answer. + We mean to go on marching. + We mean to march in the morning and in the evening when the sun +goes down. + On Sundays they may sit on their porches or shout at men playing +ball in a field + But we will march. + On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust +of country roads we will march. + Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry, + But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder. + We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble. + Shoulder to shoulder we will go--all of us-- + On and on forever. + We will not talk nor listen to talk. + We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to +march. + Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear. + We do not think and banter words. + We march. + Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards. + See, the inner parts of our hands are rough. + And still we march--we the workers." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Who will ever forget that Labour Day in Chicago? How they marched!-- +thousands and thousands and more thousands! They filled the streets. +The cars stopped. Men trembled with the import of the impending hour. + +Here they come! How the ground trembles! The chant chant chant of that +song! It must have been thus that Grant felt at the great review of +the veterans in Washington when all day long they marched past him, +the men of the Civil War, the whites of their eyes showing in the tan +of their faces. McGregor stood on the stone curbing above the tracks +in Grant Park. As the men marched they massed in there about him, +thousands of them, steel workers and iron workers and great red-necked +butchers and teamsters. + +And in the air wailed the marching song of the workers. + +All of the world that was not marching jammed into the buildings +facing Michigan Boulevard and waited. Margaret Ormsby was there. She +sat with her father in a carriage near where Van Buren Street ends at +the Boulevard. As the men kept crowding in about them she clutched +nervously at the sleeve of David Ormsby's coat. "He is going to +speak," she whispered and pointed. Her tense air of expectancy +expressed much of the feeling of the crowd. "See, listen, he is going +to speak out." + +It must have been five in the afternoon when the men got through +marching. They were massed in there clear down to the Twelfth Street +Station of the Illinois Central. McGregor lifted his hands. In the +hush his harsh voice carried far. "We are at the beginning," he +shouted and silence fell upon the people. In the stillness one +standing near her might have heard Margaret Ormsby weeping softly. +There was the gentle murmur that always prevails where many people +stand at attention. The weeping of the woman was scarcely audible but +it persisted like the sound of little waves on a beach at the end of +the day. + + + + + +BOOK VII + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The idea prevalent among men that the woman to be beautiful must be +hedged about and protected from the facts of life has done something +more than produce a race of women not physically vigorous. It has made +them deficient in strength of soul also. After the evening when she +stood facing Edith and when she had been unable to arise to the +challenge flung at her by the little milliner Margaret Ormsby was +forced to stand facing her own soul and there was no strength in her +for the test. Her mind insisted on justifying her failure. A woman of +the people placed in such a position would have been able to face it +calmly. She would have gone soberly and steadily about her work and +after a few months of pulling weeds in a field, trimming hats in a +shop or instructing children in a schoolroom would have been ready to +thrust out again, making another trial at life. Having met many +defeats she would have been armed and ready for defeat. Like a little +animal in a forest inhabited by other and larger animals she would +have known the effectiveness of lying perfectly still for a long +period, making her patience a part of her equipment for living. + +Margaret had decided that she hated McGregor. After the scene in her +house she gave up her work in the settlement house and for a long time +went about nursing her hatred. In the street as she walked about her +mind kept bringing accusations against him and in her room at night +she sat by the window looking at the stars and said strong words. "He +is a brute," she declared hotly, "a mere animal untouched by the +culture that makes for gentleness. There is something animal-like and +horrible in my nature that has made me care for him. I shall pluck it +out. In the future I shall make it my business to forget the man and +all of the dreadful lower strata of life that he represents." + +Filled with this idea Margaret went about among her own people and +tried to become interested in the men and women she met at dinners and +receptions. It