harangue - garrett

7/28/2019 Harangue - Garrett

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HARANGUE[THE TREES SAID TO THE BRAM BLECOME REIGN OVER US]

BYGARET GARRETT

Author of "The D river," "T he Cinder Buggy,""Satan's Bushel," etc.

N E W Y ORK: E . P . D U T T O N & C O M P A N Y681 FIF TH AVE NU E


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Copyright, 1927By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America


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C O N T E N T SPAGE

T H E P R E C I O U S M O B 1J U M P I N G C H A R I O T S . . . . * . . . 8 3O B L I Q U E D E S T I N A T I O N S . . . 2 0 5


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THE PRECIOUS MOB


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HARANGUE

I T was a filthy night. T he Feb ruary harpy hadlost her wind brats and was running wide in theavenues, railing, calling, tearing her hair; and herdemented brood was brawling in the by-ways.Empty ash-cans were overturning, rolling, bumb-ling, saying scandal. Gray streaks of feline ter ro r.Sounds of grating, snapping, creaking, whamming,unholding, unfastening, all for an instant swallowedup suddenly in deep holes of stillness. A n electricgong unable to stop. A female shriek, the samefor murder or the loss of a ha t. T hen the dinagain.Not a night for holding an intellectual tryst outof doo rs with na ture . A s well importune a wildjade in tantrum s. Y et there at the top of W ash-ington Square stood a tall red-bearded figure fixedin meditation. H e seemed vertical without effort,a neutral fact in vorticular confusion, like the hypo-thetical perpendicular in chaos. 'This grand absurdity was the mind's triumph.The cold wind whipped his thin serge garments, ex-


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14 HA RA N GU Eposed the unvoluptuous sculpture of his long, soli-tary legs; his thoughts were of the infinite, touchingthe cosmic hubbub.H e was looking back through Fifth A venue. T h ecommotion was no part of that view, or the leastp a rt ; he was hardly aware of it. A s before so manytimes, now again, having descended upon this spotin a certain way and turning to look back he hadalmost seized that simple, astonishing word-imagewhich was to reveal a metaphysical truth to thesenses. H e was repeating, like an invocation, thisform ula : Idea the only reality. Idea is withoutsubstance. T he refore substance is unreal.For the high jargon of metaphysics he hadthoughts of deep scorn. Incanting it he hated it .H e hated word-images, too. So much silly use hadbeen made of them. A la s! access to tru th had im-memorially been by fatuous means, bubbles andtoys, superstitions and tricks. T h a t was not hisfault. N one the less it was stultifying, like havingto woo one's goddess in the guise of a clown.Others before him had resolved the nature ofrea lity. T he difficulty was that nobody could proveit. A ppearances were apparitional. T hings wereillusions. It-ness, this-ness and that-ness amongthings, all signs of identity, were illusory, proceed-ing from contrast, and contrast was the basic illu-sion, since no form or aspect of phenomenal exist-ence could be other than a movement of one infiniteidea. Existence was a limitation. Infinity was


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T H E P R E C I O U S MOB 5limitless. Erg o, infinity, although it was, did notexists; and the finite symbol for reality was 0.

This was apprehensible to the intellect. Quite.But the opposite of it also was apprehensible, orany pontifical nonsense. The intellect, as he hadwritten, was more gullible than the senses, mainlyintent upon deducing by logic what the emotionalself had wished, beforehand to believe in a mysticalmanner.W h a t he had undertaken to do with this truthwas to bring it down to the senses, prove it like aphysical fact, like relativity. To his own sensesfirst. He himself must be able to apprehend it inthat original way. Did not Einstein see relativityas N ewton saw gravity, first with the eyes ?Almost he could see it. He had only to estab-lish one vital contact of the illusion that was sub-stance with the reality that was idea, by means ofan imagea word-image known to the sensesandthe doors of understanding would burst, just asbringing negative and positive together from the

two poles of matter had flooded the world with elec-tric power.Becoming of a sudden conscious that he was con-sciously thinking he adopted the method of thedespised word-imagists, who consciously think ofnothing in order that something may unconsciouslythink of itself. But nothing did think of itself.T h e n he began to trample and bully his mind; themore he did that the worse it behaved, until he,


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6 H A R A N G U EAngus Phlyn Fitzjerald, searching the universe forits simplest image and the February harpy seekingher brats were both in one frenzy, the same andequal, two movements of one infinitely extravagantidea, non-existent.Now idea in the aspect of some hard, foreignsubstance entered his righ t eye. A no ther in theaspect of an alley cat walked through his legs inthe figure eight.

With a Greek oath for its satisfying sound hetook up his way, which lay diagonally across theSquare; he walked as one who well knew the neigh-borhoo d, looking at nothing. T urn ing into Jonesstreet he did not see the idea that passed, hesitated,then turned and made after him to ask a question.Physical irritation, above the displeasure he hadtaken against his mind, made him blind and politelyferocious. T he wind had become offensive in a per-sonal manner.

A little girl with a long loaf of bread held baby-wise in her arms was running before it with herhead down. H e did not see her either. Suddenlyshe veered to miss a barrel of kindling wood thatstood on the sidewalk above a fuel vendor's cellar.I t went over, spilling, jus t in front of he r. Shewas agile and should have got round it safely. W h atwrecked her was a loop of twine that slipped itselffrom one of the kindling bundles and lassoed herfeet.


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T H E P R EC IO U S M O B 7Fitzjerald and the man wishing to accost himwere coming against the wind, walking rapidly inthe middle of the street. T hey were almost abreastas the girl fell headlong, casting the loaf of bread.Her body tripped Fitzjerald, his legs tripped theother man, and they all went down in a heap.Fitz jerald was the first to rise. H e lifted th echild and tried her on her feet. Seeing she wasunhurt he left her standing and picked up the bread.

As she took it from him she looked at the otherm an. H e was bent over, brushing himself angrilywith a pocket broom . T hen she looked up at thetaller man with a scowl that changed slowly to afriendly g rin. H e neither spoke no r smiled, butgave her knitted cap a tug, as he might have thoughteither to straighten it or to settle it tighter, thenturned her by the shoulders until she was true onthe wind again and let her go . A s he came abouton his own course the other man stood facing him."Is this the only Jones street in New York?" heasked."I sn 't one e nou gh? " F itzjerald answered andwent straight on. H e uttered the words with a rum-bling growl. T h a t was his na tural voice. But hismanner was offensive, and all the more for beingoblique and impersonal. T h e smaller man, at firstastonished, reacted with resentment. H e quickenedhis steps to catch up, twisted his body around andtilted his face at Fitz jerald . H is chin was thru st


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T H E P REC IO U S M O B 9"I suggest you have the city wrong," said Fitz-jerald.This mocking the other ignored, saying aloud tohimself: "Jo nes street, thirteen-and-a-half. Quiteplain.""We're just at it," said Fitzjerald, with a slightincrease of interest. "T he name the re," he added,"is Saint-Leon.""Miss , is it? M iss Jae l Saint-Leon?""Perfect.""Isn't she supposed to be very rich?""I've known it to be alleged," said red beard."W hy does she live in a street like th is?""M ay be because it's the only Jones street thereis. I'll ask her."On that, Fitzjerald turned abruptly, crossed thesidewalk and mounted seven stone steps to the doofof a very old Dutch-built house of which three to-gether, all originally alike, had survived in theblock. T he one to the right of it was let to a junkdealer who used it as it was. T he one to the left,on the corner, had been made over on the groundlevel with plate glass windows and a chamferedfront entrance painted red and blue, to an apothe-cary 's taste . O pposite was a five-story walk-up tene-ment with the fire-escapes in front, now presentinga much less untidy appearance than usual becausesuch of the lares and penates as the wind had not

run off with had been snatched inside. O n one sideof the tenement was an abandoned livery stable


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10 HAR ANGUE$nd on the other a Board of Health dispensary.Y ou could not have passed N o. 13)4 withoutnoticing that the door and window frames werepainted, that the steps were clean and that the brassknobs on the han d railing were not missing. I t,was not otherwise distinguished, unless by havingcurtains at the three second-story windows. T h elower windows were bare.Fitzjerald entered this house without knocking.The pugnacious reality followed him in and closedthe door behind them.The hallway was scarcely more than a vestibule,twice the width of the staircase that took off abrupt-ly. T he floor was bare and much walked over, butthe stairway, clean and white, had a rich carpetstread and the railing was of polished dark wood.At the right was a door bearing a cardboard sign:

