In the Heart of a Fool Part 61

"Yes," spoke the big voice of Grant Adams for the first time since Fenn made his announcement, "we can strike--that's one thing we can do. Why,"

he continued, full of emotion, "I could no more hold those men down there against a strike when they hear this than I could fly. They'll have to fight for this right, gentlemen!"

"Be calm now, Grant," piped the Doctor; "don't go off half c.o.c.ked."

Grant's eyes flared--his nose dilated and the muscles of his heavy jaw worked and knotted. He answered in a harsh voice:

"Oh, I'll be calm all right, Doctor. I'm going down in the morning and plead for peace. But I know my people. I can't hold 'em."

Those in the room stood for a moment in dazed silence; then the Doctor and Brotherton, realizing the importance of further discussion that night, soon withdrew from the room, leaving d.i.c.k voluble in his grief and Lida, his wife, stony and speechless beside him. She shook no sympathizing hand, not even Grant's, as the Bowmans left for home. But she climbed out of the chair and down the stairs on tired, heavy feet.

In the morning there was turmoil in the Valley. In the _Times_ Jared Thurston, with the fatuous blundering which characterizes all editors of papers like his, printed the news that little Ben Bowman would be denied his rights, as a glorious victory over the reformers. In an editorial, written in old Joe Calvin's best style, the community was congratulated upon having one judge at last who would put an end to the socialistic foolishness that had been written by demagogues on the state statute books, and hinting rather broadly that the social labor program adopted by the people at the last election through the direct vote would go the way of the fool statute under which the Bowman lad hoped to cheat the courts of due process of law.

In vain did Grant Adams try to rally carpenters to the trocha. He pleaded with the men to raise a special fund to take little Ben's case through the federal courts; but he failed.

The Wahoo Valley saw in the case of little Ben Bowman the drama of greed throttling poverty, all set forth in stark, grim terms that no one could question. The story appealed directly to the pa.s.sions of the Valley and the Valley's voice rose in the demand to resort to its last weapon of defense. The workers felt that they must strike or forfeit their self-respect. And day by day the _Times_, gloating at the coming downfall in Van Dorn's program of labor-repression, threw oil on the flaming pa.s.sions of the Valley, so labor raged and went white hot. The council of the Wahoo Valley Trades Workers came together to vote on the strike. Every unit of seven was asked to meet and vote. Grant sat in his office with the executive committee a day and a night counting the slowly returning votes. Grant had influence enough to make them declare emphatically for a peaceful strike. But the voice of the Valley was for a strike. The spring was at its full. The little garden plots were blooming. The men felt confident. A conference of the officials of the council was called to formulate the demands. Grant managed to put off the strike until the hearing on the temporary injunction, June 16, was held. But the men drew up their demands and were ready for the court decision which they felt would be finally against them.

The Wahoo Valley was stirred deeply by the premonitions of the coming strike. It was proud of its record for industrial peace, and the prospect of war in the Valley overturned all its traditions.

Market Street had its profound reaction, too. Market Street and the Valley, each in its own way, felt the dreaded turmoil coming, knew what commercial disaster the struggle meant, but Market Street was timid and powerless and panic-stricken. Yet life went on. In the Valley there were births and deaths and marriages, and on the hill in Harvey, Mrs. Bedelia Nesbit was working out her plans to make over the Nesbit house, while Lila, her granddaughter, was fluttering about in the seventh Heaven, for she was living under the same sky and sun and stars that bent over Kenyon, her lover, home from Boston for the Morton-Adams wedding. He might be hailed as a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p once or twice a day, if she managed to time her visits to Market Street properly, or he might be seen from the east veranda of her home at the proper hour, and there was a throb of joy that blotted out all the rest of the pale world. There was one time; two times indeed they were, and a hope of a third, when slipping out from under the shadow of her grandmother's belligerent plumes, Lila had known the actual fleeting touch of hands; the actual feasting of eyes and the quick rapture of meeting lips at a tryst. And when Mrs. Nesbit left for Minneapolis to consult an architect, and to be gone two weeks--Harvey and the Valley and the strike slipped so far below the sky-line of the two lovers that they were scarcely aware that such things were in the universe.

Kenyon could not see even the grim cast of decision mantling Grant's face. Day by day, while the votes a.s.sembled which ordered the strike, the deep abiding purpose of Grant Adams's soul rose and stood ready to master him. He and the men seemed to be coming to their decision together. As the votes indicated by a growing majority their determination, in a score of ways Grant made it evident to those about him, that for him time had fruited; the day was ready and the hour at hand for his life plans to unfold. Those nearest him knew that the season of debate for Grant Adams had pa.s.sed. He was like one whose sails of destiny are set and who longs to put out into the deep and let down his nets. So he pa.s.sed the long days impatiently until the hearing of the injunction in little Ben's suit arrived, and every day burned some heavier line into his face that recorded the presence of the quenchless fire of purpose in his heart.

