the dwelling place of ligh-第55节

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refrain　from　rising　in　her　seat。

By　some　odd　whim　of　the　weather　the　wind　had　backed　around　into　the　east；
gathering　the　clouds　once　more。　　The　brilliancy　of　the　morning　had　given
place　to　greyness；　the　high　slits　of　windows　seemed　dirtier　than　ever　as
the　train　pulled　into　the　station　at　Hampton；　shrouded　in　Gothic　gloom。
As　she　left　the　car　Janet　was　aware　of　the　presence　on　the　platform　of　an
unusual　number　of　people；　she　wondered　vaguely；　as　she　pushed　her　way
through　them；　why　they　were　there；　what　they　were　talking　about？　　One
determination　possessed　her；　to　go　to　the　Chippering　Mill；　to　Ditmar。
Emerging　from　the　street；　she　began　to　walk　rapidly；　the　change　from
inaction　to　exercise　bringing　a　certain　relief；　starting　the　working　of
her　mind；　arousing　in　her　a　realization　of　the　necessity　of　being
prepared　for　the　meeting。　　Therefore；　instead　of　turning　at　Faber　Street；
she　crossed　it。　　But　at　the　corner　of　the　Common　she　halted；　her　glance
drawn　by　a　dark　mass　of　people　filling　the　end　of　Hawthorne　Street；　where
it　was　blocked　by　the　brick…coloured　facade　of　the　Clarendon　Mill。　　In
the　middle　distance　men　and　boys　were　running　to　join　this　crowd。　　A
girl；　evidently　an　Irish…American　mill　hand　of　the　higher　paid　sort；
hurried　toward　her　from　the　direction　of　the　mill　itself。　　Janet　accosted
her。

〃It's　the　strike；〃　she　explained　excitedly；　evidently　surprised　at　the
question。　　〃The　Polaks　and　the　Dagoes　and　a　lot　of　other　foreigners　quit
when　they　got　their　envelopesstopped　their　looms　and　started　through
the　mill；　and　when　they　came　into　our　room　I　left。　　I　didn't　want　no
trouble　with　'em。　　It's　the　fifty…four　hour　lawtheir　pay's　cut　two
hours。　　You've　heard　about　it；　I　guess。〃

Janet　nodded。

〃They　had　a　big　mass　meeting　last　night　in　Maxwell　Hall；〃　the　girl
continued；　〃the　foreignersnot　the　skilled　workers。　　And　they　voted　to
strike。　　They　tell　me　they're　walking　out　over　at　the　Patuxent；　too。〃

〃And　the　Chippering？〃　asked　Janet；　eagerly。

〃I　don't　knowI　guess　it'll　spread　to　all　of　'em；　the　way　these
foreigners　are　going　onthey're　crazy。　　But　say；〃　the　girl　added；　〃it
ain't　right　to　cut　our　pay；　either；　is　it？　　They　never　done　it　two　years
ago　when　the　law　came　down　to　fifty…six。〃

Janet　did　not　wait　to　reply。　　While　listening　to　this　explanation；
excitement　had　been　growing　in　her　again；　and　some　fearful；　overpowering
force　of　attraction　emanating　from　that　swarm　in　the　distance　drew　her
until　she　yielded；　fairly　running　past　the　rows　of　Italian　tenements　in
their　strange　setting　of　snow；　not　to　pause　until　she　reached　the　fruit
shop　where　she　and　Eda　had　eaten　the　olives。　　Now　she　was　on　the
outskirts　of　the　crowd　that　packed　itself　against　the　gates　of　the
Clarendon。　　It　spread　over　the　width　of　East　Street；　growing　larger　every
minute；　until　presently　she　was　hemmed　in。　　Here　and　there　hoarse　shouts
of　approval　and　cheers　arose　in　response　to　invisible　orators　haranging
their　audiences　in　weird；　foreign　tongues；　tiny　American　flags　were
waved；　and　suddenly；　in　one　of　those　unforeseen　and　incomprehensible
movements　to　which　mobs　are　subject；　a　trolley　car　standing　at　the　end　of
the　Hawthorne　Street　track　was　surrounded；　the　desperate　clanging　of　its
bell　keeping　pace　with　the　beating　of　Janet's　heart。　　A　dark　Sicilian；
holding　aloft　the　green；　red；　and　white　flag　of　Italy；　leaped　on　the　rear
platform　and　began　to　speak；　the　Slav　conductor　regarding　him　stupidly；
pulling　the　bellcord　the　while。　　Three　or　four　policemen　fought　their　way
to　the　spot；　striving　to　clear　the　tracks；　bewildered　and　impotent　in　the
face　of　the　alien　horde　momentarily　growing　more　and　more　conscious　of
power。

