the friendly road-第24节

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〃They　don't　want　me　in　Kilburn；〃　said　he；　〃the　mill　men　are　strikin'　there；　and　the　bosses　have　got　armed　men　on　every　corner。　Oh；　the　capitalists　are　watchin'　for　me；　all　right。〃

I　cannot　convey　the　strange　excitement　I　felt。　It　seemed　as　though　these　words　suddenly　opened　a　whole　new　world　around　mea　world　I　had　heard　about　for　years；　but　never　entered。　And　the　tone　in　which　he　had　used　the　word　〃capitalist！〃　I　had　almost　to　glance　around　to　make　sure　that　there　were　no　ravening　capitalists　hiding　behind　the　trees。

〃So　you　are　a　Socialist；〃　I　said。

〃Yes；〃　he　answered。　〃I'm　one　of　those　dangerous　persons。〃

First　and　last　I　have　read　much　of　Socialism；　and　thought　about　it；　too；　from　the　quiet　angle　of　my　farm　among　the　hills；　but　this　was　the　first　time　I　had　ever　had　a　live　Socialist　on　my　arm。　I　could　not　have　been　more　surprised　if　the　stranger　had　said；　〃Yes；　I　am　Theodore　Roosevelt。〃

One　of　the　discoveries　we　keep　making　all　our　life　long　（provided　we　remain　humble）　is　the　humorous　discovery　of　the　ordinariness　of　the　extraordinary。　Here　was　this　disrupter　of　society；　this　man　of　the　red　flaghere　he　was　with　his　mild　spectacled　eyes　and　his　furry　ears　wagging　as　he　walked。　It　was　unbelievable！and　the　sun　shining　on　him　quite　as　impartially　as　it　shone　on　me。

Coming　at　last　to　a　pleasant　bit　of　woodland；　where　a　stream　ran　under　the　roadway；　I　said：

〃Stranger；　let's　sit　down　and　have　a　bite　of　luncheon。〃

He　began　to　expostulate；　said　he　was　expected　in　Kilburn。

〃Oh；　I've　plenty　for　two；〃　I　said；　〃and　I　can　say；　at　least；　that　I　am　a　firm　believer　in　cooperation。

Without　more　urging　he　followed　me　into　the　woods；　where　we　sat　down　comfortably　under　a　tree。

Now；　when　I　take　a　fine　thick　sandwich　out　of　my　bag；　I　always　feel　like　making　it　a　polite　bow；　and　before　I　bite　into　a　big　brown　doughnut；　I　am　tempted　to　say；　〃By　your　leave；　madam；〃　and　as　for　MINCE　PIEBeau　Brummel　himself　could　not　outdo　me　in　respectful　consideration。　But　Bill　Hahn　neither　saw；　nor　smelled；　nor；　I　think；　tasted　Mrs。　Ransome's　cookery。　As　soon　as　we　sat　down　he　began　talking。　From　time　to　time　he　would　reach　out　for　another　sandwich　or　doughnut　or　pickle　（without　knowing　in　the　least　which　he　was　getting）；　and　when　that　was　gone　some　reflex　impulse　caused　him　to　reach　out　for　some　more。　When　the　last　crumb　of　our　lunch　had　disappeared　Bill　Hahn　still　reached　out。　His　hand　groped　absently　about；　and　coming　in　contact　with　no　more　doughnuts　or　pickles　he　withdrew　itand　did　not　know；　I　think；　that　the　meal　was　finished。　（Confidentially；　I　have　speculated　on　what　might　have　happened　if　the　supply　had　been　unlimited！）

But　that　was　Bill　Hahn。　Once　started　on　his　talk；　he　never　thought　of　food　or　clothing　or　shelter；　but　his　eyes　glowed；　his　face　lighted　up　with　a　strange　effulgence；　and　he　quite　lost　himself　upon　the　tide　of　his　own　oratory。　I　saw　him　afterward　by　a　flare…light　at　the　centre　of　a　great　crowd　of　men　and　womenbut　that　is　getting　ahead　of　my　story。