JoiningTurningCarvingOdd HandicraftsWALK INThat would account for the fact that the lowerwindows were uncurtained. T he first floor was aworksho p. Beyond this door, against the wall, weretwo wooden effigies, Dutch sailors, three-quarters

life size, such as once were a variation upon thetobacconist's wooden Indian sign. Fro m the is


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 13containing millions of facts. H e had no fame a tall on the literary plane. O ne of his several pseudo-nyms was be tter known than his own name. H isrecreation was a passionate interest in talk of revo-lution. H e was useful in this company as a self-reciting encyclopedia, and was neglected as all en-cyclopedias are. T o the conversation he had noth-ing but historical facts to contribute; and as every-one had learned not to start that torrent and as hewas too shy to break it unasked, his role was thatof listener, which was very agreeable, for very oftenthe talk was about revolution.H e had, however, one amusing office. W hen themysterious power had been present that did some-times lift them high above their cynicism, their bore-dom, their sophisticated despair, their weariness offacts, and when the human instrument of this power,usually a visitor, had revealed a vision of perfecti-ble man living in a perfect state, a state of natureperhaps, delivered from his wicked institutions,there came after the climax always an embarrassingmom ent. T he re was no curtain; no way of theatri-cal exit. T here they sat staring helplessly at oneanother. T hen it was D r. Rabba who let themdow n. T hey would hear him saying in gentle voice,the same in which he addressed his foo d: "M as -sac re! M assacre ! A little blood. It is ugly. I tis soon over. T hey are not so many after all. Y oulaugh . I t is history. I know ."


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1 4 H A R A N G U EA moment later he, too, would laugh and lootaround with merry eyes.Beyond D r . Rabba sat D wind, a socialist teacherof economics in the Lothian College of SocialScience, which Ja el Saint-Leon supported. H is eye-lids were thin but very tired and he lifted his headto see. T he wonder was that a person so anaemiccould think so fiercely. He had written many booksand was the leading exponent of the doctrine in thecountry. H e talked little, and made always an irri-tate d sound. H e appeared to be the only one listen-ing to Grinling, opposite, who was saying there wagno such thing as true American liberalism.Grinling was a Harvard man, under thirty-five,who toyed with the heroic notion of disrecommend-

ing his country by cutting himself off from it. M ean-while, holding that chastisement in reserve, he actedas associate editor of a weekly journal of radicalopinion. H e was a brilliant w riter.A t the end of the table, aloof, was a youngman with much uprigh t hair named Semicorn. H ehad been lumberjack, hobo, editor of an I. W. W.newspaper in Seattle. H av ing served a term in theFederal prison at Leavenworth for seditious utter-ances in war time, he came to New York and ap-peared at the Lo thian C ollege. T o his surprise hewas seized to the heart of a distinguished groupof people who thought it monstrous in principle thatone should be punished for any political utterancewhatever, and had organized a society, with funds,


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 15offices, counsel, agents and publicity experts, for thejealous protection of free speech. A mong them wasa banker who undertook to see that the young manSemicorn, their instance and hero, should want fornothing. H e was serious, a little timid among highforeheads, and awed by the company in which heflourished, perhaps because he could not talk with-out getting red and losing his gram m ar. But hemade his patrons almost as uneasy as they madehim.The fifth man, the only one not at the board,was De Grouse, second son of a banker by an ancientline. It was supposed that in him the family talenthad failed. A t least it was that he turned con-temptuously from the money trade and preferredthe life of a literary a rtist. H e evolved an obscure,precious manner of writing and found some voguefor it in magazines of that taste . H e was musical,and wrote at first about music, then about literatureand at length about life. H is judgm ents, embossed,cold, intricately strange, were all alike because hisinterest was not in the thing but in his own sensa-tions about it. H e was content to have turned outto be a rosy, waxy, abdom inal man, still young. H ewas at this moment reclining backward on a couch,his short legs crossed, one hand in his trouserspocket, the other, because of the ring, lying palmdown and a little spread a t his side. D ividing himat the equator was a fine gold chain.The two women, besides Jael, were near her at


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1 6 H A R A N G U Ethe head of the table . T he one on her right, hersecretary and constant companion, was M iss Lilli-bridge.Fitzjerald once asked Jael in the hearing of alarge company, including the object of his remark,why out of all the world she had taken to be herhenchwoman a person so alarmingly distractive.Jael answered, uY es , isn't she pre tty. She is myhair shirt."M iss Lillibridge was perfectly oblivious. Every-one else was embarrassed and Fitzjerald was deeplysorry, for they all knew what Jael meant. Her satel-lite had everything that she had not.The other woman was a Russian, a refugee, prin-cess somebody, whose name no one could pronounceor spell twice the same way. T he remedy was tocall her M ada m e, with a strong French accent, andth at did very well. She was tall, very thin and spokeonly in a fever of excitement, no matter what thesubject was. She had come to her English round-about, through German and French, and made thesound "z ee " for " th " incurably. Voluble, yet shemight be silent through an entire evening, merelyturning her hot black eyes quickly from one speakerto another, maybe not listening at all, just gazing.Her experiences had been melodramatic, some in herimagination and some really. She got them mixedup. She had faced a firing squad. If she forgotto say she had been shot and left there for deadand was reminded of the omission by one who had


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 17heard it before she would say, "Oh, yes; zat ozertim e," and go right on. She had killed a man.She got part way out of Russia on a troop train,riding with the soldiers, and walked the rest of it.M any times she had slept in the trenches. H av ingsomehow some money, she kept a very nice apart-ment up-town. It was never locked for fear somewandering Russian, especially one drunk, might beunable to get in. Sometimes in the morning th erewould be ten or twelve on the floor, very comfort-able. T h e janito r was scandalized and told thelan dlord; even the police were interested. But theyhad all been made to understand zat zese were herchildren. Besides, what else could zey do?

I l l"Welcome, Angus," Jael called, seeing Fitzjer-ald's form filling the door way. "W e are a smalllot ton igh t. Low in our minds. D isagreeably in-clined. C ome, tell us a new thin g."Fitzjerald saluted by lifting her hand as if tokiss it, which he did not do . I t was a gesture only,but invariably he greeted her in that way. In speechhe was rude to her, more so than anyone else, butin manner he was old-fashioned and courtly, andalthough she pretended to be mildly amused, really

she liked it.Everyone treated her with certain marks of re-spect, especially Dwind, who got a nice salary at


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1 8 H A R A N G U Ethe Lothian College, and Dr. Rabba, who lecturedthere; but the convention of conduct here was badmanners.From the couch De Grouse shouted cheerily andGrinling said hello. Fitzjerald did not respond. Itwa s not expected. N oth ing wa s expected.

Having made his little ceremony with Jael he said,"Hello, Lillibridge," "Good-evening, Madame,"and passed around to a row of copper pots on awarm ing table against the far w all. A t the end ofthe warming table was another with plates, silverand so forth. E ach guest helped himself to food,of which there was a great abundance, excellent,always ready. A man that might be called a but-ler, wearing a sack suit, appeared from time to timebringing water and pieces of linen or to removewhat was no longer wanted.

Fitzjerald helped himself generously, brought hisplate to the table, and sat between Grinling andM a da me .

"No new thing, Jael," he said, speaking for thefirst time. "I'll ask you a question. Someone askedit of me. W hy do you live in Jones street ?here ?like this?"

Jael regarded him thoughtfully."Well, Mr. Father Confessor," she said, "why

do I?""I'm serious," he said."So am I," she said. "T hat's it. I might have

answered you lightly. W h y do you live as you d o? "


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 19She knew how Fitzjerald lived. So did the o thersknow . H e lived, as anyone would say, wretchedly,

in a square hole at the end of a furrier's loft, witha portable oil stove, three sticks of furniture, a bowlof ink and some books on the floor."F ai r," he said. " I happen to know. T he mainthing is to express my contempt as I please.""Contempt of what?" Jael asked."O f many absurdities. O f everything I am notand have not got. P eople. W ealth. T he strut ofsuccess. Vulgar taste . T he trium ph of mediocrity.T he whole human scene as God left it. A nd thatis what"He was stopped by a clangor that jarred thedishes, hurt the teeth, smote the eyes, and diedslowly away in waves of appalling reverberation.M ada m e screamed and covered her face."P raise b e! " said Jae l. "Somebody at last hashit my gong in a regular way. I never could."M iss Lillibridge got up to see.Fitzjerald called after her: "Oh, Lillibridge, Iforgo t. H e wants a whisk broom . I see one rightthe re. T hrow it at him, please. H e fell down inthe dust.""A friend of yours?" Jael asked." N o . We only arrived at the same moment."Miss Lillibridge, standing in the upper hall atthe top of the staircase, threw the broom down andsaid, "C om e up." W ith tha t she returned to herseat.