Janet　pushed　her　way　deeper　and　deeper　into　the　crowd。　　She　wanted　to
savour　to　the　full　its　wrath　and　danger；　to　surrender　herself　to　be
played　upon　by　these　sallow；　stubbybearded　exhorters；　whose　menacing
tones　and　passionate　gestures　made　a　grateful　appeal；　whose　wild；　musical
words；　just　because　they　were　uncomprehended；　aroused　in　her　dim
suggestions　of　a　race…experience　not　her　own；　but　in　which　she　was　now
somehow　summoned　to　share。　　That　these　were　the　intruders　whom　she；　as　a
native　American；　had　once　resented　and　despised　did　not　occur　to　her。
The　racial　sense　so　strong　in　her　was　drowned　in　a　sense　of　fellowship。
Their　anger　seemed　to　embody　and　express；　as　nothing　else　could　have
done；　the　revolt　that　had　been　rising；　rising　within　her　soul；　and　the
babel　to　which　she　listened　was　not　a　confusion　of　tongues；　but　one　voice
lifted　up　to　proclaim　the　wrongs　of　all　the　duped；　of　all　the　exploited
and　oppressed。　　She　was　fused　with　them；　their　cause　was　her　cause；　their
betrayers　her　betrayers。

Suddenly　was　heard　the　cry　for　which　she　had　been　tensely　but
unconsciously　awaiting。　　Another　cry　like　that　had　rung　out　in　another
mob　across　the　seas　more　than　a　century　before。　　〃Ala　Bastille！〃　became
〃To　the　Chippering！〃　　Some　man　shouted　it　out　in　shrill　English；　hundreds
repeated　it；　the　Sicilian　leaped　from　the　trolley　car；　and　his　path　could
be　followed　by　the　agitated　progress　of　the　alien　banner　he　bore。　　〃To
the　Chippering！〃　　It　rang　in　Janet's　ears　like　a　call　to　battle。　　Was　she
shouting　it；　too？　　A　galvanic　thrill　ran　through　the　crowd；　an　impulse
that　turned　their　faces　and　started　their　steps　down　East　Street　toward
the　canal；　and　Janet　was　irresistibly　carried　along。　　Nay；　it　seemed　as
if　the　force　that　second　by　second　gained　momentum　was　in　her；　that　she
herself　had　released　and　was　guiding　it！　　Her　feet　were　wet　as　she
ploughed　through　the　trampled　snow；　but　she　gave　no　thought　to　that。　　The
odour　of　humanity　was　in　her　nostrils。　　On　the　left　a　gaunt　Jew　pressed
against　her；　on　the　right　a　solid　Ruthenian　woman；　one　hand　clasping　her
shawl；　the　other　holding　aloft　a　miniature　emblem　of　New　World　liberty。
Her　eyes　were　fixed　on　the　grey　skies；　and　from　time　to　time　her　lips
were　parted　in　some　strange；　ancestral　chant　that　could　be　heard　above
the　shouting。　　All　about　Janet　were　dark；　awakening　faces。。。。