did not work and when, after a few evenings spent in +the company of men absorbed in the getting of money, she found them +only dull creatures whose mouths were filled with meaningless words, +her irritation grew and she blamed McGregor for that also. "He had no +right to come into my consciousness and then take himself off," she +declared bitterly. "The man is more of a brute than I thought. He no +doubt preys upon everyone as he has preyed upon me. He is without +tenderness, knows nothing of the meaning of tenderness. The colourless +creature he has married will serve his body. That is what he wants. He +does not want beauty. He is a coward who dare not stand up to beauty +and is afraid of me." + +When the Marching Men Movement began to make a stir in Chicago +Margaret went on a visit to New York. For a month she lived with two +women friends at a big hotel near the sea and then hurried home. "I +will see the man and hear him talk," she told herself. "I cannot cure +myself of the consciousness of him by running away. Perhaps I am +myself a coward. I shall go into his presence. When I hear his brutal +words and see again the hard gleam that sometimes comes into his eyes +I shall be cured." + +Margaret went to hear McGregor talk to a gathering of workingmen in a +West Side hall and came away more alive to him than ever. In the hall +she sat concealed in deep shadows by the door and waited with +trembling eagerness. + +On all sides of her were men crowded together. Their faces were washed +but the grime of the shops was not quite effaced. Men from the steel +mills with the cooked look that follows long exposure to intense +artificial heat, men of the building trades with their broad hands, +big men and small men, misshapen and straight, labouring men, all sat +at attention, waiting. + +Margaret noticed that as McGregor talked the lips of the working men +moved. Fists were clenched. Applause came quick and sharp like the +report of guns. + +In the shadows at the further side of the hall the black coats of the +workers made a blot out of which intense faces looked and across which +the flickering gas jets in the centre of the hall threw dancing +lights. + +The words of the speaker were shot forth. The sentences seemed broken +and disconnected. As he talked giant pictures flashed through the +minds of the hearers. Men felt themselves big and exalted. A little +steel worker sitting near Margaret, who earlier in the evening had +been abused by his wife because he wanted to come to the meeting +instead of helping with the dishes at home, stared fiercely about. He +thought he would like to fight hand in hand with a wild animal in a +forest. + +Standing on the narrow stage McGregor seemed a giant seeking +expression. His mouth worked, the sweat stood upon his forehead and he +moved restlessly up and down. At times, with his hands advanced and +with the eager forward crouch of his body, he was like a wrestler +waiting to grapple with an opponent. + +Margaret was deeply moved. Her years of training and of refinement +were stripped off and she felt that, like the women of the French +Revolution, she would like to go out into the streets and march +screaming and fighting in feminine rage for the things of this man's +mind. + +McGregor had scarcely begun to talk. His personality, the big eager +something in him, had caught and held this audience as it had caught +and held other audiences in other halls and was to hold them night +after night for months. + +McGregor was something the men to whom he talked understood. He was +themselves become expressive and he moved them as no other leader had +ever moved them before. His very lack of glibness, the things in him +wanting expression and not getting expressed, made him seem like one +of them. He did not confuse their minds but drew for them great +scrawling pictures and to them he cried, "March!" and for marching he +promised them realisation of themselves. + +"I have heard men in colleges and speakers in halls talk of the +brotherhood of man," he cried. "They do not want such a brotherhood. +They would flee before it. But we will make by our marching such a +brotherhood that they will tremble and say to one another, 'See, Old +Labour is awake. He has found his strength.' They will hide themselves +and eat their words of brotherhood. + +"A clamour of voices will arise, many voices, crying out, 'Disperse! +Cease marching! I am afraid!' + +"This talk of brotherhood. The words mean nothing. Man cannot love +man. We do not know what they mean by such love. They hurt us and +underpay us. Sometimes one of us gets an arm torn off. Are we to lie +in our beds loving the man who gets rich from the iron machine that +ripped the arm from the shoulder? + +"On our knees and in our arms we have borne their children. On the +streets we see them--the petted children of our madness. See we have +let them run about misbehaving. We have given them automobiles and +wives with soft clinging dresses. When they have cried we have cared +for them. + +"And they being children with the minds of children are confused. The +noise of affairs alarms them. They run about shaking their ringers and +commanding. They speak with pity of us--Labour--their father. + +"And now we will show them their father in his might. The little +machines they have in their factories are toys we have given them and +that for the time we leave in their hands. We do not think of the toys +nor the soft-bodied women. We make of ourselves a mighty army, a +marching army going along shoulder to shoulder. We can love that. + +"When they see us, hundreds of thousands of us, marching into their +minds and into their consciousness, then will they be afraid. And at +the little meetings they have when three or four of them sit talking, +daring to decide what things we shall have from life, there will be in +their minds a picture. We will stamp it there. + +"They have forgotten our power. Let us reawaken it. See, I shake Old +Labour by the shoulder. He arouses. He sits up. He thrusts his huge +form up from where he was asleep in the dust and the smoke of the +mills. They look at him and are afraid. See, they tremble and run +away, falling over each other. The did not know Old Labour was so big. + +"But you workers are not afraid. You are the arms and the legs and the +hands and the eyes of Labour. You have thought yourself small. You +have not got yourself into one mass so that I could shake and arouse +you. + +"You must get that way. You must march shoulder to shoulder. You must +march so that you yourselves shall come to know what a giant you are. +If one of your number whines or complains or stands upon a box +throwing words about knock him down and keep marching. + +"When you have marched until you are one giant body then will happen a +miracle. A brain will grow in the giant you have made. + +"Will you march with me?" + +Like a volley from a battery of guns came the sharp reply from the +eager upturned faces of the audience. "We will! Let us march!" they +shouted. + +Margaret Ormsby went out at the door and into the crowds on Madison +Street. As she walked in the press she lifted her head in pride that a +man possessed of such a brain and of the simple courage to try to +express such magnificent ideas through human beings had ever shown +favour toward her. Humbleness swept over her and she blamed herself +for the petty thoughts concerning him that had been in her mind. "It +does not matter," she whispered to herself. "Now I know that nothing +matters, nothing but his success. He must do this thing he has set out +to do. He must not be denied. I would give the blood out of my body or +expose my body to shame if that could bring him success." + +Margaret became exalted in her humbleness. When her carriage had taken +her to her house she ran quickly upstairs to her own room and knelt by +her bed. She started to pray but presently stopped and sprang to her +feet. Running to the window she looked off across the city. "He must +succeed," she cried again. "I shall myself be one of his marchers. I +will do anything for him. He is tearing the veil from my eyes, from +all men's eyes. We are children in the hands of this giant and he must +not meet defeat at the hands of children." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +On the day of the great demonstration, when McGregor's power over the +minds and the bodies of the men of labour sent hundreds of thousands +marching and singing in the streets, there was one man who was +untouched by the song of labour expressed in the threshing of feet. +David Ormsby had in his quiet way thought things out. He expected that +the new impetus given to solidity in the ranks of labour would make +trouble for him and his kind, that it would express itself finally in +strikes and in wide-spread industrial disturbance. He was not worried. +In the end he thought that the silent patient power of money would +bring his people the victory. On that day he did not go to his office +but in the morning stayed in his own room thinking of McGregor and of +his daughter. Laura Ormsby was out of the city but Margaret was at +home. David believed he had measured accurately the power of McGregor +over her mind but occasional doubts came to him. "Well the time has +come to have it out with her," he decided. "I must reassert my +ascendency over her mind. The thing that is going on here is really a +struggle of minds. McGregor differs from other leaders of labour as I +differ from most leaders of the forces of money. He has brains. Very +well. I shall meet him on that level. Then, when I have made Margaret +think as I think, she will return to me." + + * * * * * + +When he was still a small manufacturer in the Wisconsin town David had +been in the habit of driving out in the evening with his daughter. +During the drives he had been almost a lover in his attentions