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20 HARANGUE"Who is it?" Jael asked her." I do n't know ," she said. "A strang er."T h er e was a clumsy silence. T he only audiblesound was a bubbling in one of the copper pots.Fitzjerald did not go on with his speech because itwould be interrupted by the stir of an arrival, andfor the same reason no one else spoke. O ne, two ,three minutes passed. Everyone began to listen forthe footfall tha t came not on the stairway . F itz -jera ld of course knew why. T h a t is, he had guessedcorrectly th at it would take M r. C apuchin some timeto decide how to behave in the circumstances. F irsta long wait in the hallway, very injurious to hisself-esteem, and then, after his unbalanced attackupon the gong, a whisk broom at his head.Fitzjerald was thinking to himself: "Man wi tha tic in his brainAlways brushing himselfSym-bolic unconscious gestureSomething he wishes hedidn't know about himselfSomething he wants tobe rid ofThe broomWon't know what to makeof it."Then Jael herself rose and moved toward thedo or. A s she did so C apuchin was heard ascend-ing. T hey met, and he handed her a letter, notin an envelope, at the same time pronouncing hisname."Oh," she said, first shaking hands with him and

then glancing at the lette r. "Y ou move quickly.I heard only this afternoon that you were startingfor New York, and here you are."


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T H E P R EC IO U S M O B 21She had brought him in."These are all nice people," she said, waving her

smoking blue tube at them. "T hey have nice names,but you would forget them at once. O nly M issLillibridge. Y ou won't forget hers. T his is she.Y ou may sit between us. H er e . W e shall wantto talk. H elp yourself from the po ts. Ev eryth ing'sthere. W e are all self-serving."Pointing him to the copper pots, she sat down,vaguely smiling. " It 's M r. Capuchin," she said,and then turned to Fitzjerald."Yes, A ngus. C ontempt of the whole humanscene as God left it. A nd that was what there youstopped. W hat was w ha t?""What all of us are doing," he said."You mean I live in Jones street to be contemptu-ous?""Are you serious or being feminine?""I don't know," she said, "but go on.""E nvy and contempt," he said, going on. "T heytransla te in human conduct th us: Envy, 'I am as

good as.' C ontempt, 'I am better than .' T heseare the two fundamental forms of the social animal'sself-assertion; and which it shall be in the specificcase, one or the other, is a matter of how one wasborn or what one was born with. Every imaginableway with this conflict has been trie d. In the eastit appeared to have been settled by a caste system,as among the Hindus, inferiors, betters and supe-riors stratefied by superstition and taboo on rigid


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2 2 H A R A N G U Elines supposed to be ordained in na ture. But the reyou see it is breaking ou t again. In wh at we calldemocratic"He was interrupted by sounds from De Grouseand Grinling. "C ivilization again," one of themgroa ned . "Spare its old bones I"Capuchin, who had taken his place at the boardbetween Jael and Miss Lillibridge, moved his headsideways, glancing right and left, as one who, wish-ing to get into a shindy, casts around for a handyweapon. H e thou ght they were going to put Fitz-jerald down, ridicule him, trample on him, and heshould have a chance to get in on it. But nothingcame of it. T h e interruption was ironic and despair-ing. T h er e was no one could talk against Fitz-jerald . H e would go on until he wished to stop .His voice came from deep roaring pouches, with aneffortless booming.So Capuchin returned to the contemplation ofhimself. He had got a dinner coat and wore itbadly. H e kept looking at the front of himself,shooting his cuffs, shooting them too far and get-ting them back with a wriggling movement. H isdress was a mistake. Fitz jera ld wore a blue cottonsh irt; Grinling a soft flannel one. T hey made somepoint of carelessness in dress. T h e only one who h adany style about him was D e Grouse. H is attirewas fancy, not formal."In what we call democratic civilization," Fitz-ferald continued, "n oth ing is fixed. N o status can


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T H E P R E C I O U S M O B 25temptuous pose, pressing me again. D e GrouseI'm never sure about De Grouse, whether he is anartist, born such, or merely unreconciled to a secondsonship in a dynasty of grea t wealth . Give him thebenefit. But take Grinling. W hat was bought forhim at Harvard makes him ashamed of the factthat his father got rich in the garment trade. Yousee w hat he does. H e turns radical and writesdisparagingly of wealth."Neither De Grouse nor Grinling seemed to mind.I t was all within the code. U nlim ited speech wastheir idolatry; they had the fervor of flagellentsfor it. P ersonalities no m atter how extreme wereinoffensive provided only they had a political bear-ing. If one wished to call ano ther a liar or a scoun-drel, he did it obliquely, by presenting the other tohimself as a social product of that type."Is it proved," Jael asked, "that I am living withcoal diggers for contrast?""Y ou ar e, " said Fitzjerald . "Rich women in finehouses with soft hands and nothing to do are verycommon. Y ou would be horribly bored. Besides,there could be no distinction in it. So w ha t? Y ouestablish yourself in this old house, in this dirtystreet, to cultivate the handicrafts and work withyour own hand s. T hey are callous from contactwith refractory materials."C apuchin looked at Jae l's hands. T he y were asFitz jerald represented. T hick, applicable hand s,kWith primitive knowledge in them.


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2 6 H A R A N G U EIV

No one had noticed that the young man Semicornin the dimness at the far end of the table had cometo his feet, nor was anyone prepared for his flamingforth as he was about to do."Th' only word you said that ain't smoose," hebegan, pointing at Fitzjerald, "is you couldV foolanybody. Y ou 're different than o ther finks like toad sis different than snakes. T he y ain 't no excuse foryou. Y ou don 't even want what th at is we 're fight-ing for 'n ' you don't know. M y father, he was acoal digger 'n' I ain't ashamed. M aybe I'm ashamedhe was a scissorbill, only he didn' know any better.N o, sir, you couldn' fool anybody."

His words were very distinct, his voice was clear#nd hot, but in his excitement he fell back upon therooty lingual formations in which he was fluent, thevernacular of his nativity, enriched from the diction-aries of the hobo, the lumberjack, the I . W . W*re alo t. A curious kind of tongue, not pure in itscrudity, but unstable and changing from an overlapof acquired grammar." I knew a gyppo like you ," he continued. " H ewas a Cockney docker with a high lead outfit i*M on tana. W e was riggers up 'n' gandy dancers.He'd be reading books 'n' throwing the bull he wasfor us, but when as we asked him to stamp in he inand turned us up to th' bull-whacker, who was afink, too, 'n' then th' boss slapped us on th' bchin4


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 27with our pay checks. Y ou'd have society be likeit is, wage slaves, scissorbills, bosses, pie in th'sky V capitaliss just an so you could feel betterthan somebody. Y ou ain't no be tter than a coaldigger but for th' way you can talk. It ain't whatyou know. W hy shouldn1 their chilern be educated?"What's anybody got they ain't entitled to ? T hei rain't no betters, people being born all equal andsame. W hat makes them different is th ' wage sys-tem . N obody's pulling that stuff on me. I ain 'tfooled with th' dehorn talk I hear around here.I might have met some nice people who can't helpbeing what they are, any more'n my father could.What do they know about free speech, hiring some-body to set in th' office 'n' write letters to th' papers?N oth ing . W e fight for it. I been in jail for it.Two hundred of us who could get there was at aconvention last week in Chicago 'n' we counted zhundred 'n' eighty'd been in jail for free speech.We don't care what th' brass check papers say.T h ' labor papers, they called us a bummery con-vention. W e'll make them eat tha t off th' groundyet. Y ou 're wrong about why the rich act like theywasn't rich 'n' take some of us on their lap. T he y'rescared. T hey know we've got th ' idea to breakempires 'n' scatter kingdoms like they was dust,abolish the wage system, make th ' bosses go to work.P ut us in ja il ! W e'll fill all th ' jails they got. Showme anybody here's been in jail for what they bc-tieved."