A smiling, affable man was Judge Thomas Van Dorn in his court the morning of June 16. He had his ticket bought for Chicago and a seat in the great convention of his party a.s.sured. He walked through the court room, rather dapperly. He put his high silk hat on the bench beside him, by way of adding a certain air of easy informality to the proceedings.

His red necktie brought out every thin wrinkle in his burnished brown face and upon the pink brow threaded by a chain lightning of a scar. The old mushy, emotional voice of his youth and maturity had thickened, and he talked loudly. He listened to arguments of counsel. Young Joe Calvin, representing the Fuel Company, was particularly eloquent. Henry Fenn knew that his case was hopeless, but made such reply as he could.

"Well," cut in the court before Fenn was off his feet at the close of his argument, "there's nothing to your contention. The court is familiar with those cases, cited by counsel. Either the const.i.tution means what it says or it doesn't. This court is willing to subscribe to a fund to pay this Bowman child a just compensation. This is a case for charity and the company is always generous in its benevolence. The Socialists may have the state courts, and the people are doubtless crazy--but this court will uphold the const.i.tution. The injunction is made permanent.

The court stands adjourned."

The crowd of laborers in the court room laughed in the Judge's face.

They followed Grant Adams, who with head bowed in thought walked slowly to the street car. "Well, fellows," said Grant, "here's the end. As it stands now, the law considers steel and iron in machinery more sacred than flesh and blood. The court would have allowed them to appropriate money for machines without due process of law; but it enjoins them from appropriating money for flesh and blood." He was talking to the members of the Valley Labor Council as they stood waiting for a car. "We may as well miss a car and present our demands to the Calvins. The sooner we get this thing moving, the better."

Ten minutes later the Council walked into the office of Calvin and Calvin. There sat Joseph Calvin, the elder, a ratty little man still, with a thin stringy neck and with a bald head. His small, mousy eyes blinked at the workmen. He was exceedingly polite. He admitted that he was attorney for the owners' a.s.sociation in the Valley, that he could if he chose speak for them in any negotiations they might desire to make with their employees, but that he was authorized to say that the owners were not ready to consider or even to receive any communication from the men upon any subject--except as individual employees might desire to confer with superintendents or foremen in the various mines and mills.

So they walked out. At labor headquarters in South Harvey, Nathan Perry came sauntering in.

"Well, boys--let's have your agreement--I think I know what it is. We're ready to sign."

In an hour men were carrying out posters to be distributed throughout the Valley, signed by Grant Adams, chairman of the Wahoo Valley Trades Workers' Council. It read:

STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE

The managers of our mines and mills in the Wahoo Valley have refused to confer with representatives of the workers about an important matter. Therefore we order a general strike of all workers in the mines and mills in this District. Workers before leaving will see that their machines are carefully oiled, covered, and prepared to rest without injury. For we claim partners.h.i.+p interest in them, and should protect them and all our property in the mines and mills in this Valley. During this strike, we pledge ourselves.

To orderly conduct.

To keep out of the saloons.

To protect our property in the mines and mills.

To use our influence to restrain all violence of speech or conduct. And we make the following demands:

First. That prices of commodities turned out in this district shall not be increased to the public as a result of concessions to us in this strike, and to that end we demand.

Second. That we be allowed to have a representative in the offices of all concerns interested, said representative to have access to all books and accounts, guaranteeing to labor such increases in wages as shall be evidently just, allowing 8 per cent. dividends on stock, the payment of interest on bonds, and such sums for upkeep, maintenance, and repairs as shall not include the creation of a surplus or fund for extensions.

Third, we demand that the companies concerned shall obey all laws enacted by the state or nation to improve conditions of industry until such laws have been pa.s.sed upon by the supreme courts of the state and of the United States.

Fourth, we demand that all negotiations between the employers and the workers arising out of the demands shall be conducted on behalf of the workers by the Trades Workers' Council of the Wahoo Valley or their accredited representatives.

During this strike we promise to the public righteous peace; after the strike we promise to the managers of the mines and mills efficient labor, and to the workers always justice.

STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE

At two o'clock that June afternoon the whistle of the big engine in the smelter in South Harvey, the whistle in the gla.s.s factory at Magnus, and the siren in the cement mill at Foley blew, and gradually the wheels stopped, the machines were covered, the fires drawn, the engines wiped and covered with oil, and the men marched out of all the mills and mines and shops in the district. There was no uproar, no rioting, but in an hour all the garden patches in the Valley were black with men. The big strike of the Wahoo Valley was on.