to the +child and now when he thought of the forces at work within her he was +convinced that she was still a child. Early in the afternoon he had a +carriage brought to the door and drove off with her to the city. "She +will want to see the man in the height of his power. If I am right in +thinking that she is still under the influence of his personality +there will be a romantic desire for that. + +"I will give her the chance," he thought proudly. "In this struggle I +ask no quarter from him and shall not make the common mistake of +parents in such cases. She is fascinated by the figure he has made of +himself. Showy men who stand out from the crowd have that power. She +is still under his influence. Why else her constant distraction and +her want of interest in other things? Now I will be with her when the +man is most powerful, when he shows to the greatest advantage, and +then I will make my fight for her. I will point out to her another +road, the road along which the real victors in life must learn to +travel." + +Together David the quiet efficient representative of wealth and his +woman child sat in the carriage on the day of McGregor's triumph. For +the moment an impassable gulf seemed to separate them and with intense +eyes each watched the hordes of men who massed themselves about the +labour leader. At the moment McGregor seemed to have caught all men in +the sweep of his movement. Business men had closed their desks, labour +was exultant, writers and men given to speculation in thought walked +about dreaming of the realisation of the brotherhood of man. In the +long narrow treeless park the music made by the steady never-ending +thresh of feet arose to something vast and rhythmical. It was like a +mighty chorus come up out of the hearts of men. David was unmoved. +Occasionally he spoke to the horses and looked from the faces of the +men massed about him to his daughter's face. In the coarse faces of +the men he thought he saw only a crude sort of intoxication, the +result of a new kind of emotionalism. "It will not outlast thirty days +of ordinary living in their squalid surroundings," he thought grimly. +"It is not the kind of exaltation for Margaret. I can sing her a more +wonderful song. I must get myself ready for that." + +When McGregor arose to speak Margaret was overcome with emotions. +Dropping to her knees in the carriage she put her head down upon her +father's arm. For days she had been telling herself that in the future +of the man she loved there was no place for failure. Now again she +whispered to herself that this great sturdy figure must not be denied +the fulfilment of its purpose. When in the hush that followed the +massing of the labourers about him the harsh booming voice floated +over the heads of the people her body shook as with a chill. +Extravagant fancies invaded her mind and she wished it were possible +for her to do something heroic, something that would make her live +again in the mind of McGregor. She wanted to serve him, to give him +something out of herself, and thought wildly that there might yet come +a time and a way by which the beauty of her body could be laid like a +gift before him. The half mythical figure of Mary the lover of Jesus +came into her mind and she aspired to be such another. With her body +shaken with emotions she pulled at the sleeve of her father's coat. +"Listen! It is going to come now," she murmured. "The brain of labour +is going to express the dream of labour. An impulse sweet and lasting +is going to come into the world." + + * * * * * + +David Ormsby said nothing. When McGregor had begun to speak he touched +the horses with the whip and drove slowly along Van Buren Street past +the silent attentive ranks of men. When he had got into one of the +streets near the river a vast cheer arose. It seemed to shake the city +and the horses reared and leaped forward over the rough cobblestones. +With one hand David quieted them while with the other he gripped the +hand of his daughter. They drove over a bridge and into the West Side +and as they went the marching song of the workers rising up out of +thousands of throats rang in their ears. For a time the air seemed to +pulsate with it but as they went westward it grew continually less and +less distinct. At last when they had turned into a street lined by +tall factories it died out altogether. "That is the end of him for me +and mine," thought David and again set himself for the task he had to +perform. + +Through street after street David let the horses wander while he clung +to his daughter's hand and thought of what he wanted to say. Not all +of the streets were lined with factories. Some, and these in the +evening light were the most hideous, were bordered by the homes of +workers. The houses of the workers, jammed closely together and black +with grime, were filled with noisy life. Women sat in the doorways and +children ran screaming and shouting in the