IV
As a result of this ferment among the workers, the local had doubled
its membership, and was holding soap-box meetings on a corner off
Main Street on two evenings every week. The plans for the weekly
paper, however, still hung fire. Comrade Dr. Service had lost his
two brothers-in-law, one in the battle of Mons, and the other in the
first frightful gas-attack at Ypres, where whole regiments of men
were caught unprepared and died in awful torments. Also two of his
wife's cousins had paid the price--one was blind, and the other a
prisoner at Ruhleben, the worst fate of all. So Dr. Service made one
last indignant speech in the local, and took his five hundred
dollars to start a chapter of the Red Cross!
But now the Germans and the war-haters in the local were asking
themselves, was Socialism to languish in the city of the Empire
Machine Shops, just because one rich man with an English wife had
proved a renegade? Such a question answered itself! The work of
collecting subscription lists was taken up more vigorously than
ever; and already more than half the lost five hundred had been made
up, when one evening John Meissner came home with a most amazing
story.
It was his custom to stop at Sandkuh's for one glass of beer on his
way home in the evening; and when anybody in the saloon got to
arguing about the war, he would take his chance to put in a little
propaganda. This time he had made a regular speech, declaring that
the workers would soon put an end to the munition-business; and a
fellow had got to talking with him, asking him all sorts of
questions about himself, and about the local. How many members did
it have? How many of them felt as Meissner did? What were they doing
about it? Pretty soon the man had drawn Meissner to a table in the
back part of the place, asking about the proposed paper, and what
its policy was to be; also about the unions in the city, and their
policy, and the personalities of the leaders.
The man had said he was a Socialist, but Meissner did not believe
him. Meissner thought he must be some kind of union organizer. There
had been talk of various unions making an effort to break into the
domain of old man Granitch; and, of course, there was always the I.
W. W. trying to break in everywhere with its programme of the "one
big union".
Meissner went on to tell how this mysterious stranger had stated to
him that it would be possible to get plenty of money to back the
proposition of a strike in the Empire Shops. The new plant was just
ready to start up, and fresh swarms of men were coming in; what was
wanted was some live fellows to get in with them and agitate for an
eight hour day and a minimum wage scale of sixty cents an hour. Men
who were willing to do that could get good money, and plenty of it;
if the Leesville Worker would advocate such a policy, there was no
reason why it should not start up the very next week, and publish a
big edition and flood the town. The one essential was that
arrangements should be made secretly. Meissner must trust no one
save dyed-in-the-wool "reds", who would be willing to hustle, and
not say where the pay came from. As earnest of his intentions, the
stranger pulled out a roll of bills, and casually drew off half a
dozen and slipped them into Meissner's hands. They were for ten
dollars each--more money than a petty boss at the glass-works had
ever got into his hands at one time in all his life!
Meissner exhibited the roll, and Jimmie stared with wide-open eyes.
Here indeed was a new development of the war--ten dollar bills for
Socialist propaganda to be picked up in the back rooms of saloons!
What was this fellow's name? And where did he hang out? Meissner
offered to take Jimmie to meet him, and so the two bolted their
suppers and set out at top speed.
