XLVIII
I no longer had any impulse to interfere. In truth I was glad to see
the policeman, considering that his worst might be better than the
mob's best. About half the crowd followed us, but the singing died
away, and that gave Comrade Abell his chance. He was walking
directly behind the policeman, and suddenly he raised his voice, and
all the rest of the way to the station-house he provided marching
tunes: first the Internationale, and then the Reg Flag, and then the
Marseillaise:
Ye sons of toil, awake to glory!
Hark, hark! What myriads bids you rise!
Your children, wives, and grand sires hoary--
Behold their tears and hear their cries!
When we came to the station house, the policeman gave Moneta a shove
and told him to get along; he had not done anything, and was denied
the honor of being arrested. The officer pushed Carpenter through
the door, and bade the rest of us keep out.
Said Abell: "I am an attorney."
"The hell you are!" said the other. "I thought you were an opery
singer."
"I'm a practicing attorney," said Abell, "and I represent the man
you have arrested. I presume I have a right to enter."
"And I am a prospective bondsman," I stated, with sudden
inspiration. "So let me in also."
We entered, and the policeman led his prisoner to the sergeant at
the desk. The latter asked the charge, and was told, "Disturbing the
peace and blocking traffic."
"Now, sergeant," said I, "this is preposterous. All this prisoner
did was to try to stop a mob from destroying property."
"You can tell all that to the magistrate in the morning," said the
sergeant.
"What is the bail?" I demanded.
"You are prepared to put up bail?"
I answered that I was; and then for the first time Carpenter spoke.
"You mean you wish to pay money to secure my release? Let there be
no money paid for me."
"Let me explain, Mr. Carpenter," I pleaded. "You will accomplish
nothing by spending the night in a police cell. You will have no
opportunity to talk with the prisoners. They will keep you by
yourself."
He answered, "My Father will be with me." And gazing into the face
of the sergeant, he demanded, "Do you think you can build a cell to
which my Father cannot come?"
The officer was an old hand, with a fringe of grey hair around his
bald head, and no doubt he had been asked many queer questions in
his day. His response was to inquire the prisoner's name; and when
the prisoner kept haughty silence, he wrote down "John Doe
Carpenter," and proceeded: "Where do you live?"
Said Carpenter: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have
nests, but he that espouses the cause of justice has no home in a
world of greed."
So the sergeant wrote: "No address," and nodded to a jailer, who
took the prophet by the arm and led him away through a steel-barred
door.
Abell and I went outside and joined the rest of the group. None of
us knew just what to do--with the exception of Everett, who sat on
the steps with his notebook, and made me repeat to him word for word
what Carpenter had said!