road. Dogs barked and +howled. Everywhere was dirt and disorder, the terrible evidence of +men's failure in the difficult and delicate art of living. In one of +the streets a little girl child who sat on the post of a fence made a +ludicrous figure. As David and Margaret drove past she beat with her +heels against the sides of the post and screamed. Tears ran down her +cheeks and her dishevelled hair was black with dirt. "I want a banana! +I want a banana!" she howled, staring at the blank walls of one of the +houses. In spite of herself Margaret was touched and her mind left the +figure of McGregor. By an odd chance the child on the post was the +daughter of that socialist orator who one night on the North Side had +climbed upon a platform to confront McGregor with the propaganda of +the Socialist Party. + +David turned the horses into a wide boulevard that ran south through +the factory district of the west. As they came out into the boulevard +they saw sitting on the sidewalk before a saloon a drunkard with a +drum in his hand. The drunkard beat upon the drum and tried to sing +the marching song of the workers but succeeded only in making a queer +grunting noise like a distressed animal. The sight brought a smile to +David's lips. "Already it has begun to disintegrate," he muttered. "I +brought you into this part of town on purpose," he said to Margaret. +"I wanted you to see with your own eyes how much the world needs the +thing he is trying to do. The man is terribly right about the need for +discipline and order. He is a big man doing a big thing and I admire +his courage. He would be a really big man had he the greater courage." + +On the boulevard into which they had turned all was quiet. The summer +sun was setting and over the roofs of buildings the west was ablaze +with light. They passed a factory surrounded by little patches of +garden. Some employer of labour had tried thus feebly to bring beauty +into the neighbourhood of the place where his men worked. David +pointed with the whip. "Life is a husk," he said, "and we men of +affairs who take ourselves so seriously because the fates have been +good to us have odd silly little fancies. See what this fellow has +been at, patching away, striving to create beauty on the shell of +things. He is like McGregor you see. I wonder if the man has made +himself beautiful, if either he or McGregor has seen to it that there +is something lovely inside the husk he wears around and that he calls +his body, if he has seen through life to the spirit of life. I do not +believe in patching nor do I believe in disturbing the shell of things +as McGregor has dared to do. I have my own beliefs and they are the +beliefs of my kind. This man here, this maker of little gardens, is +like McGregor. He might better let men find their own beauty. That is +my way. I have, I want to think, kept myself for the sweeter and more +daring effort." + +David turned and looked hard at Margaret who had begun to be +influenced by his mood. She waited, looking with averted face at the +sky over the roofs of buildings. David began to talk of himself in +relation to her and her mother. A note of impatience came into his +voice. + +"How far you have been carried away, haven't you?" he said sharply. +"Listen. I am not talking to you now as your father nor as Laura's +daughter. Let us be clear about that I love you and am in a contest to +win your love. I am McGregor's rival. I accept the handicap of +fatherhood. I love you. You see I have let something within myself +alight upon you. McGregor has not done that. He refused what you had +to offer but I do not. I have centred my life upon you and have done +it quite knowingly and after much thought. The feeling I have is +something quite special. I am an individualist but believe in the +oneness of man and woman. I would dare venture into but one other life +beyond my own and that the life of a woman. I have chosen to ask you +to let me venture so into your life. We will talk of it." + +Margaret turned and looked at her father. Later she thought that some +strange phenomena must have happened at the moment Something like a +film was torn from her eyes and she saw the man David, not as a shrewd +and calculating man of affairs, but as something magnificently young. +Not only was he strong and solid but in his face there was at the +moment the deep lines of thought and suffering she had seen on the +countenance of McGregor. "It is strange," she thought. "They are so +unlike and yet the two men are both beautiful." + +"I married your mother when I was a child as you are a child now," +David went on. "To be sure I had a passion for her and she had one for +me. It passed but it was beautiful enough while it lasted. It did not +have depth or meaning. I want to tell you why. Then I am going to make +you understand McGregor so that you may take your measure of the man. +I am coming to that. I have to begin at the