His　talk　bristled　with　such　words　as　〃capitalism；〃　〃proletariat；〃　〃class…consciousness〃and　he　spoke　with　fluency　of　〃economic　determinism〃　and　〃syndicalism。〃　It　was　quite　wonderful！　And　from　time　to　time；　he　would　bring　in　a　smashing　quotation　from　Aristotle；　Napoleon；　Karl　Marx；　or　Eugene　V。　Debs；　giving　them　all　equal　value；　and　he　cited　statistics！oh；　marvellous　statistics；　that　never　were　on　sea　or　land。

Once　he　was　so　swept　away　by　his　own　eloquence　that　he　sprang　to　his　feet　and；　raising　one　hand　high　above　his　head　（quite　unconscious　that　he　was　holding　up　a　dill　pickle）；　he　worked　through　one　of　his　most　thrilling　periods。

Yes；　I　laughed；　and　yet　there　was　so　brave　a　simplicity　about　this　odd；　absurd　little　man　that　what　I　laughed　at　was　only　his　outward　appearance　（and　that　he　himself　had　no　care　for）；　and　all　the　time　I　felt　a　growing　respect　and　admiration　for　him。　He　was　not　only　sincere；　but　he　was　genuinely　simplea　much　higher　virtue；　as　Fenelon　says。　For　while　sincere　people　do　not　aim　at　appearing　anything　but　what　they　are；　they　are　always　in　fear　of　passing　for　something　they　are　not。　They　are　forever　thinking　about　themselves；　weighing　all　their　words　and　thoughts　and　dwelling　upon　what　they　have　done；　in　the　fear　of　having　done　too　much　or　too　little；　whereas　simplicity；　as　Fenelon　says；　is　an　uprightness　of　soul　which　has　ceased　wholly　to　dwell　upon　itself　or　its　actions。　Thus　there　are　plenty　of　sincere　folk　in　the　world　but　few　who　are　simple。

Well；　the　longer　he　talked；　the　less　interested　I　was　in　what　he　said　and　the　more　fascinated　I　became　in　what　he　was。　I　felt　a　wistful　interest　in　him：　and　I　wanted　to　know　what　way　he　took　to　purge　himself　of　himself。　I　think　if　I　had　been　in　that　group　nineteen　hundred　years　ago；　which　surrounded　the　beggar　who　was　born　blind；　but　whose　anointed　eyes　now　looked　out　upon　glories　of　the　world；　I　should　have　been　among　the　questioners：

〃What　did　he　to　thee？　How　opened　he　thine　eyes？〃

I　tried　ineffectually　several　times　to　break　the　swift　current　of　his　oratory　and　finally　succeeded　（when　he　paused　a　moment　to　finish　off　a　bit　of　pie　crust）。

〃You　must　have　seen　some　hard　experiences　in　your　life；〃　I　said。

〃That　I　have；〃　responded　Bill　Hahn；　〃the　capitalistic　system〃

〃Did　you　ever　work　in　the　mills　yourself？〃　I　interrupted　hastily。

〃Boy　and　man；〃　said　Bill　Hahn；　〃I　worked　in　that　hell　for　thirty…two　yearsThe　class…conscious　proletariat　have　only　to　exert　themselves〃

〃And　your　wife；　did　she　work　tooand　your　sons　and　daughters？〃

A　spasm　of　pain　crossed　his　face。

〃My　daughter？〃　he　said。　〃They　killed　her　in　the　mills。〃

It　was　appallingthe　dead　level　of　the　tone　in　which　he　uttered　those　wordsthe　monotone　of　an　emotion　long　ago　burned　out；　and　yet　leaving　frightful　scars。

〃My　friend！〃　I　exclaimed；　and　I　could　not　help　laying　my　hand　on　his　arm。

I　had　the　feeling　I　often　have　with　troubled　childrenan　indescribable　pity　that　they　have　had　to　pass　through　the　valley　of　the　shadow；　and　I　not　there　to　take　them　by　the　hand。

