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diff --git a/7045-h/7045-h.htm b/7045-h/7045-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..edc32c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/7045-h/7045-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8668 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Marching Men, by Sherwood Anderson + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +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 *** + + + + +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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