The Coal War (7 page)

Hal met John Harmon, the executive of the United Mine Workers in charge of the district; a man who had gone to work in the coal-pits at the age of eight, educated himself at night, and risen to this position of leadership. Hal found it thrilling to talk with him; as if a private who had been fighting in the trenches were suddenly taken to staff-headquarters and allowed to see a map of the battle. Such stories as he had to tell, not merely of open fighting, but of secret sapping and mining! There was a powerful strikebreaking concern, the Schultz Detective Agency, which had fought the miners' union in many a field; they were sending in scores of “spotters”, and bribing and buying right and left. Only a short time before this, one of the prominent men in Harmon's office—he would prefer not to say who—had been invited to a conference with a well-known politician, and found himself in an automobile with no less a person than the great Schultz himself. The detective had something to propose; he was diplomatic and cautious—but properly led on, he disclosed the fact that he desired to pay the union official a hundred and fifty dollars a month for selling out his organization. And when the official showed reluctance to close with the offer, the other intimated that if necessary the sum might be increased.

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In other places than union headquarters there were signs that Peter Harrigan and his associates were preparing for trouble. There was, for example, their effort to cripple the Western City “Gazette”, which, with its thirty thousand working-class readers, made it impossible for coal-camp rebellions to be suppressed in secret. The other papers of the city were already combined against the “Gazette” to the extent of black-listing dealers who sold it; the paper had to be delivered by carrier, or sold by enterprising boys. And now suddenly came a mysterious eruption of rowdies, who attacked these carriers and boys, beating them and scattering their papers in the mud. For some reason the police were blind to this eruption, and powerless to find the rowdies when called upon. Likewise the other newspapers maintained dead silence.

This occurred just before Hal's commencement. Happening to be in the city he went to see his friend Billy Keating, and heard the details. “For heaven's sake,” he cried, “why don't you get some rowdies of your own?”

Billy answered, with a laugh, “We did, but the police saw them!”

“And what are you doing now?”

“We're printing the news. When you're printing the news, the people will get your paper, even if they have to walk to the office for it.”

To one who had been down in the coal-country, and realized how vital to the miners' cause was the little publicity the “Gazette” could give, this situation was intolerable. Hal got hold of Lipinsky and two other members of the “Social Study Club”, who constituted themselves a committee to get legal evidence for the “Gazette”. Needless to say, the “Gazette” did not fail to “play up” this support of its cause by “prominent young collegians”. And so Hal got himself into the hottest tub of hot water yet!

In this far western country men were still close to the frontier days; when they fought, they fought fiercely, and were not squeamish about the weapons they used. In Western City the “interests” maintained an underground scandal-sheet for the purpose of intimidating those who might threaten them; “Simple Simon” was the name of the mysterious organ, and all “society” somehow got hold of it, and rejoiced when it enabled them to believe the worst about those who attacked their privileges. In the issue of this paper following the raids upon the “Gazette”, there appeared a paragraph to the effect that a certain youth of too much wealth had become active as a labor agitator; his family, who were distressed about his behavior, might possibly find the source of his extreme ideas if they would inquire as to the visits he paid to a mining-camp damsel in the home of a sprightly member of the “smart set”, soon to be a grass-widow, if reports were to be believed.

Hal went wild, and set out forthwith on a hunt for the editor of “Simple Simon”. But the editor was not an easy person to find—he had many people hunting him, week by week! Having failed to discover anyone more to the point than an office-boy and a janitor, Hal went to interview his cousin, Appleton Harding, a rising young lawyer of Western City. “Appie” pointed out the obvious fact that all Hal could accomplish by proceedings for criminal libel was to give the story wider circulation. But Hal was not to be restrained, he would not quit till he had that editor either in jail or in hospital! He went off, threatening to consult another lawyer; and so “Appie” made haste to warn Brother Edward, who had to threaten to take the matter to their father.

And even this lesson was not enough; the youth of too much wealth would not give up being a fanatic, and trying to overthrow the foundations of society! There was another conference, this time between Edward Warner and Garret Arthur, the “bond-worm”, and a plan was worked out for the salvation of the young fanatic's future. But it was cautiously agreed by the conspirators that they would not let the young fanatic know the origin of the plan. Garret Arthur could realize that it was no job for a “bond-worm”, to handle a youth gone mad on socialistic moonshine. If they hoped to save him, they must be wise as serpents and harmless as—well, as a girl with star-dust in her hair, and eyes wide-open, questioning, full of wonder!

The day after the conference Hal received a note on beautiful stationery, in one of those tall hands whereby young ladies of fashion demonstrate their indifference to the cost of ink and paper, asking him if he could not come to see her at once about a matter of importance. When he came, he did not find Jessie wrought up about hideous insinuations in scandal-sheets; no, for if young ladies of fashion know of the existence of scandal-sheets, or even of scandals, they do not mention it to their brothers and sweethearts. Jessie was lovely as ever, and radiant with happiness, because she had just heard the most heavenly news—her mother was going to take her abroad in a couple of weeks, to stay for a long, long time; and, wonder of wonders, she invited Hal to accompany them!

Hal could easily perceive what was back of this project. But he saw that Jessie's heart was set upon it, so he contented himself with replying that he would have to take time to think about so vital a change in his plans. What were his plans, Jessie asked; and when he answered, he saw tears of distress come into her eyes. Hal had been meaning to spend the summer investigating conditions in the mining properties of the Warner Company!