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T H E P R E C I O U S M O B 2%ning in them, were as inscrutable as a black fluid.N ow he extended his hand. In doing so he edgedfurther along the table. A glass was ov erturn ed;mechanically he set it righ t again. T he young manslowly extended his hand." M r . Semicorn. Y es, of course. O ne of themen they sent to Leaven wo rth. I'm glad to meetyou. I merely wanted to say, M r. Semicorn, if youwill come with me to New FreedomI'm goingback tom orrow I'll put you somewhere. W e needyoung men like yourself. Would you care to beeditor of our state pa per? A chain of papers per-haps. I'll put you anywhere you say. T hin k itover. T h at 's all, M r. Semicorn."He got back to his place on the bench besideMiss Lillibridge without seeing her at all, thoughhe had been lying almost across her lap."A nd I'll tell you what a fink is, M r. Fitz jerald ,"he said, setting his face th at way. "W e named theanim al. T he fink 's conscience is like one of thosecute cardboard things you use to send coins by mail,with holes cut in it to fit quarters, dimes and nickels.H is principles are the holes. H e would take a raisein his pay to blow the whistle two minutes early ina factory full of ten-year-old children workingtwelve hours a day. H e isn't cross-eyed but henever goes where he's looking, and he keeps hiscivility for his superiors. C ivility, M r . F itzje rald ,is an attribute of the species ass."


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34 HARANGUErich valley, a river flowing no rth. T he rest of ithad been bison pastu re. T hen came the bonanzacattle men. T hey turned the bison out and driftedtheir cows up there from Texas to graze on thepublic dom ain. T h e first railroad was built, withenormous grants of land as a free kiss from theFederal government. T h e eastern owners of therailroad, led by Jay Cooke & Company, bankers,thought of a way to turn their land into money.They advertised it to land-hungry European peas-an ts in the best Y ankee manner. Virgin soil, almostfor nothing, in a land where everything else wasfree. Immigrants, mostly Swedes and Norwegians,came in boat loads to buy and settle upon it.

Many Americans, even the newspapers, that werenot so bad then, indignantly protested. T hey saidIt was immoral to sting confiding foreigners in thatm anner. T he land was worthless. T hereupon therailroad people did what they had not thought ofdoing before. T hey tried it. T hey plowed andsowed some of it experimentally. A nd it turned outthat the land was all right.But wickedness went only the deeper with thefact of the land being good. A ll the more the set-tlers were exploited. T h a t was what they were fo r.Generally they began with too little capital. T heyshould have known better; yet think how they werebeguiled by the legends th at brou ght them . Every-one who touched them made money. T hose in thefirst place who sold them seed, implements, lumber,


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36 HARANGUEby suborning the press. H e did not buy the news-pa pe r; he found it. T he m an who owned it wasabout to bequeath it to his creditors, had in factannounced tha t he meant to stop printing it. T her ewas a funny episode in the taking of it. T he y werelooking at the books, he and the owner; apparentlythere was only one customer who ever paid, and itwasn't clear what tha t one paid for. H e h ad n'teven a name. H e was entered as A ccount A , andpaid $250 a month regularly.Capuchin asked what that was.That, the bankrupt told him, was the only thinghe need not worry about. T he check came everyfifteenth and the people who sent it didn't wantmuch. A n editorial maybe twice or three times ayear, and they wrote it themselves. It was a gra-tuity from the railroad, and but for that one littlestream of juice the creditors might have had thepaper long before..Drawing a pencil through Account A, Capuchinsaid, "I'll take it without that," and signed thememorandum of sale that lay on the table.The retiring owner sat for a minute regardinghim in a strange way. T hen taking thought forhimself he said he should like to make one slightaddition to the contract. T ak ing it under his hand,he made a caret after George Capuchin, party ofthe second part, and wrote, "being of sound mind,'*comma, etc. T he rest he left as it was, which wasmerely to say that the party of the first part, in


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3 8 H A R A N G U Estate capitol. I t was the last night of the session,and there was no other diversion. T he rotundawas full of people.A delegation of farmers had come to beg for abill that was introduced regularly at the beginningof each session and then purposely forg otten . I twas a bill providing for grain elevators to be builtby the state so that the farmers might store theirgrain in their own keeping and sell it when, as andto whom they pleased, instead of having to sell itwet on the harvest glut to the private elevator com-bine that docked away one-fifth of it, graded awayanother fifth, and paid for the remainder a take-or-be-damned price. I t was never intended th at thebill should pass. Its use was to be dangled b eforethe farmers at election time.The delegation had not been honored with a for-mal reception. T h e legislature who had thou ght itworth while to receive it at all met it standing inthis public space. T h e farm er's spokesman wasarguing the matter in a weak, egotistical voice. N o -body was listening. H e was very dull; besides, allthat he was saying had been said many times before.A Swede with a long white mustache kept saying,"A ay pro m eest! A ay pro m eest!"A man at the edge of the crowd, getting sud-denly what the Swede meant, set up the tune, "Oh,Prom ise M e ." T he re was rude and cynical laugh-ter at that.Then from among the members of the legislature,


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 39who were all on one side, came a loud voice, saying,"A-a-h-h, go home and slop your hogs."T h at insult was the climax. T he re was a mom entof ominous silence. T he n the legislators disap-peared up the marble stairway, one leading, theoth ers straggling. T hey had business above.For a while the farmers lurched and shuffled,about, some dumbly gazing, others muttering, andthen melted away.

Capuchin was next conscious of himself in theexperience of having a vision.Did they remember the story of Rousseau, fatherof the French revolution, walking to Vincennes?How under a tree he was struck with a vision thatchanged the mind of the w orld? T he vision tha ttnan was naturally perfect and altogether good andwas made wicked by his institutions? It was assudden as th at . O nly, it was a very cold nigh t,his tree was a trolley post, and there was no Vin-fcennes.H is vision was of the utm ost simplicity. Wfrfshou ldn't these people have wh at they w anted? I twas their state, not the railroad s' state. W h at theyWere talking about was a way to sell the wealth pro-duced by their own labo r. T he ir own, not the rail-roads ' wealth. T hese legislators telling them to goborne and slop their hogs were men whom they, thepeople themselves, elected, always of course afterthey had been nominated by the railroads, the bank-fcrs, ct al. A ll they needed was someone who could


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40 HARANGUEshow them how to unite, declare their freedom andtake possession of the ir own. H e could do that .Two of the farmers in that delegation namedSwanson, brothers, he knew; and he returned to thecapital to look for them. T hey were gone. H efound them in the town, just as they were startinghome, and he went with them.T hey sat in the kitchen and talked. A kerosenelamp was both heat and light. T h e stove was coldand useless because the women and children hadtaken the lids to bed with them. I t got colder andcolder, and still they talked . T he y talked all nigh tand the Freemen 's League was born at dawn. T h eenacting words were written in pencil on the pagesof a child's copy bo ok ; and they were few. T hefewer the better. T h a t was why it took so long.It was not a political organization though it pro-posed to employ political means.The subscriber pledged himself to vote only formen of any political party who were pledged to theLeague.

Ten or more subscribers constituted a local folk-mote, autonomous, self-organizing, electing its ownleader.All the local folkmotes in a county constituted acounty folkmote, also autonomous, self-organizing,choosing its own leader.The Freeman's League was the total organismthus built up, with its head at the capital, its bodyeverywhere. I t was authorized beforehand to use


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42 HARANGUElators. T o him it was personal, for he had h og s;few of the others had. Knutson went with themto see that Steenerson signed. Evan gels four.Steenerson made one difficulty. H e had not the tw o-fifty; but he offered to give his check, dated the nextfall, after harv est. T hey took it, and it was anidea.

They spent the day at it, and when they turnedback they had twenty subscribers and nineteen post-dated checks, payable after harvest. T he Leagu ewas launched. On its note , payable after harvest,it borrowed from Knutson enough money to buy aused Ford for traveling about.

Returning that night to the capital Capuchin'sfirst official deed, after finding the key he had flungin the gutter, was to write a notice and paste it inthe newspaper window: " S O L D ! T o the Free-man's League . George Capuchin, president."

