"That"s what I"ve ben tellin" you all along," Bert replied. "We ain"t got a chance to win."
"Then why go out?" was Saxon"s question.
He looked at her with lackl.u.s.ter eyes for a moment, then answered
"Why did my two uncles get killed at Gettysburg?"
CHAPTER VIII
Saxon went about her housework greatly troubled. She no longer devoted herself to the making of pretties. The materials cost money, and she did not dare. Bert"s thrust had sunk home. It remained in her quivering consciousness like a shaft of steel that ever turned and rankled. She and Billy were responsible for this coming young life. Could they be sure, after all, that they could adequately feed and clothe it and prepare it for its way in the world? Where was the guaranty? She remembered, dimly, the blight of hard times in the past, and the plaints of fathers and mothers in those days returned to her with a new significance. Almost could she understand Sarah"s chronic complaining.
Hard times were already in the neighborhood, where lived the families of the shopmen who had gone out on strike. Among the small storekeepers, Saxon, in the course of the daily marketing, could sense the air of despondency. Light and geniality seemed to have vanished. Gloom pervaded everywhere. The mothers of the children that played in the streets showed the gloom plainly in their faces. When they gossiped in the evenings, over front gates and on door stoops, their voices were subdued and less of laughter rang out.
Mary Donahue, who had taken three pints from the milkman, now took one pint. There were no more family trips to the moving picture shows.
Sc.r.a.p-meat was harder to get from the butcher. Nora Delaney, in the third house, no longer bought fresh fish for Friday. Salted codfish, not of the best quality, was now on her table. The st.u.r.dy children that ran out upon the street between meals with huge slices of bread and b.u.t.ter and sugar now came out with no sugar and with thinner slices spread more thinly with b.u.t.ter. The very custom was dying out, and some children already had desisted from piecing between meals.
Everywhere was manifest a pinching and sc.r.a.ping, a tightning and shortening down of expenditure. And everywhere was more irritation.
Women became angered with one another, and with the children, more quickly than of yore; and Saxon knew that Bert and Mary bickered incessantly.
"If she"d only realize I"ve got troubles of my own," Bert complained to Saxon.
She looked at him closely, and felt fear for him in a vague, numb way.
His black eyes seemed to burn with a continuous madness. The brown face was leaner, the skin drawn tightly across the cheekbones. A slight twist had come to the mouth, which seemed frozen into bitterness. The very carriage of his body and the way he wore his hat advertised a recklessness more intense than had been his in the past.
Sometimes, in the long afternoons, sitting by the window with idle hands, she caught herself reconstructing in her vision that folk-migration of her people across the plains and mountains and deserts to the sunset land by the Western sea. And often she found herself dreaming of the arcadian days of her people, when they had not lived in cities nor been vexed with labor unions and employers" a.s.sociations. She would remember the old people"s tales of self-sufficingness, when they shot or raised their own meat, grew their own vegetables, were their own blacksmiths and carpenters, made their own shoes--yes, and spun the cloth of the clothes they wore. And something of the wistfulness in Tom"s face she could see as she recollected it when he talked of his dream of taking up government land.
A farmer"s life must be fine, she thought. Why was it that people had to live in cities? Why had times changed? If there had been enough in the old days, why was there not enough now? Why was it necessary for men to quarrel and jangle, and strike and fight, all about the matter of getting work? Why wasn"t there work for all?--Only that morning, and she shuddered with the recollection, she had seen two scabs, on their way to work, beaten up by the strikers, by men she knew by sight, and some by name, who lived in the neighhorhood. It had happened directly across the street. It had been cruel, terrible--a dozen men on two. The children had begun it by throwing rocks at the scabs and cursing them in ways children should not know. Policemen had run upon the scene with drawn revolvers, and the strikers had retreated into the houses and through the narrow alleys between the houses. One of the scabs, unconscious, had been carried away in an ambulance; the other, a.s.sisted by special railroad police, had been taken away to the shops. At him, Mary Donahue, standing on her front stoop, her child in her arms, had hurled such vile abuse that it had brought the blush of shame to Saxon"s cheeks. On the stoop of the house on the other side, Saxon had noted Mercedes, in the height of the beating up, looking on with a queer smile. She had seemed very eager to witness, her nostrils dilated and swelling like the beat of pulses as she watched. It had struck Saxon at the time that the old woman was quite unalarmed and only curious to see.
To Mercedes, who was so wise in love, Saxon went for explanation of what was the matter with the world. But the old woman"s wisdom in affairs industrial and economic was cryptic and unpalatable.
"La la, my dear, it is so simple. Most men are born stupid. They are the slaves. A few are born clever. They are the masters. G.o.d made men so, I suppose."
"Then how about G.o.d and that terrible beating across the street this morning?"
"I"m afraid he was not interested," Mercedes smiled. "I doubt he even knows that it happened."
