XL
When Carpenter stopped speaking, his face was dripping with sweat,
and he was pale. But the eager crowd would not let him go. They
began to ask him questions. There were some who wanted to know what
he meant by saying that he came from God, and some who wanted to
know whether he believed in the Christian religion. There were
others who wanted to know what he thought about political action,
and if he really believed that the capitalists would give up without
using force. There was a man who had been at the relief kitchen, and
noted that he ate soup with meat in it, and asked if this was not
using force against one's fellow creatures. The old gentleman who
represented spiritualism was on hand, asking if the dead are still
alive, and if so, where are they?
Then, before the meeting was over, there came a sick man to be
healed; and others, pushing their way through the crowd, clamoring
about the wagon, seeking even to touch the hem of Carpenter's
garments. After a couple of hours of this he announced that he was
worn out. But it was a problem to get the wagon started; they could
only move slowly, the driver calling to the people in front to make
room. So they went down the street, and I got into my car and
followed at a distance. I did not know where they were going, and
there was nothing I could do but creep along--a poor little rich boy
with a big automobile and nobody to ride in it, or to pay any
attention to him.
The wagon drove to the city jail; which rather gave me a start,
because I had been thinking that the party might be arrested at any
minute, on complaint to the police from the church. But apparently
this did not trouble Carpenter. He wished to visit the strikers who
had been arrested in front of Prince's restaurant. He and several
others stood before the heavy barred doors asking for admission,
while a big crowd gathered and stared. I sat watching the scene,
with phrases learned in earliest childhood floating through my mind:
"I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto
me."
But it appeared that Sunday was not visitors' day at the jail, and
the little company was turned away. As they climbed back into the
wagon, I saw two husky fellows come from the jail, a type one learns
to know as plain clothes men. "Why won't they let him in?" cried
some one in the crowd; and one of the detectives looked over his
shoulder, with a sneering laugh: "We'll let him in before long,
don't you worry!"
The wagon took up its slow march again. It was a one-horse
express-cart, belonging, as I afterwards learned, to a compatriot of
Korwsky the tailor. This man, Simon Karlin, earned a meager living
for himself and his family by miscellaneous delivery in his
neighborhood; but now he was so fascinated with Carpenter that he
had dropped everything in order to carry the prophet about. I
mention it, because next day in the newspapers there was much fun
made of this imitation man of God riding about town in a half
broken-down express-wagon, hauled by a rickety and spavined old nag.
The company drove to one of the poorer quarters of the city, and
stopped before a workingman's cottage on a street whose name I had
never heard before. I learned that it was the home of James, the
striking carpenter, and on the steps were his wife and a brood of
half a dozen children, and his old father and mother, and several
other people unidentified. There were many who had walked all the
way following the wagon, and others gathered quickly, and besought
the prophet to speak to them, and to heal their sick. Apparently his
whole life was to consist of that kind of thing, for he found it
hard to refuse any request. But finally he told them he must be
quiet, and went inside, and James mounted guard at the door, and I
sat in my car and waited until the crowd had filtered away. There
was no good reason why I should have been admitted, but James
apparently was glad to see me, and let me join the little company
that was gathered in his home.
There was Everett, who had now washed the blood off his face, but
had not been able to put back his lost teeth, nor to heal the
swollen mass that had once been his upper lip and nose. And there
was Korwsky, who was now able to sit up and smile feebly, and two
other men, whose names I did not learn, nursing battered faces.
Carpenter prayed over them all, and they became more cheerful, and
eager to talk about the adventure, each telling over what had
happened to him. I noted that Everett, in spite of what must have
been intense pain, was still faithfully taking down every word the
prophet uttered.
It had been known that Carpenter was to honor this house with his
presence, and the family were all dressed in their best, and had got
together a supper, in spite of hard times and strikes. We had
sandwiches and iced tea and a slice of pie for each of us, and I was
interested to observe that the prophet, tired as he was, liked to
laugh and chat over his food, exactly like any uninspired human
being. He never failed to get the children around him and tell them
stories, and hear their bright laughter.