There had been no election of officers but some-one had to be president; there had been no sale orpurchase of the paper, but all the same it belongedto the League.It was nothing to sell the idea of the League;it was easy to get post-dated checks. T o get anyreal money, enough to keep the paper goingthatwas a nightmare. N everth eless, it was managed.H e advertised for torch bearers, practiced them inwhat they should say so that they should all say italike, as the paper was saying it, and sent themforth to sell the Leaguefor one-tenth of the sub-


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4 4 H A R A N G U Ewho belonged to the party that had admittedLeaguers to its ticket went over to stand with theother against the League; that left the League inpossession of the first one's skin, which it imme-diately filled.In the next election, which was the big one, theLeague had its own people up for all offices. Thefight was desperate.On the side of the conservatives the most effec-tive man was not a politician. H e was a banker,Anx. Plaino, who, never having made a speech be-fore in his life, developed suddenly a remarkablegift of simple exposition. H e was dangerous fortwo reasons. I t was not only that he could arguefor Satan too plausibly; his bank had tremendousinfluence with rich farmers, many of whom it hadbuilt up and then corrupted into the machine ofprivilege. So, this person, O ld A nxiety, they calledhim, had begun to make some very offensivespeeches.Coming to a sudden stop Capuchin smiled andlooked into the faces around the table, one afterthe other, with an air of letting them all in."M y grandfather had asthma," he said. " H enever went near the horses, for if he did he wassure to be violently seized with it. T ha t's how Ihappened to think of the trick we played on Anx.P laino . W e waited until he was to bring off aspeech a lot of us could get to . H e was surprisedat the size of his crowd; more perhaps at the ap-


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THE PRECIOUS MOB plause he got. T he Leaguers came early and satwell up front. Every man had a pocket full ofhorse dander. W e dropped it on the floor. W henwe applauded the speaker we stomped our feet andraised the dust. T hat was the last of M r. Plaino .H e didn't recover until long after the election. H enearly died."He was silent again, then passed under signs ofstrong emotion."Did you hear that on the Sunday before electionthey prayed for foul w eather? P erhaps not. T h a twouldn 't be news. But they did, thinking it wouldkeep our people away from the polls. A nd theprayer was answered. Two feet of snow. I doubtedthem myself. The first returns came from thetowns and we were beaten. I thought so. T he nslowly the returns from the country began to comein. T hey came in for three days, piling higher andhigher, and the folkmotes had won. Eve ryth ing !Apples and basket."

This he seemed to be saying to himself, forget-ting where he was. H e was thinking of the stead-fastness of his Leaguers, re-creating his own ex-citement, feeling again the ecstasy akin to grief ofvictory against grea t odds. T ea rs stood in his eyes."So there we are," he said, coming to with asta rt. "T he state of N ew Freedom, capital, Liberty*That's what you asked for, wasn't it?"He looked at Grinling.


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4 6 H A R A N G U EVI

"You must write it," said Grinling. "Just thatway. R ea lly! Y ou must. I undertake to find youa publisher." H e permitted himself to speak w ithsome enthusiasm.

Fitzjerald spoke, addressing no one directly."There is something I miss in these wonderful

m atters," he said. "I speak of it with properhumility. Som ething I never see. T he point, infact. W ha t is it the people of N ew Fredom noware free to do that they could not have done before ?Were they not always free to exercise the rightsof a m ajority? Tak e the seat of authority by vot-ing themselves there? T he y wanted only the willand the intelligence to do it and a man to leadthem."

"The people," said Capuchin, "are always freeto cut off the king's head if they can."

" 'One, tw o, three. T h e king shall headless be.'So the mummers do it still in Bohemia on Whit-M ond ay," said Fitzjerald. "B eheading the imageof his thralldom is man's m ost exciting activity. H ebegins historically with the dragon . H e hunts thedragon , heroically. It is cornered in a mud h o le ;its head is chopped off. Still man is not free. T h ego ds rule. One by one he cuts off the heads o fthe gods. N o goo d. T h e king rules. Behead thek in g ! T h e slayer of the king then rules. Off w ithhis he ad ! T h e proletariat is enthroned. But the


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4 8 H A R A N G U Eabsent capitalists, has been delivered to the people.T he people! D o you understand? T hose whoselabor creates the wealth and who now for the firsttime have the light of the body m their eyes.""Ach! Zeir wealz and zeir bodies/' said Madame,scornfully. " In zeir bodies zey are swine, oh, suchsw ine!" H e r voice and gestures expressed disgust,amusement and despair, as if she had been thinkingof impossible children. "B ut zeir souls, zey arelovely. H av e you done nozing for zeir souls, M r .Capuchin?""I think you are talking nonesense," said Capu-chin.M adam e frowned slightly at his rudeness andsubsided, murmuring to herself, "Ze anamals! Andwiz such lovely souls."Capuchin was on the point of addressing heragain, to mollify her, thinking he had produced anill effect, when Jael deflected him."F olkm ote," she said. "H av e you been using theword picturesquely, or do you really call them so.""That's what they are," said Capuchin." I like it," said Jae l. "W he re did you get it ? ""From Kropotkin," said Fitzjerald.The effect of his cutting in with those two wordsw as unexpected. C apuchin rose slowly to his feetand pointed at him. H e was very angry, and whenhe was angry pools of saliva gathered in the cornersof his mouth."That person," he said, "thatthathollyhock,


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T H E P R E C I O U S M O B 49with no provocation but his own bad nature, hasbeen insulting me ever since we met in the street.I can no longer endure his society." H e stood thereholding his attitude , still pointing at Fitzje rald ,waiting for what should happen.uLillibridge, embrace him," said Jael in a shriekof delight. uKiss him ! W ha t joy when they lettheir angry passions go!"M iss Lillibridge pa tted him gently on the back,as she might have passed the butter, without look-ing.He looked at Jael to see if she were making ridi-cule of him. But she was smiling at him earnestly,and sa id: "W e quarrel like this all the tim e. It isour pastime. A ngus says he is sorry whether he isor not and tha t let's you down. M ore of the folk-rnotes. C ome. W hat are your problems no w ?"H e remembered his errand . H er e was a directinvitation to state it. So, although the feathers ofhis dignity were standing, he sat down again andaddressed himself exclusively to Jael.

"F un ds ," he said, bluntly. "T h at 's our greatproblem."And he began to explain why.T he League itself was all right. I t was sup-ported by the annual dues. O nly, the post-datedcheck was in one way a gre at nuisance. T he ycouldn't get rid of it, for it had become a habit, aninstitution, peculiar to the temperament of the peo-ple. They would buy anything with a post-dated


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50 HARANGUEcheck. A s the mem bership grew, and it was grow -ing very fast, the League always had more post-dated checks than money.Tak e a matter for example. Th ere was but oneimportant newspaper in the state. T he L eagu e'spaper was of course a League organ. T he y couldunderstand how that was and that only the mem-bers read it. W el l, they needed access to publicopinion in genera l. T h is paper he was speaking ofwas a regular newspaper, with an Associated Pressfranchise and all, and was of course a foe of theLeagu e. But the owner was secretly in a terriblepanic. H e saw what was coming, and he wished tosell out. If the Leagu e owned that newspaper itwould have all the press there was in the state.Think what that would m ean! An d the Lea guehad in its box enough post-dated checks, if only itcould turn them into money, to buy the paper.

H ow ev er , that was not the main thing. T h e cru-cial matter was perhaps easier to handle on theplane of finance. H e did not know . H e had comefor advice.The legislature was in recess during his absence.T h at w as a precaution. W hen it came to sit againit would pass at once a bill authorizing the stateto build six great grain elevators and a flour mill.V ery goo d. But to build such things you had tohave more than a statute. Y ou had to have money.And the state had no money to build them with.


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T H E PRECIO U S M O B 53be, you know . T h a t is, I mean finance runs in hisfamily as an instinct. T h a t same idea was comingto m e. C redit must be an essential par t of yourstructure, C apuchin. Let the people control the irown credit. W hy should they buy it from privatebankers, seeing that they themselves produce thewealth on which it rests?""I wonder," said Capuchin, "if we have anybodywho could write such a law."He was still thinking how much easier it wouldbe for Jae l to buy the bonds. H e h ad no financialunderstanding; therefore he was slow to get themeaning of this new idea." I will write it for you," said D wind. " I'l l beglad to do it. G reat G od ! H ere is the beginningof the end of capitalism forever. A nd this country,this last refuge of capitalism, was the one in whichthe perfect opportunity was meant to appear."N o one had ever seen him so excited before.M iss Lillibridge went to bed. M adam e disap-peared . D r. Rabba had slipped away unnoticed.Jael, Fitzjerald and Semlcorn listened while Dwind,assisted by Grinling, conducted Capuchin through aforeshortened course in finance. D wind wrote threeoutline draughts of the law, the second twice as longas the first, and the third twice as long as that; thenhe decided he should have to go back with Capuchinto make a survey of conditions. I t was importantto make no mistakes.C apuchin had one anxiety. T h is evidently was


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5 4 H A R A N G U Egoing to take some time. T h a t matter of the news-pap er was urgent. T h e owner might get over hispanic or find another buyer. H e stated this dilemm aseveral times and once directly to Jael, but she let itdrop.So the destiny of New Freedom was plotted.As they were breaking up, Semicorn put out hishand to C apuchin, saying, " I'v e accepted you roffer."C apuchin said, " F in e !" H e said it three times.H e had forgotten w hat the offer was. Seeing thisthe young man said, "I mean I'm going back withyou.""Yes, of course you are," said Capuchin, thenrememb ering. "If we do n't get the big newspaperwe 'll find something else. W e'l l need you some-where."They were passing through the doorwaythemen. Jael was still seated at the table ."Oh, Angus," she called, and Fitzjerald wentback. T hey were alone.