"I was frightened to death," Saxon declared. "I was made sick by it. And yet you--I saw you--you looked on as cool as you please, as if it was a show."
"It was a show, my dear."
"Oh, how could you?"
"La la, I have seen men killed. It is nothing strange. All men die. The stupid ones die like oxen, they know not why. It is quite funny to see.
They strike each other with fists and clubs, and break each other"s heads. It is gross. They are like a lot of animals. They are like dogs wrangling over bones. Jobs are bones, you know. Now, if they fought for women, or ideas, or bars of gold, or fabulous diamonds, it would be splendid. But no; they are only hungry, and fight over sc.r.a.ps for their stomach."
"Oh, if I could only understand!" Saxon murmured, her hands tightly clasped in anguish of incomprehension and vital need to know.
"There is nothing to understand. It is clear as print. There have always been the stupid and the clever, the slave and the master, the peasant and the prince. There always will be."
"But why?"
"Why is a peasant a peasant, my dear? Because he is a peasant. Why is a flea a flea?"
Saxon tossed her head fretfully.
"Oh, but my dear, I have answered. The philosophies of the world can give no better answer. Why do you like your man for a husband rather than any other man? Because you like him that way, that is all. Why do you like? Because you like. Why does fire burn and frost bite? Why are there clever men and stupid men? masters and slaves? employers and workingmen? Why is black black? Answer that and you answer everything."
"But it is not right that men should go hungry and without work when they want to work if only they can get a square deal," Saxon protested.
"Oh, but it is right, just as it is right that stone won"t burn like wood, that sea sand isn"t sugar, that thorns p.r.i.c.k, that water is wet, that smoke rises, that things fall down and not up."
But such doctrine of reality made no impression on Saxon. Frankly, she could not comprehend. It seemed like so much nonsense.
"Then we have no liberty and independence," she cried pa.s.sionately. "One man is not as good as another. My child has not the right to live that a rich mother"s child has."
"Certainly not," Mercedes answered.
"Yet all my people fought for these things," Saxon urged, remembering her school history and the sword of her father.
"Democracy--the dream of the stupid peoples. Oh, la la, my dear, democracy is a lie, an enchantment to keep the work brutes content, just as religion used to keep them content. When they groaned in their misery and toil, they were persuaded to keep on in their misery and toil by pretty tales of a land beyond the skies where they would live famously and fat while the clever ones roasted in everlasting fire. Ah, how the clever ones must have chuckled! And when that lie wore out, and democracy was dreamed, the clever ones saw to it that it should be in truth a dream, nothing but a dream. The world belongs to the great and clever."
"But you are of the working people," Saxon charged.
The old woman drew herself up, and almost was angry.
"I? Of the working people? My dear, because I had misfortune with moneys invested, because I am old and can no longer win the brave young men, because I have outlived the men of my youth and there is no one to go to, because I live here in the ghetto with Barry Higgins and prepare to die--why, my dear, I was born with the masters, and have trod all my days on the necks of the stupid. I have drunk rare wines and sat at feasts that would have supported this neighborhood for a lifetime. d.i.c.k Golden and I--it was d.i.c.kie"s money, but I could have had it -- d.i.c.k Golden and I dropped four hundred thousand francs in a week"s play at Monte Carlo. He was a Jew, but he was a spender. In India I have worn jewels that could have saved the lives of ten thousand families dying before my eyes."
"You saw them die?... and did nothing?" Saxon asked aghast.
"I kept my jewels--la la, and was robbed of them by a brute of a Russian officer within the year."
"And you let them die," Saxon reiterated.
"They were cheap sp.a.w.n. They fester and multiply like maggots. They meant nothing--nothing, my dear, nothing. No more than your work people mean here, whose crowning stupidity is their continuing to beget more stupid sp.a.w.n for the slavery of the masters."
So it was that while Saxon could get little glimmering of common sense from others, from the terrible old woman she got none at all. Nor could Saxon bring herself to believe much of what she considered Mercedes"
romancing. As the weeks pa.s.sed, the strike in the railroad shops grew bitter and deadly. Billy shook his head and confessed his inability to make head or tail of the troubles that were looming on the labor horizon.
"I don"t get the hang of it," he told Saxon. "It"s a mix-up. It"s like a roughhouse with the lights out. Look at us teamsters. Here we are, the talk just starting of going out on sympathetic strike for the mill-workers. They"ve ben out a week, most of their places is filled, an" if us teamsters keep on haulin" the mill-work the strike"s lost."
"Yet you didn"t consider striking for yourselves when your wages were cut," Saxon said with a frown.
"Oh, we wasn"t in position then. But now the Frisco teamsters and the whole Frisco Water Front Confederation is liable to back us up. Anyway, we"re just talkin" about it, that"s all. But if we do go out, we"ll try to get back that ten per cent cut."
"It"s rotten politics," he said another time. "Everybody"s rotten. If we"d only wise up and agree to pick out honest men--"