〃And　was　thisyour　daughterwhat　brought　you　to　your　present　belief？〃

〃No；〃　said　he；　〃oh；　no。　I　was　a　Socialist；　as　you　might　say；　from　youth　up。　That　is；　I　called　myself　a　Socialist；　but；　comrade；　I've　learned　this　here　truth：　that　it　ain't　of　so　much　importance　that　you　possess　a　belief；　as　that　the　belief　possess　you。　Do　you　understand？〃

〃I　think；〃　said　I；　〃that　I　understand。〃

Well；　he　told　me　his　story；　mostly　in　a　curious；　dull；　detached　wayas　though　he　were　speaking　of　some　third　person　in　whom　he　felt　only　a　brotherly　interest；　but　from　time　to　time　some　incident　or　observation　would　flame　up　out　of　the　narrative；　like　the　opening　of　the　door　of　a　molten　pitso　that　the　glare　hurt　one！and　then　the　story　would　die　back　again　into　quiet　narrative。

Like　most　working　people　he　had　never　lived　in　the　twentieth　century　at　all。　He　was　still　in　the　feudal　age；　and　his　whole　life　had　been　a　blind　and　ceaseless　struggle　for　the　bare　necessaries　of　life；　broken　from　time　to　time　by　fierce　irregular　wars　called　strikes。　He　had　never　known　anything　of　a　real　self…governing　commonwealth；　and　such　progress　as　he　and　his　kind　had　made　was　never　the　result　of　their　citizenship；　of　their　powers　as　voters；　but　grew　out　of　the　explosive　and　ragged　upheavals；　of　their　own　half…organized　societies　and　unions。

It　was　against　the　〃black　people〃　he　said；　that　he　was　first　on　strike　back　in　the　early　nineties。　He　told　me　all　about　it；　how　he　had　been　working　in　the　mills　pretty　comfortablyhe　was　young　and　strong　then；　with　a　fine　growing　family　and　a　small　home　of　his　own。

〃It　was　as　pretty　a　place　as　you　would　want　to　see；〃　he　said；　〃we　grew　cabbages　and　onions　and　turnipseverything　grew　fine！in　the　garden　behind　the　house。〃

And　then　the　〃black　people〃　began　to　come　in；　little　by　little　at　first；　and　then　by　the　carload。　By　the　〃black　people〃　he　meant　the　people　from　Southern　Europe；　he　called　them　〃hordes〃〃hordes　and　hordes　of　'em〃Italians　mostly；　and　they　began　getting　into　the　mills　and　underbidding　for　the　jobs；　so　that　wages　slowly　went　down　and　at　the　same　time　the　machines　were　speeded　up。　It　seems　that　many　of　these　〃black　people〃　were　single　men　or　vigorous　young　married　people　with　only　themselves　to　support；　while　the　old　American　workers　were　men　with　families　and　little　homes　to　pay　for；　and　plenty　of　old　grandfathers　and　mothers；　to　say　nothing　of　babies；　depending　upon　them。

〃There　wasn't　a　living　for　a　decent　family　left；〃　he　said。

So　they　struckand　he　told　me　in　his　dull　monotone　of　the　long　bitterness　of　that　strike；　the　empty　cupboards；　the　approach　of　winter　with　no　coal　for　the　stoves　and　no　warm　clothing　for　the　children。　He　told　me　that　many　of　the　old　workers　began　to　leave　the　town　（some　bound　for　the　larger　cities；　some　for　the　Far　West）。

〃But；〃　said　he　with　a　sudden　outburst　of　emotion；　〃I　couldn't　leave。　I　had　the　woman　and　the　children！〃

And　presently　the　strike　collapsed；　and　the　workers　rushed　helter　skelter　back　to　the　mills　to　get　their　old　jobs。　〃Begging　like　whipped　dogs；〃　he　said　bitterly。

Many　of　them　found　their　places　taken　by　the　eager　〃black　people；〃　and　many　had　to　go　to　work　at　lower　wages　in　p