CHAPTER VI
JIMMIE HIGGINS GOES TO JAIL
I
Every evening now the party held its "soap-box" meetings on a corner
just off Main Street. Jimmie, having volunteered as one of the
assistants, would bolt his supper in the evening and hurry off to
the spot. He was not one of the speakers, of course--he would have
been terrified at the idea of making a speech; but he was one of
those whose labours made the speaking possible, and who reaped the
harvest for the movement.
The apparatus of the meeting was kept in the shop of a friendly
carpenter near-by. The carpenter had made a "soap-box" that was a
wonder--a platform mounted upon four slender legs, detachable, so
that one man could carry the whole business and set it up. Thus the
speaker was lifted a couple of feet above the heads of the crowd,
and provided with a hand-rail upon which he might lean, and even
pound, if he did not pound too hard. A kerosene torch burned some
distance from his head, illuminating his features, and it was
Jimmie's business to see that this torch was properly cleaned and
filled, and to hold it erect on a pole part of the time. The rest of
the time he peddled literature among the crowd--copies of the
Leesville Worker, and five and ten cent pamphlets supplied by the
National Office.
He would come home at night, worn out from these labours after his
daily toil; he would fall asleep at Lizzie's side, and have to be
routed out by her when the alarm-clock went off next morning. She
would get him a cup of hot coffee, and after he had drunk this, he
would be himself again, and would chatter about the adventures of
the night before. There was always something happening, a fellow
starting a controversy, a drunken man, or perhaps a couple of thugs
in the pay of old man Granitch, trying to break up the meeting.
Lizzie would do her best to show that sympathy with her husband's
activities which is expected from a dutiful wife. But all the time
there was a grief in her soul--the eternal grief of the feminine
temperament, which is cautious and conservative, in conflict with
the masculine, which is adventurous and destructive. Here was
Jimmie, earning twice what he had ever earned before, having a
chance to feed his children properly and to put by a little margin
for the first time in his harassed life; but instead of making the
most of the opportunity, he was going out on the streets every
night, doing everything in his power to destroy the golden occasion
which Fate had brought to him! Like the fellow who climbs a tree to
saw off a limb, and sits on the limb and saws between himself and
the tree!
In spite of her best efforts, Lizzie's broad, kindly face would
sometimes become hard with disappointment, and a big tear would roll
down each of her sturdy cheeks. Jimmie would be sorry for her, and
would patiently try to explain his actions. Should a man think only
of his own wife and children, and forget entirely all the other
wives and children of the working-class? That was why the workers
had been slaves all through the ages, because each thought of
himself, and never of his fellows. No, you must think of your class!
You must act as a class--on the alert to seize every advantage, to
teach solidarity and stimulate class-consciousness! Jimmie would use
these long words, which he had heard at meetings; but then, seeing
that Lizzie did not understand them, he would go back and say it
over again in words of one syllable. They had old man Granitch in a
hole just now, and they must teach him a lesson, and at the same
time teach the workers their power. Lizzie would sigh, and shake her
head; for to her, old man Granitch was not a human being, but a
natural phenomenon, like winter, or hunger. He, or some other like
him, had been the master of her fathers for generations untold, and
to try to break or even to limit his power was like commanding the
tide or the sun.