"Tell me something about Kropotkin," she said.He was surprised."You know Kropotkin by heart.""N ev er mind. I 'm asking you. N ot what hewrote. W h at about him? W h at was his ownmeaning?""O h, why he lived in Jone s street. A gloomingRussian soul. I don 't know why for sure. I never


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 55thou gh t of tak ing him up in th at ligh t. 1*11 do itif you say.""Then it isn't the same reason in every case, isit? A nd you may be wrong about m e? ""Quite," he said, wondering why she was so seri-ous. T he re was a silence. H e broke it. "K ropo t-kin was that fearful enigma of civilizationa sen-sitive sympathetic, who, unable to endure the sightof struggle for advantage in this silly business ofexistence, turns nihilist, as Kropotkin did, and medi-tates violence. H e may be religious and afraid toblame God. O r he may in one breath deny Godand propose to destroy him. In any case he mustfix the blame, so he blames laws, institutions andmen for the order of facts. But you never knowwhich is innate: the sense of pity or the impulse toviolence. T hey are related as yes and no, compul-sion and inhibition, one to justify the other or oneto compensate the othe r. God and monster bo th.The killer may feel also a great tenderness for life.A ll of which comes of thinking. Kropotkin was oneof those who made plausible use of the historicalm ethod. U nable to prove wh at he wished to betrue from the visible facts of human behaviour heselected historical facts to prove his thesis thatmutual aid had been of greater importance thanstruggle as a principle; and when his mutual aidleagues, having delivered themselves from oppres-sion, turned out invariably to be op pressors of


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5 6 H A R A N G U Eothers, that was merely because they forgot theprinciple in which he himself preferred to believe.. . . Y ou are not listening ."" N o , " said Jae l, " I am no t. Y ou are too long.T h a t's peevish, isn't it? I'm sorry. I wanted toknow only why M r. C apuchin w as so angry whenyou mentioned Kropotkin.""Van ity in its naive form ," said Fitzjera ld. " H ehas few sources, and one of them was rudely dis-covered. T ho se of us who are sophisticated inknowledge reveal our sources because if we try toconceal them we are sure to be found o ut. P ut oneof us in a company where he knows it to be safeand he will find himself forgetting to mention hissources. I should. O ne who has read little willsay of a book he has never seen or heard of beforethat he has read it, or thinks he has read it, ordoesn't remember, whereas one who has read much,and knows that everyone knows it, may easily sayhe has never read Shakespeare or the Bible, mayeven feign not to have read them, to be eccentric.It is all the same thing.""A ngus, you can't help being nice. W hy do youhold yourself out to be disagreeable?""I merely hold myself out to be the ultimateradical, believing th at people are as they seem.W hethe r they dream their dreams o r make them up,invent their masks or get born with them on, it is allthe same."They said good-night.


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T H E PRECIOU S M OB 57VII

Jael looked a t the time. It was 3 :30 A. M. N otlate for her. She wished to thin k; and the pro -ceedure was as follows:First she built up the open fire, near it she placeda reading lamp, by the lamp a small table withsmoking materials, and pulled up a deep chair.Next she tapped a cup of coffee from the urn thatwas still hot and brough t it to the table. T he semovements were performed in a pattern, that isto say, absently, as from hab it. T hen she openeda chest that was full of current French fiction inpap er jackets and lifted out an armful. T h e firstone she looked at was "T hre e W ho Lov ed." Shethrew it back. T he second was "T he Sadist." T h atwent back. T hen u T h e Remorse of V irtue." Shelet it fall. T h e next one bore a jacket illustration ofa young woman smoothing the brow of her sleep-ing Apache with one hand while holding a daggerin the other. She hesitated and looked at the next,whose author in the new fashion disdained titles.In place of a title was a very striking designawoman smiling ironically into the face of an angryserpent. D eciding for that one, she threw all therest back, slammed the lid of the chest, kicked offher shoes, and settled herself to read. W hen shecame to again she would have the answer to whatit was she had been thinking about.It often was that as she capsized herself in this


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58 H A R A N G U Emanner she remembered her father, who did thesame thing in almost the same way. T h a t was be-fore the Freudian literature of psychology had putwithin reach of every owner of a mind the appro-priate hinges, single or double acting, full instruc-tions with each set, no skill required, merely thecommonest household tools, so that anyone coulddo it.

H e r father got his money in W all street. H e wasnot a banker, not a broker, not a speculator in theordinary meaning of tha t word. A mysterious per-son, who worked alone and never spoke but to saybuy or sell and name the quantities. D avid Saint-Leon. T he Silent Saint. H e kept an office with-out books; his records were in his head. H e hadno habits, no m ethods. F or six months or a yea rhe might not appear once on the tilting ground, or,if at all, only for a moment as a knight on the hillin black silhouette against the sky. If he tar rie dit was to act. H is movements were swift, daring,always at first incomprehensible. Invariably theyturned out to be disastrous for some powerful innergroup of financiers with a golden cargo in transit.Always at some point they were obliged to crossthe open road . T he re stood Saint-Leon. Beforedefence or reprisals could be organized he was gonewith the booty.What he did in the meantime was to read ortrav el. H e would sit for months in his libraryreading D um as, H ug o, Rcade, Scott, D ickens. H e


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B $1to herself, as one talks to an echoing thought. Shemust have said it already many times."Let her buy it, then," said her father in hiscynical voice. "Buy it. She'll have the money. A smany nice men as nice women now go around hold-ing up their skirts.""Oh, you beast!" said her mother."Your own taste, madame," said her father.Presently her mother said, "Well, it can't be laidat my door."" N o ? " said her father, feigning polite astonish-ment. " I t came by the window, or down the chim-ney/1When Jael was fourteen her mother died of aheart attack in Berlin.

Before that her father had begun to be interestedin her talk, it was so droll, so serious and unex-pected. A fter her m other's death her father passedmore time at home and saw more of her. T heyoften talked half the evening, lingering at the din-ner table. T he ir contacts however were mentalonly. H e trea ted her as friend and equal, some-times as one woman to another, then again as onman to another.She was sixteen when one day he sent for her tocome to his priva te abode. T his was one wing ofthe housefirst a very large museum room, then alibrary, off the library sleeping rooms for himselfand man-servant.He was in bed, propped up in pillows, smoking


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6 2 H A R A N G U Ea strong cigar. She had not seen him for severaldays and did not know he was ill. She was pullingup a chair; he made her a gesture to sit on the edgeof the bed."Jael," he said, "you have not my nature butyou have my mind. It will be your curse. But youwill have also a lot of money, more than you canspend. A ll I suggest is that when you are throughwith it you will leave it free, as I leave it to you."

He smoked a little, thoughtfully."There's a silly saying," he said, "that moneywill not buy happiness, as if happiness were a thingyou might hope to acquire. It cannot be acquired.N obody can give it to you. It 's a silly bauble.Rum inants are born with it. A ll others, if theywant it, have to create it in their minds. M oney isno hindrance. O nly the people who haven't anysay it is and they don't believe it."Then the premonition seized her.With it came two intense emotions, one of tender-ness and one of regret, both rising from a suddenappalling sense of the selfish loneliness of his life.

She fell upon him weeping, took him in her arms.Never before had she wept for anything from herheart .He was passive for awhile. Stroking her hair hesaid, in a dry voice, "T h a t's all, Ja el. N ow I wantto think."But he called to her when she was at the door."D o n 't m arry if you can help it, " he said. "I f


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T H E PRECIO US M OB 63you can't help it, marry a man with red hair andplenty of it. It is my best opinion."