[18]

When Hal thought the matter over he found himself inclining to give way to his relatives. There were movements in Europe which a young revolutionist might well afford to know about. There were men who had been grappling for generations with problems to which America was just awakening; and to meet these men face to face would be a wonderful experience. Also, Hal told himself, he would be giving Jessie a chance—he could devote more time to her, he could take her about and try to make her understand what he was doing. On the other hand it was clear that if he declined the invitation there would be real trouble with the Arthur family. Mount Vesuvius had been in eruption again, and Jessie lived in an atmosphere of sulphur and brimstone. Possibly that was why her eyes were full of tears, Hal suggested. But it was no joking matter; her father had actually proposed that she should drop Hal from her life. On that occasion the old gentleman had made the alarming discovery that his favorite daughter was subject to attacks of hysterics; so now he was as much afraid of his daughter as of Socialism!

In their concern, the family even called in Hal's father, whom it was strictly forbidden to trouble with cares. Sitting on the porch of their home one sunshiny afternoon, Edward Warner Senior brought up the subject of his son's unfortunate attitude to life. In his pitiful childish voice he pointed out what a serious thing it was to their business to have the hostility of Peter Harrigan. There were certain courtesies one owed in the world of affairs; and while it was certainly true that working-people ought to be kindly treated, one must remember that they were foreigners, ignorant and excitable, and that it was very wrong to stir them up to disobedience.

Hal was careful and gentle in his reply. He gave a few details about the evils he was opposing. Yes, the old gentleman admitted that American business-men worked their employes too hard; they worked themselves too hard, they lost the enjoyment of life. Also, there was no doubt that Peter Harrigan was a harsh man; a good man in his own peculiar way, generous if you came to him right, and useful in the church—but thinking a great deal of his worldly power, and driving his business machine at a cruel pace.

Hal knew that in the days before his father's illness he would not have had such an easy time in a discussion. Edward Warner Senior had himself been a business-man, and had driven his machine at the usual American pace. But in one dreadful night he had been turned into a feeble old man; his hair was white, and the very gentleness of his smile wrung your heart. He was getting stout, because he sat about all day, or was driven in his car. His ideas had a tendency to wander, and he craved to be entertained.

More than anything else in the world he craved the companionship of his favorite son. His delight in life was to have Hal and Jessie play tennis with Laurence Arthur and his fiancée; the old gentleman would come to the court and sit, watching every stroke, keeping up a constant run of comment, applauding gleefully the good shots—especially if they were Hal's. There was one business-man in the family, Edward Junior, and the old gentleman's idea was that Hal should be its ornament, its holiday part. Hal was so designed by Nature, with the grace and the charm; but instead of filling his proper role, he went off and bound himself in a treadmill of killing toil! He cast away and trampled upon the heritage his father had won for him, he put himself before the world as a living indictment of his father's life-work; and to keep him from such madness there was no way save to ship him off to Europe, five thousand miles away from a lonely old invalid!

Hal announced that he would go; and great was the joy of Jessie, and the satisfaction of those two master-diplomats, Edward Junior and Garret Arthur, who met in secret at the club and drank high-balls in tribute to their own astuteness. They had got the young madman safe, for a few months at least; for of course neither of these capable and hard-headed young business-men had any idea of that “Europe” to which they were sending their patient. To them the name meant a place for boarding-school-girl tours, personally conducted, for honeymoons, and such play affairs; the home of a venerable thing called “culture”—cathedrals, guide-books, endlessly multiplied Madonnas. There would be Jessie, to administer to the patient the daily medicine of love, and Mrs. Arthur to watch his symptoms and report; surely a promising course of treatment for a youth gone mad on socialistic moon-shine!

[19]

There now began a whirl of excitement for Jessie. She would buy things in New York, of course, and still more things in Europe; but it was necessary to buy some things at once, in order to develop the holiday atmosphere. As for Hal, he had to see his radical friends and explain his decision, making them understand that he was not running away.

In particular he had to explain to Mary Burke. Why should he have been so much embarrassed to tell Mary that he was going to spend a summer in Europe, studying the Socialist and Syndicalist movements? Was it because he was to be with Jessie Arthur? Or was it because he could not keep out of his mind the preposterous thought that Mary too would have enjoyed spending a summer in Europe, studying the Socialist and Syndicalist movements?

Here is one of the inconveniences incidental to the adopting of revolutionary ideas by a member of the leisure-class—that the member can no longer take the most obvious things of his life for granted. Of course a man cannot change the system all at once; but he will change as much as he can—and feel uncomfortable because he cannot change more! If he is befriending a revolutionary parlor-maid, and trying to be entirely democratic, he will find himself asking why the daughter of a banker should go to Europe, while the daughter of a miner remains at home. Under real democracy, obviously the daughters of all men would have equal access to the opportunity of going to Europe; if the purpose of the going be a study of the Socialist and Syndicalist movements, then the question of who should go would be determined by some kind of competitive examination. But here there had been no examination; Jessie was going, because she had the money, and Mary was staying, because she hadn't.

But Hal found that Mary had not thought of anything like that; the parlor-maid was not that revolutionary! Her only thought was of him—that he was being lured away from his work. His family was getting him under the spell of Jessie, with her softness and her clingingness, her beautiful clothes and her expensive charms. They would have their way with him, they would tone him down!

She did not say any of this; she would not mention Jessie to him. But there was pain in her face as she bade him good-bye. “Ye'll not be forgettin' the miners, Joe?”

“No, Mary,” he answered, with conviction. “You don't need to worry about that.”

“They'll be needin' ye so bad, Joe! Perhaps they'll call ye back.”

“I made them a promise, Mary; just as you did. We're going on working and studying, so we can give them the kind of help they need.”

“Joe,” she cried, with passion, “sometimes I think it's more than I can do to stay here, where things are beautiful and clean, and I have all the good food I want.” She turned to her mistress, who was in the room. “Don't think I'm not grateful, Mrs. Wyatt; but 'tis bound to be so when ye've lived among people that never have enough of anything.”

“I understand,” said Adelaide, gently.