Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 29

Wait--understand?" With that I skips upstairs, and explains the mystery of our bein' mobbed. "It's a whiskered freak on the top floor they're after," says I. "Swifty, run up and get that Ham and Eggs gent. I'm yearnin' for speech with him. I don't know what this is all about; but I'll soon see, and block any encores."

"Quite right," says Mr. Hubbard. "This is all extremely annoying. Such a rabble!"

"Positively disgusting!" adds Pinckney. "A crowd of smelly foreigners!

Shorty, you should put a stop to this."

"Trust me," says I. "Ah, here we have the guilty party!" and in comes Swifty towin' Eggleston K. by the collar. No wonder Eggy is some agitated, after bein' hauled down two flights in that fas.h.i.+on!

"Well," says I, as Swifty stands him up in front of us. "Who are your outside friends, and why?"

"My--my friends?" says he. "I--I don't understand. And I must protest, you know, against this manner of----"

"Gwan!" says I. "I'm doin' all the protestin' here. And I want to know what you mean by collectin' such a crowd of steerage junk that my customers can't get in without bein' mobbed? Howled for us to take their pictures, and mentioned your name."

"Oh! Pictures!" and Eggy seems to get the key. "Why, I--I'd forgotten."

"Can you beat that?" says I. "He'd forgotten! Well, they hadn't. But what's the idea, anyway? Collectin' fam'ly portraits of prominent gunmen, or what?"

"It--it's my way of getting material for my work," says Eggleston. "You see, through some friends in a settlement house, I get to know these people. I take snapshots of them for nothing. They like to send the pictures back home, you know, and I can use some of them myself."

"In the book?" says I.

"Perhaps," says Eggy, blus.h.i.+n'. "I had promised a few of them to take some studio pictures if they would come up to-day."

"And they didn't do a thing but bring all their friends," says I. "Must be fifty of them down there. You'll have a thick book before you get through."

"I beg pardon," puts in Mr. Hubbard, leanin' forward int'rested, "but may I ask the nature of the book?"

"It--it's to be about our foreign-born citizens," says Eggy.

"Ah, I see!" says J. Q. "Pointing out the evils of unrestricted immigration, I presume?"

"Well--er--not exactly," says Eggy.

"Then I should advise you to make it so," says Mr. Hubbard. "In fact, if the subject were well handled, and the case put strongly enough to meet my views, I think I could a.s.sure its immediate publication."

"Oh, would you?" says Eggleston, real eager. "But--but what are your views as to our treatment of aliens?"

"My programme is quite simple," says Mr. Hubbard. "I would stop all immigration at once, absolutely. Then I would deport all persons of foreign birth who had not become citizens."

Eggy gasped. "But--but that would be unjust!" says he. "Why, it would be monstrous! Surely, you are not in earnest?"

Mr. Hubbard's eyelids narrow, his jaw stiffens, and he emphasizes each word by tappin' his knee. "I'd like to see it done to-morrow," says he.

"Check this flood of immigration, and you solve half of our economic and industrial problems. Too long we have allowed this country to be a general dumping ground for the sc.u.m of Europe. Everyone admits that."

"If you please," says Eggy, runnin' his fingers through his beard nervous, "I could not agree to that. On the contrary, my theory is that we owe a great deal of our progress and our success to the foreign born."

"Oh, indeed!" remarks Mr. Hubbard, cold and sharp. "And you mean to try to prove that in your book?"

"Something like that," admits Eggy.

"Then, Sir," goes on J. Q., "I must tell you that I consider you a most mischievous, if not dangerous person, and I feel it my duty to discourage such misdirected enterprise. Aren't you an instructor in economics under Professor Hartnett?"

Eggy pleads guilty.

"I thought I recognized the name," says J. Q. "Well, Mr. Ham, I am Joshua Q. Hubbard, and, as you may know, I happen to be one of the governing board of that college; so I warn you now, if you insist on publis.h.i.+ng such a book as you have suggested, you may expect consequences."

For a minute that seems to stun Eggleston. He stares at Mr. Hubbard, blinkin' his eyes rapid and swallowin' hard. Then he appears to recover.

"But--but are you not somewhat prejudiced?" says he. "I think I could show you, Sir, that these poor aliens----"

"Mr. Ham," says J. Q. decided, "I know exactly what I am talking about; not from hearsay, but from actual experience. Hundreds of thousands of dollars these wretched foreigners have cost me within the last few years. Why, that last big strike cut dividends almost in half! And who causes all the strikes, is at the bottom of all labor disturbances? The foreign element. If I had my way, I'd call out the regular army and drive every last one of them into the sea."

You'd most thought that would have squelched Eggy. I was lookin' for him to back through the door on his hands and knees. But all he does is stand there lookin' J. Q. Hubbard square in the eye and smilin' quiet.

"Yes, I've heard sentiments like that before," says he. "I presume, Mr.

Hubbard, that you know many of your mill operatives personally?"

"No," says J. Q., "and I have no desire to. I haven't been inside one of our mills in fifteen years."

"I see," says Eggy. "You keep in touch with your employees through--er--your bankbook? But is it fair to judge them as men and women wholly on their ability to produce dividends for you?"

"As an employer of labor, what other test would you have me apply?" says J. Q.

"Then you are cla.s.sing them with machines," says Eggy.

"No," says Mr. Hubbard. "I can depend upon my looms not to go on strike."

"But you own your looms," says Eggleston. "Your loom tenders are human beings."

"When they mob strike breakers they behave more like wild animals, and then you've got to treat 'em as such," raps back J. Q.

"Are you quite certain that the standards of humanity you set up are just?" asks Eggy. "You know people are beginning to question your absolute right to fix arbitrarily the hours and wages and conditions of labor. They are suggesting that your mills produce tuberculosis as well as cloth. They are showing that, in your eagerness for dividends, you work women and children too long, and that you don't pay them a living wage."

"Rot!" snorts J. Q. "These are all the mushy theories of sentimentalists. What else are these foreigners good for?"

"Ah, there you get to it!" says Eggy. "Aren't they too valuable to be ground up in your dusty mills? Can they not be made into useful citizens?"

"No, they can't," snaps Mr. Hubbard. "It's been tried too often. Look at the results. Who fill our jails? Foreigners! Who swarm in our filthy city slums? Foreigners! They are the curse of this country. Look at the wretched mob you have brought about your heels to-day, those outside there. There's a sample."

"If you only would look and understand!" says Eggleston. "Won't you--now? It will take only a little of your time, and I'll promise to keep them in order. Oh, if you'd only let me!"

"Let you what?" demands J. Q., starin' puzzled.

"Introduce a few of them to you properly," says Eggy; "only four or five. Come, a handful of simple-minded peasants can't hurt you. They're poor, and ignorant, and not especially clean, I'll admit; but I'll keep them at a proper distance. You see, I want to show you something about them. Of course, you're afraid you'll lose your cherished prejudices----"

"I'm afraid of nothing of the sort," breaks in Mr. Hubbard. "Go on. Have 'em up, if McCabe is willing."

"Eh?" says I. "Bring that mob up here?"