With that he took up the book from his knee andbegan to read. She had noticed what the book was.Fiction: "Eugene Aram."The next morning she was amazed that the papermade first page news of his death . N ever havingonce thought of him in relation to the world, shehad no notion how important he was.It seemed strange that anybody else should haveknown him at all. But how little she knew him her-self ! She read eagerly all that was said about him;and although the newspapers added much to herpicture of him she realized that their knowledge ofhim, too , was limited. H is importance as news layin the legends that had grown up about him in Wallstreet, legends of his daring, his success, his wizardryand the extent of his wealth. T he ir estimates ofthis seemed to her incredible, little as she couldweigh such matters.T he facts were more incredible. H is fortune wasgreater than anyone had guessed.When the will was filed, leaving the whole of itto her to do with as she pleased, she suffered a vio-lent collision with public opinion. Reporte rs be-seiged the place, got into the house by subterfuge,accosted her as she went in and out, even in her ownhallway, demanding her picture, and shouting al-ways one question: what would she do with themoney? T he re was no picture ; she had never had


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6 4 H A R A N G U Eone. T his she did not say. In a moment of greatexasperation when she had been unable to enterher own doorway for the mob that held it againsther, she did say, to the question they shouted at her,that it was nobody's business.A thoughtless, natu ral remark. Y et it was in-stantly telegraphed all over the world and appearedwithin ten minutes under great black headlines inthe afternoon papers. T he n it was treate d edi-torially.It became the text for a brutal attack upon thecharacter of her father. W ha t had he done to bepossessed of millions? H e had never built any-thin g; he had never thought anything. O ut of hisvast fortune he had contributed nothing to the aidof ar t, science or charity . By speculation, whichwas not labor, he had amassed immense wealth, onlyin the end to leave it to a sixteen-year-old child who,when asked what she would do with it, replied inthat mannerit was nobody's business.H e r mail was astonishing. Black H an d letters,begging letters, religious letters, form letters, onefrom a clipping bureau containing examples of theseinsulting opinions and offering to clip and send allof them for so much per hundred.One of the cuttings enclosed was from a periodi-cal she had never heard of before. I t describedher personal appearance with cruel unfeeling; andthe paragraph ended: "But she has one very fetch-ing featurefifty millions of dollars."


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66 HARANGUEpiling up . W hen her bankers wished to know w hatto do with it, she asked them what was the safestof all investments. T hey said government bonds.She said, "Then put it in government bonds," andwent to live three years abroad.She hated it. Returning, she began to look aboutfor her college friends. T hey were pursuing the irideas earnestly and fanatically, some as teachers,some as writers, some as artists, some as settlementworkers, some as researchers. T he y came to secher. It was much plea san ter going to see themwhere they lived in tenements, shabby studios, lofts,community houses, for then the fact that she wasrich made no difference, since they liked her as ahuman being.

In her Fifth avenue house it was either that theywere strange or she was ashamed. She imaginedthey were musing adversely on her father. W h a thad he done to possess these millions? H e hadnever built anything; he had never thought any-thing. O ut of his vast fortune he had contributednothing to the support of art, science or charity.H e r secret defence of him was plausible. T h eworld's case was gratuitous for the simple reasonthat he had not spent the money. Instead he hadleft it to her. She was to do with it what shepleased. Fro m this she evolved the notion tha t hehad expected her to spend it in some honorablemanner. T his of course she never said to anyonebut herself.


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 67It was she who proposed to her radical friendsthe idea of the Lothian College of Social Science.

They were to conduct it in their own way, freely;she was merely to house and support it. H e r theorywas that earnest thinking, however it begins, willultimately find some truth . She didn 't care w hatelse they taught if only they taught thinking.When they came to make away with certain dilap-idated tenements to clear a site for the building,she was appealed to on behalf of some old crafts-men who bitterly complained at being dispossessed.They could not find cheaper places: they were un-able to afford more expensive ones. A ll old worldpeople they were, who had brought with them noth-ing but the cunning of their hands and found it notvery saleable. T h a t is, they did not know how tosell it.Among them was a solitary Bohemian copper-smith of ra re skill. She sat for hours watching himdraw a sheet of soft copper into any shape hisimagination desired, a teapot, for instance, all inone piece without a seam, by beating the m etalgently with a hammer on a curious horn, one kindof blow when he wished to thicken it and anotherkind when he wished to thin it. N ot alone the a r t ;the material by its color, malleability, and textureexcited her fancy. She induced him to teach her.Out of this experience grew her guild of handi-crafts, which became a mild passion. She gatheredup those old workmen, placed them comfortably,


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6 8 H A R A N G U Ethen opened a shop in lower Fifth avenue for thedisplay of their things. She pu t a sign in the win-do w : "M one y may be exchanged for these beautifulobjects." T h a t made them easy to sell.The Lothian College gave her a kind of prestigeshe did not really like. She found herself certifiedamong rich patrons of the masses; the best doorsof that cult stood open to her.In the full phase of a luxurious, highly competi-tive civilization society breaks at the top. T h e oldrich, becoming weary of their own world, which hadno divinity of caste to begin with, abandon itsvalues to the new rich. T he n two main roads lieopen. O ne is the jaz z road, with manners ad ap tedfrom the underworld, short, dangerous and jolly.T h e other is for grave, respectable natu res and leadsback to a footing with the herd. I t is the long erroad by about twenty years, and has this furtheradvantage that it offers many beautiful sites fornoble monuments on which may be inscribed the par-ticulars of one's interest in his fellow man. Fame-,in sho rt. T h is is really the smart, exclusive road,not only because it is the more difficult but becausealso it is the more expensive. I t is a road to th epeople, but not a people's road.Jael went about in this society for a while, ex-changing amenities with it, and was amused to seeanarchists, revolutionaries, violent dispraisers ofwealth, partaking of its hospitality in fine houses,scornfully at ease th ere . T he n she began to see it


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7 0 H A R A N G U Ethere were three conclusions. If the number wasfour, there were four conclusions. I t was so as toeverythingan economic matter, a social principle,a work of art, an interpretation of historical facts.Worse, the more intellectual their reasoning was themore uncertain they were of their own conclu-sions. In the highest case they were not dogmatic;they would admit they might be wrong and probablywere; yet starting all over again each would comeinevitably to the same place as before, and hope-lessly, as she saw, for each mind had a fixed direc-tion. Reasoning did not determine the result; it wasthe certainty beforehand of the one result thatdetermined the character of the reasoning. A ny-thing could be proved; therefore nothing wasproved.For a long time she suffered the humiliation ofsupposing their powers were superior to hers. T hiswas from the repetition of a disconcerting experi-ence. There was a point at which she lost thementirely. A s they ascended higher and higher onthe slopes of the upper mind, she trudging breath-lessly behind, suddenly they disappeared as in amist. T hen she had no idea what they were talk-ing about. T he ir words made no pa ttern of sense.When they descended again into view, that is, toher plane of comprehension, they were a little awk-ward and self-conscious, like mystics fresh from avision. She wondered if perhaps they agreed, offin the mist without her.


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T H E P R E C I O U S M O B 71She was tormented by the fear that there was arift in her mind, corresponding to what musicalpeople mean by a hole in the ear. T ota l deafnessto a certain tone interval.A t this time she conceived a worshipful respectfor m an's gift of abstraction. M an 's power, alas !was in the movements of his mind; woman's in themovements of her heart. T here fore she was onthe wrong road. Still she was not sure.One day, between a Cezanne and a Matisse, bothnotable examples of a kind of perception for whichthe critics had been obliged to invent a new lan-guage, she hung a hideous chromo, processed uponglass, from a Sixth avenue furniture shop, price$2.98. Two of the great art critics were in to din-

ner tha t evening. T hey were startled, then tenta-tively facetious, and very curious. T hey kept look-ing at it and she held her tongue. A t length oneof them asked her guardedly what she saw in it."I don't see the picture," she answered, "if that'sw hat you mean. I haven't any notion what thepicture is like.""What do you see?""That bit of red," she said.T hey got up and looked at it closely. " T h a t ? "one said, pointing."Yes," she said."But it doesn't belong there.""Silly," she answered. "N ow you are lookingat the picture."


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7 2 H A R A N G U EShe would say no more; and they were shaken.For all their patter of critical wisdom they werenot sure. T here was the possibility she had seensomething they could not see. She had taken themin; and it occurred to her that she might have pro-duced a similar result by standing suddenly still inBroadway and gazing hard at an imaginary elephantfloating in upper space.A gain she did it with the literary critics. T hey

were surprised to find on her tables all at once agreat quantity of old dime novels, of a series writ-ten entirely by one man who had recently died. H isachievement, disclosed for the first time in the obitu-ary news, was that he had written one novel a weekregularly during nearly thirty years, in all aboutfifteen hundred. T he y asked her what she foundin them."The pure line of the tale," she said, gravely."T he story itself and nothing else. N o surface,no writing, no obstructions whatever. A n amaz-ing example of the unconscious method. Y ou knowof course how the man worked. L iste n!"She read to them bits here and there, daring asshe went on to choose the most banal passages, andthey were deeply impressed. O ne borrow ed someof the novels to read carefully, and then wrote aprofound literary essay on her textthe pure lineof the tale.After that she was sure they never agreed inthe mist and suspected, too, that they never them-


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B 73selves understood what they were saying as theydeparted from her into their heaven of intellectualobscurities. Y et always some doubt. She cherishedthe story of the man in the Cape Cod fishing villagewho, thinking to make a place for himself at thestove in the grocery store, said he heard there wasa whale on the beach. It worked as he thou gh t.O ne man got up and went to see. T h a t gave himthe chair he wanted. But then another got up andwent to see. N either came back. T hen a thirdwent. P resently the man who invented the whalewas alone by the fire; and when he heard the crunch-ing footsteps of people passing the door in the direc-tion of the beach, he, too, went out in the cold tosee. Maybe after all there was a whale.

