CHAPTER VII
JIMMIE HIGGINS DALLIES WITH CUPID
I
The strike was over when Jimmie came out of jail; it had been
settled by the double-barrelled device of raising the wages of the
men and putting their leaders behind bars. Jimmie presented himself
at his old place of working, and the boss told him to go to hell; so
Jimmie went to Hubbardtown, and stood in the long line of men
waiting at the gate of the engine company. Jimmie knew about
black-lists, so when his time came to be questioned, he said his
name was Joe Aronsky, and he had last worked in a machine-shop in
Pittsburg; he had come to Hubbardtown because he had heard of high
pay and good treatment. While he was answering these questions, he
noticed a man sitting in the corner of the room studying his face,
and he saw the boss turn and glance in that direction. The man shook
his head, and the boss said: "Nothin' doin'." So Jimmie understood
that the Hubbard Engine Company was taking measures to keep its
shops clear of the agitators from Leesville.
He spent a couple of days trying other places in his home town, but
all in vain--they had him spotted. At the brewery they were slower
than elsewhere--they took him on for two hours. Then they found out
his record, and "fired" him; and Jimmie "kidded" the boss, saying
that they were too late--he had already given a Socialist leaflet to
every man in the room!
On Jefferson Street, an out of the way part of the town, was a
bicycle-shop kept by an old German named Kumme. One of the comrades
told Jimmie that he wanted a helper, and Jimmie went there and got a
job at two dollars a day. That was poor pay at present prices, but
Jimmie liked the place, because his boss was a near-Socialist, a
pacifist--for all countries except Germany. He got round it by
saying that every nation had a right to defend itself; and Germany
was the nation which had been attacked in this war. A good part of
the energies of the old man went into proving this to his customers;
if there were any customers who did not like it, they could go
elsewhere.
Those who came were largely Germans, and so Jimmie was kept fully
supplied with arguments against the munitions industry, which they
called a trade in murder, and in favour of the programme of "Feed
America First". Among those who frequented the place was Jerry
Coleman, who was still on the job, and as well supplied with
ten-dollar bills as ever. He had now revealed himself as an
organizer for a new propaganda society, called "Labour's National
Peace Council". Inasmuch as Labour and Peace were the phrases upon
which Jimmie lived, he saw no reason why he should not back this
organization. Coleman assured Jimmie he hated the Kaiser, but that
the German "people" must be defended. So Jimmie became, without
having the least idea of it, one of the agencies whereby the Kaiser
was subsidizing social discontent in America.
But Jimmie was more careful now in his agitations. He had brought
such distress into his home by his jail sentence, that he had been
forced to make promises to Lizzie. Her anxiety for her children
could no longer be kept to herself; and this caused a certain amount
of friction between them, and sent Jimmie out grumbling at his lot
in life. What was the use of trying to educate a woman, who could
see no farther than her own kitchen-stove? When you wanted to be a
world-saviour, to walk tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops of
heroism, she dragged you down and chained you to the commonplace,
taking all the zest and fervour out of your soul! The memories of
"seam-squirrels" and of thin coffee and ill-smelling and greasy soup
had slipped somewhat into the background of Jimmie's mind, and he
lived again the sublime hour when he had confronted the court and
stood for the fundamental rights of an American citizen. He wanted
to have that act of daring appreciated at its true value. Poor,
blind, home-keeping Lizzie, who could not fulfil these deeper needs
of her husband's soul!
Jimmie had been, so far in his married life, as well domesticated as
could be expected of a proletarian propagandist. He had yearned to
own a home of his own, and meantime had manifested his repressed
wish by getting a big packing-box and some broken shingles, and
building a model play-house for Jimmie Junior in the back yard. He
had even found time on his tired and crowded Sundays to start a
garden in midsummer, the season when the local was least active. But
now, of course, the war had come to obsess his mind, driving him to
terror for the future of humanity, tempting him to martyrdoms and
domestic irritations.