It　chanced　that　an　American；　a　college　graduate；　stood　gazing　down　from　a
point　of　vantage　upon　this　scene。　　He　was　ignorant　of　anthropology；
psychology；　and　the　phenomena　of　environment；　but　bits　of　〃knowledge〃
which　he　embodied　in　a　newspaper　article　composed　that　evening　stuck　wax…
like　in　his　brain。　　Not　thus；　he　deplored；　was　the　Anglo…Saxon　wont　to
conduct　his　rebellions。　　These　Czechs　and　Slavs；　Hebrews　and　Latins　and
Huns　might　have　appropriately　been　clad　in　the　skins　worn　by　the　hordes
of　Attila。　　Had　they　not　been　drawn　hither　by　the　renown　of　the
Republic's　wealth？　　And　how　essentially　did　they　differ　from　those　other
barbarians　before　whose　bewildered；　lustful　gaze　had　risen　the　glittering
palaces　on　the　hills　of　the　Tiber？　　The　spoils　of　Rome！　　The　spoils　of
America！　　They　appeared　to　him　ferocious；　atavistic　beasts　as　they　broke
into　the　lumberyard　beneath　his　window　to　tear　the　cord…wood　from　the
piles　and　rush　out　again；　armed　with　billets。。。。

Janet；　in　the　main　stream　sweeping　irresistibly　down　the　middle　of　the
street；　was　carried　beyond　the　lumberyard　into　the　narrow　roadway　beside
the　canalpresently　to　find　herself　packed　in　the　congested　mass　in
front　of　the　bridge　that　led　to　the　gates　of　the　Chippering　Mill。　　Across
the　water；　above　the　angry　hum　of　human　voices　could　be　heard　the
whirring　of　the　looms；　rousing　the　mob　to　a　higher　pitch　of　fury。　　The
halt　was　for　a　moment　only。　　The　bridge　rocked　beneath　the　weight　of
their　charge；　they　battered　at　the　great　gates；　they　ran　along　the　snow…
filled　tracks　by　the　wall　of　the　mill。　　Some；　in　a　frenzy　of　passion；
hurled　their　logs　against　the　windows；　others　paused；　seemingly　to
measure　the　distance　and　force　of　the　stroke；　thus　lending　to　their　act　a
more　terrible　and　deliberate　significance。　　A　shout　of　triumph　announced
that　the　gates；　like　a　broken　dam；　had　given　way；　and　the　torrent　poured
in　between　the　posts；　flooding　the　yard；　pressing　up　the　towered
stairways　and　spreading　through　the　compartments　of　the　mill。　　More
ominous　than　the　tumult　seemed　the　comparative　silence　that　followed　this
absorption　of　the　angry　spirits　of　the　mob。　　Little　by　little；　as　the
power　was　shut　off；　the　antiphonal　throbbing　of　the　looms　was　stilled。
Pinioned　against　the　parapet　above　the　canalalmost　on　that　very　spot
where；　the　first　evening；　she　had　met　DitmarJanet　awaited　her　chance　to
cross。　　Every　crashing　window；　every　resounding　blow　on　the　panels　gave
her　a　fierce　throb　of　joy。　　She　had　not　expected　the　gates　to　yieldher
father　must　have　insecurely　fastened　them。　　Gaining　the　farther　side　of
the　canal；　she　perceived　him　flattened　against　the　wall　of　the　gatehouse
shaking　his　fist　in　the　faces　of　the　intruders；　who　rushed　past　him
unheeding。　　His　look　arrested　her。　　His　face　was　livid；　his　eyes　were　red
with　anger；　he　stood　transformed　by　a　passion　she　had　not　believed　him　to
possess。　　She　had　indeed　heard　him　give　vent　to　a　mitigated　indignation
against　foreigners　in　general；　but　now　the　old…school　Americanism　in
which　he　had　been　bred；　the　Americanism　of　individual　rights；　of　respect
for　the　convention　of　property；　had