beginning. + +"My factory began to grow and as an employer of labour I became +concerned in the lives of a good many men." + +His voice again became sharp. "I have been impatient with you," he +said. "Do you think this McGregor is the only man who has seen and +thought of other men in the mass? I have done that and have been +tempted. I also might have become sentimental and destroyed myself. I +did not. Loving a woman saved me. Laura did that for me although when +it came to the real test of our love, understanding, she failed. I am +nevertheless grateful to her that she was once the object of my love. +I believe in the beauty of that." + +Again David paused and began to tell his story in a new way. The +figure of McGregor came back into Margaret's mind and her father began +to feel that to take it entirely away would be an accomplishment full +of significance. "If I can take her from him, I and my kind can take +the world from him also," he thought. "It will be another victory for +the aristocracy in the never-ending battle with the mob." + +"I came to a turning point," he said aloud. "All men come to that +point. To be sure the great mass of people drift quite stupidly but we +are not now talking of people in general. There is you and me and +there is the thing McGregor might be. We are each in our way something +special. We come, people like us, to a place where there are two roads +to take. I took one and McGregor has taken another. I know why and +perhaps he knows why. I concede to him knowledge of what he has done. +But now it is time for you to decide which road you will take. You +have seen the crowds moving along the broad way he has chosen and now +you will set out on your own way. I want you to look down my road with +me." + +They came to a bridge over a canal and David stopped the horses. A +body of McGregor's marchers passed and Margaret's pulse began to beat +high again. When she looked at her father however he was unmoved and +she was a little ashamed of her emotions. For a moment David waited, +as though for inspiration, and when the horses started on again he +began to talk. "A labour leader came to my factory, a miniature +McGregor with a crooked twist to him. He was a rascal but the things +he said to my men were all true enough. I was making money for my +investors, a lot of it. They might have won in a fight with me. One +evening I went out into the country to walk alone under the trees and +think it over." + +David's voice became harsh and Margaret thought it had become +strangely like the voice of McGregor talking to workingmen. "I bought +the man off," David said. "I used the cruel weapon men like me have to +use. I gave him money and told him to get out, to let me alone. I did +it because I had to win. My kind of men always have to win. During the +walk I took alone I got hold of my dream, my belief. I have the same +dream now. It means more to me than the welfare of a million men. For +it I would crush whatever opposed me. I am going to tell you of the +dream. + +"It is too bad one has to talk. Talk kills dreams and talk will also +kill all such men as McGregor. Now that he has begun to talk we will +get the best of him. I do not worry about McGregor. Time and talk will +bring about his destruction." + +David's mind ran off in a new direction. "I do not think a man's life +is of much importance," he said. "No man is big enough to grasp all of +life. That is the foolish fancy of children. The grown man knows he +cannot see life at one great sweep. It cannot be comprehended so. One +has to realise that he lives in a patchwork of many lives and many +impulses. + +"The man must strike at beauty. That is the realisation maturity +brings and that is where the woman conies in. That is what McGregor +was not wise enough to understand. He is a child you see in a land of +excitable children." + +The quality of David's voice changed. Putting his arm about his +daughter he drew her face down beside his own. Night descended upon +them. The woman who was tired from much thinking began to feel +grateful for the touch of the strong hand on her shoulder. David had +accomplished his purpose. He had for the moment made his daughter +forget that she was his daughter. There was something hypnotic in the +quiet strength of his mood. + +"I come now to women, to your part," he said. "We will talk of the +thing I want to make you understand. Laura failed as the woman. She +never saw the point. As I grew she did not grow with me. Because I did +not talk of love she did not understand me as a lover, did not know +what I wanted, what I demanded of her. + +"I wanted to fit my love down upon her figure as one puts a glove on +his hand. You see I was the adventurer, the man mussed and moiled by +life and its problems. The struggle to exist, to get money, could not +be avoided. I had to make that struggle. She did not. Why could she +not understand that I did not want to come into her