CHAPTER XLVI

WHEREIN GRANT ADAMS PREACHES PEACE AND LIDA BOWMAN SPEAKS HER MIND

A war, being an acute stage of discussion about the owners.h.i.+p of property, is a war even though "the lead striker calls it a strike," and even though he proposes to conduct the acute stage of the discussion on high moral grounds. The gentleman who is being relieved of what he considers at the moment his property, has no notion of giving it up without a struggle, no matter how courteously he is addressed, nor upon what exalted grounds the discussion is ranging. It is a world-old mistake of the Have-nots to discount the value which the Haves put upon their property. The Have-nots, generally speaking, hold the property under discussion in low esteem. They have not had the property in question. They don't know what a good thing it is--except in theory. But the Haves have had the property and they will fight for it, displaying a degree of feeling that always surprises the Have-nots, and naturally weakens their regard for the high motives and disinterested citizens.h.i.+p of the Haves.

Now Grant Adams in the great strike in the Wahoo Valley was making the world-old mistake. He was relying upon the moral force of his argument to separate the Haves from their property. He had cared little for the property. The poor never care much for property--otherwise they would not be poor. So Grant and his followers in the Valley--and all over the world for that matter,--(for they are of the great cult who believe in a more equitable distribution of property, through a restatement of the actual values of various servants to society), went into their demands for partners.h.i.+p rights in the industrial property around them, in a sublime and beautiful but untenable faith that the righteousness of their cause would win it. The afternoon when the men walked out of the mines and mills and shops, placards covered the dead walls of the Valley and the hired billboards in Harvey setting forth the claims of the men.

They bought and paid for twenty thousand copies of Amos Adams's _Tribune_, and distributed it in every home in the district, setting forth their reasons for striking. Great posters were spread over the town and in the Valley declaring "the rule of this strike is to be square, and to be square means that the strikers will do as they would be done by. There will be no violence."

Now it would seem that coming to the discussion with these obviously high motives, and such fair promises, the strikers would have been met by similarly altruistic methods. But instead, the next morning at half past six, when a thousand strikers appeared bearing large white badges inscribed with the words, "We stand for peace and law and order," and when the strikers appeared before the entrance to the shaft houses and the gates and doors of the smelters and mills, to beg men and women not to fill the vacant places at the mills and mines, the white-badged brigade was met with five hundred policemen who rudely ordered the strikers to move on.

The Haves were exhibiting feeling in the matter. But the mines and mills did not open; not enough strike-breakers appeared. So that afternoon, a great procession of white-badged men and white-clad women and children, formed in South Harvey, and, headed by the Foley Bra.s.s Band, marched through Market Street and for five miles through the streets of Harvey singing. Upon a platform carried by eight white-clad mothers, sat little Ben Bowman swathed in white, waving a white flag in his hand, and leading the singing. Over the chair on which he sat were these words on a great banner. "For his legal rights and for all such as he we demand that the law be enforced."

For two hours the procession wormed through Harvey. The streets were crowded to watch it. It made its impression on the town. The elder Calvin watched it with Mayor Ahab Wright, in festal side whiskers, from the office of Calvin & Calvin. Young Joe Calvin from time to time came and looked over their shoulders. But he was for the most part too busily engaged, making out commissions for deputy sheriffs and extra policemen, to watch the parade. As the parade came back headed for South Harvey, the ear of the young man caught a familiar tune. He watched Ahab Wright and his father to see if they recognized it. The placid face of the Mayor betrayed no more consciousness of the air than did his immaculate white necktie. The elder Calvin's face showed no appreciative wrinkles.

The band pa.s.sed down the street roaring the battle hymn of labor that has become so familiar all over the world. The great procession paused uncovered in the street, while Little Ben waved his flag and raised his clear, boyish voice with its clarion note and sang, as the procession waved back. And at the spectacle of the crippled child, waving his one little arm, and lifting his voice in a l.u.s.ty strain, the sidewalk crowd cheered and those who knew the tune joined.

Young Joe Calvin stood with his hands on the shoulders of the two sitting men. "Mr. Mayor, do you know that tune?" said Young Joe.

Mr. Mayor, whose only secular tune was "Yankee Doodle," confessed his ignorance. "Listen to the words," suggested Young Joe. Old Joe put his hand to his right ear. Ahab Wright leaned forward, and the words of the old, old cry of the Reds of the Midi came surging up:

"To arms! to arms!--ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on! March on! all hearts resolved On victory or death."

When Ahab Wright caught the words he was open mouthed with astonishment.

"Why--why," he cried, "that--why, that is sedition. They're advocating murder!"

Young Joe Calvin's face did not betray him, and he nodded a warning head. Old Joe looked the genuine consternation which he felt.