CHAPTER XXI.
GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN.
On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong foundhimself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, byeasy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopenthe subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoidedit. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flintinwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And thoughWaldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flintbade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well.
Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever morebitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in personthat his operators who were trailing the quarry had--in thenight--discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a finelinen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing hisdaughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But heinstructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted fromArmstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made awarethat he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores wouldbe paid in full, and more than paid.
July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five oreighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where--he had alreadyheard--ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant ofwhich he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabrielcounted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic andcelebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part inthe work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out ofsight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could belittle danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringentcensorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police,a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes,both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political andeconomic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in theselast few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialistmovement had been growing ever more and more swiftly.
"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside thelodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers aresurely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, isuglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year ortwo ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over thecountry, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters hadbetter look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell!
"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can'ttake part, but I mustn't. My game, now, is to travel underground as itwere. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just _now_!"
He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that,across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to comeout. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into EvansPark to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun.
Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty,ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing theexploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a littlefresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that stilllay before him. At times--often indeed--his thoughts wandered to themaple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories ofthe girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be,he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking upthe number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He hadeven abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might seesome account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to knowthe woman's name possessed him--a feeling that, if he positivelyidentified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, hecould no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they twohad, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends.
"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way--just to recall heras a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can alwaysremember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!"
From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped theleaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung aboutit--something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on thehard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for atime it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him.
"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it couldbe!"
Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, hestood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in thedusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, uglystreets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare;where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters,dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a fewpremature firecrackers and mocking the police--all in all, leading theugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the cityproletariat.
"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty groupclustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated,high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square--aniline poison,no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like thechildren of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, theirbeaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs,ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right--and it takesa thousand of _these_, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of _those_.And--and _she_ was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty,health and grace were bought at the price of ten thousand otherchildren's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What acruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!"
Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he couldnot banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class.
So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now throughworse, up and down the city.
Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of somedemonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardentpatriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. Thesaloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holidayimpending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, infoul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushingthe growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even littlegirls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumedon roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape.The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers forthe most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were tryingto snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery,by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol.
Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked theslums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul andnarrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a womansitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly.
This woman--hardly more than a girl--was holding a little bundle in onehand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of themost intense, he saw at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers,watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, mostsordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on thecorner.
"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy."More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poordevils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's seewhat's wrong _now_!"
Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted.
"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use;the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he mighthave been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and womenlook at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter hadlooked.
"Search _me_!" murm
ured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "_I_can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a fewminutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody.
"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking atthe rest.
A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scentingsome excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman--commonsight, indeed!--lingered near. The little group was growing.
Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder.
"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble,let me help you."
Renewed sobs were her only answer.
"If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sureI can do something for you."
"You--you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from thecorner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobodycan't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won'tlet me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone--oh dear, oh dear,dear!"
Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing,nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction.Somewhere a boy snickered.
"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman,"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, andwho's Eddy--and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can dosomething to straighten things out."
No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again.
"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked.
Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps besidethe woman, remarked casually:
"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know."
Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up.
"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! Youmustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer willbe along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and Ipromise to see you through it, as far as I can."
She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained anddishevelled though she was, and soiled by marks of drink anddebauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and stillwas comely.
"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
"Tell you?" she repeated. "I--oh, I can't! Not in front of all themmen!"
"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you dothat? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on thehighway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!"
"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come alongthen--I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!"
She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned andfollowed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward thebrighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the menhesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but onebackward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. Andas Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot ofcuriosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished.
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