presence to rest +or to say empty words. I wanted her to help me create beauty. We +should have been partners in that. Together we should have undertaken +the most delicate and difficult of all struggles, the struggle for +living beauty in our everyday affairs." + +Bitterness swept over the old ploughmaker and he used strong words. +"The whole point is in what I am now saying. That was my cry to the +woman. It came out of my soul. It was the only cry to another I have +ever made. Laura was a little fool. Her mind flitted away to little +things. I do not know what she wanted me to be and now I do not care. +Perhaps she wanted me to be a poet, a stringer together of words, one +to write shrill little songs about her eyes and lips. It does not +matter now what she wanted. + +"But you matter." + +David's voice cut through the fog of new thoughts that were confusing +his daughter's mind and she could feel his body stiffen. A thrill ran +through her own body and she forgot McGregor. With all the strength of +her spirit she was absorbed in what David was saying. In the challenge +that was coming from the lips of her father she began to feel there +would be born in her own life a definite purpose. + +"Women want to push out into life, to share with men the disorder and +mussiness of little things. What a desire! Let them try it if they +wish. They will sicken of the attempt. They lose sight of something +bigger they might undertake. They have forgotten the old things, Ruth +in the corn and Mary with the jar of precious ointment, they have +forgotten the beauty they were meant to help men create. + +"Let them share only in man's attempt to create beauty. That is the +big, the delicate task to which they should consecrate themselves. Why +attempt instead the cheaper, the secondary task? They are like this +McGregor." + +The ploughmaker became silent. Taking up the whip he drove the horses +rapidly along. He thought that his point was made and was satisfied to +let the imagination of his daughter do the rest. They turned off the +boulevard and passed through a street of small stores. Before a saloon +a troop of street urchins led by a drunken man without a hat gave a +grotesque imitation of McGregor's Marchers before a crowd of laughing +idlers. With a sinking heart Margaret realised that even at the height +of his power the forces that would eventually destroy the impulses +back of McGregor's Marchers were at work. She crept closer to David. +"I love you," she said. "Some day I may have a lover but always I +shall love you. I shall try to be what you want of me." + +It was past two o'clock that night when David arose from the chair +where he had been for several hours quietly reading. With a smile on +his face he went to a window facing north toward the city. All through +the evening groups of men had been passing the house. Some had gone +scuffling along, a mere disorderly mob, some had gone shoulder to +shoulder chanting the marching song of the workers and a few, under +the influence of drink, had stopped before the house to roar out +threats. Now all was quiet. David lighted a cigar and stood for a long +time looking out over the city. He was thinking of McGregor and +wondering what excited dream of power the day had brought into the +man's head. Then he thought of his daughter and of her escape. A soft +light came into his eyes. He was happy but when he had partially +undressed a new mood came and he turned out the lights in the room and +went again to the window. In the room above Margaret had been unable +to sleep and had also crept to the window. She was thinking again of +McGregor and was ashamed of her thoughts. By chance both father and +daughter began at the same moment to doubt the truth of what David had +said during the drive along the boulevard. Margaret could not express +her doubts in words but tears came into her eyes. + +As for David, he put his hand on the sill of the window and for just a +moment his body trembled as with age and weariness. "I wonder," he +muttered--"if I had youth--perhaps McGregor knew he would fail and yet +had the courage of failure, I wonder if both Margaret and myself lack +the greater courage, if that evening long ago when I walked under the +trees I made a mistake? What if after all this McGregor and his woman +knew both roads. What if they, after looking deliberately along the +road toward success in life, went without regret along the road to +failure? What if McGregor and not myself knew the road to beauty?" + +END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING MEN *** + +This file should be named mgmen10.txt or mgmen10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, mgmen11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, mgmen10a.txt + +This eBook was provided by Juliet Sutherland <juliet.sutherland@verizon.net> + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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