H e r case was somewhat different. She stoodfixed in doubt about her own whale. N evertheless,if she had been certain of its non-existence and oftheir absurdity, still she would have gone on withthem in the same way, never letting them know.I t was men she liked, not their minds. She likedtheir sounds, their smell, their funny ways, theirquarrels, their ungrown-up demeanor when shecaught sudden glimpses of them as little boys. See-ing them so she discovered how much older womenare than men from the moment they are born.There were no romantic attachments; never hadbeen any. For this two reasons, one on each side.

The only free and natural way she had with menWas to challenge their minds. N o t otherwise could


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74 HAR ANGUEshe challenge them at all. W hat other wom en didshe saw. She could analyze it. She und erstood it.As for herself, she could not manage its first mosttrifling gesture.

Only once had she ever tried. T ha t was in child-ho od . She w as seven. One rainy day as she satin her window reading, a boy of the same age ap-peared in the window of the adjoining house. H ew as fat and wore glasses . A visitor, perhap s. Shehad never seen him before. H e came the next dayat the same hour to ogle her. T h e third day sheexpected him, and she threw him a kiss. H e re-turned it. On this small motive she built a romancethat filled the wo rld. Ev ery day for two weeksthey gazed at each other.

T hen they met in the street. She wa ited for himto speak. H e only glanced at her and went by.She ran after him and plucked him by the sleeve.H e wa s eating peanut brittle. Fo r a minute hestood staring at her, with a short-sighted squint,his mouth too full of the sweet to speak, then turnedand went on without a wo rd. E ver afterward thesight of peanut brittle produced in her a tremor ofdread and a sensation of reeling.

When she was eighteen she began to imagine menlooked at her in a certain way and was hystericallyfurious. Later she learned wh at that w as. W he nshe was twenty objects of feminine loveliness excitedextravagant em otions in her. La ter she knew alsowhat that meant, and one use of Miss Lillibridge


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T H E P R E C IO U S M O B (75was to remind her that no trace of it was left.In every situation it was her mind that savedher . T he mind of her one self could gaze down onher elemental other self, seeing it as a lake thatwas meant to be a to rren t. She could see the bot-tom of the lake. D isagreeable things lived the re,slowly groping about, eldritch, terrifying thingsuntil she conceived them to be natural creaturesdistorted by the view as everything under the wateris ; distorted also and perhaps much more by theaccident of having got themselves trapped there.And the other reason why there were no romanticattachments, the one on the other side, was thatthese men with whom she did surround herself wereintellectual. H igh thinking cools the blood. O r is itth at only the cool blooded think that way? T h efrustrated female of her craved not the mentalityof man so much as the hot-bloodedness of him, morethat as a desperate fact than even the character,the shape or the color of him.

For her coming to live in Jones street there wasone explanation Fitzjerald had either missed orfound it impossible to mention. In a fastidiousmood she detested it. Y et with no disguise of socialor aesthetic interests she would have passed at least* part of her time there or in a street of that char-acter. T ho se groping creatures in the lake of h erelemental self required it. T he y became active,even demonish, when she denied them entirely.They craved contact with vulgar, odorous, common-


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76 HAR ANGUEplace life. H ere it was thinly sheathed , sometimesfor a moment stark naked, and so oblivious thatone could get close up . It s emotions were not indeep wells; they were artesian, suddenly overflow-ing to the surface. T hen the quarrel, the oath , theblow, the caress, the swift, blinding uncoil of thewatchful reptile.

There was a time when she did her own shoppingfor fruits, vegetables, condiments and oil, solely forthe secret pleasure of observing a Corsican whoseshop was around the corner. H e had the look, theeasy walk, the animal dignity of a band it. T her ewas insolence in the way he carried his clothes,especially his tro users. H is wife was exquisitelypigmented, and although she was fat she was notstuffed and her movements were all the more volup-tuous. T hey were always together in the shop andyet they almost never spoke. Jael understood thebasic meaning of the ir relationship . T he sight ofit thrilled her.One evening as she was passing the shop, overwhich the pair lived, she heard the woman scream-ing. H e r bandit was beating her. Jae l was neitherscandalized no r horrified. H e r blood leaped andher thro at was dry. O ne might have thought shewas ang ry. She would have thought so herself ifshe had thoug ht about it at all. But her em otionsbegged not to be analyzed.

The next day she saw them together again inthe shop, as if nothing had happened. T he woman


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78 H A R A N G U EThen she went to bed, saying to herself aloud:

"What a blessing it must be to have a one-storeymind.11 V I I I

Walking home from Jael's house Fitzjeraldpassed again through W ashington Square. T h e skywas hard and clear, the moon was full, and still theharpy raged. T h e waste of a city's castoff day w asrunning to the second and third cornice lines. Chew-ing gum wrappers, metallic dust, scurrilous particles,absurdities of waggish matter, news and ideas*Soiled newspapers astride the wind in guilty, obsceneshapes, moving in a plane of dimness above thelights. They might even seem to be making evilgestures, like

"Like witches," said Fitzjera ld. "W ha t a witches'night!"

That set him on a train of thought.W itchcraft had been real, as the church w ell

knew, because it was an ideaan idea the witcheshad of themselves, an idea people had of witches.N otio ns of good and evil. N otion s of magic. N o -tions of flying. Videlicet, ideas.

Here were ideas literally flying. Vehicle, onceprinted matter, or, that was to say, trees convertedinto woodpulp, instead of the New England broom-stick or the imaginary animal of the Scottish witch.It was the Scandinavian witches flew on trees, treeaas they grew.


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T H E P R E C I O U S MOB 79One mi ght see, too, that these objects had a sense

of direction, some trick of dirigibili ty, hither-boundfrom Bank s t reet, G rove s t reet , W av erly place ,Third s t reet , Jones s t reet , all those bias environswest and south where every cult of disaffection hadits coven, priest or priestess.

A s to who than he should know them be t te r?Y o u t h in its radical, self-conscious phase, and not

very vital, else it would not have t ime to invent foritself a symbol of flame to worsh i p . M uc h of t h a t .E g o stuff. Innocuous. . . .

Then those making it a point of difference withsociety to l ive romantically in obsolete tenementsunder some fanciful sign of protes t . A gooddeal of th at . Bo redom , mo stly, increasing w ithweal th . . . .Art i s t s pre tending to be scornful of Pur i tanica lopinion, to which they were not indifferent, sincethey spent all thei r s t rength to shock it. . . .

W r i t e r s , too, bulging their eyes at the key hole ,report ing l i fe as a peep-show. Not that they weredi r ty . The great ancients were dirty, only they didnot know it. . . .

Free unions wearing the soi led garment of revol tbecause otherwise they should be naked; they mustpay respectabili ty the homa ge to keep feud with it.Silly stuff. . . .

Others, however, such as ego-mad communists;telf-chosen saviours of the proletariat, avoidingwork; anarchists, jealous of the law's protection;


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80 HARANGUEpacifists, dreaming of a war to exterminate mili-tarists; idealists, living grossly; Jack Cades, think-ing themselves Cromwells; political refugees fromEurope, thinking themselves Lenines and liberators.Economic perverts, living by what they denounced,trading on the evil eye, setting their incantationsadrift on woodpulp paper, pretending in their ideasto possess the sorcery to plow a rich man's field withtoads and reap barley from his thistles.

Imagine them overcome by faith in their ideas, asthe witches were by their belief in the power of theblood-suckled creatures they kept in their imp pots.T he n the para llel. O n a night like this their ideastake possesion and carry them off to a Devil's Sab-bath where anything you will is true. N o harm tothe witches, old or new. T hey were sure to comeawake again where and as they were. N o harmto the furtive old man, walking carefully and look-ing always behind him, who came every morning anhour before dawn to gather up all the old news-papers in Washington square, folding and sortingthem particularly. N o harm either to capitalisticsociety, never to be destroyed by spells and curses,never from without, but only, if ever, from within.

How infantile, how circular, this human intelli-gence !What was it the old witches bargained with Satanfor? P ow er the power to redistribute good andevil in the world. T his had turned out to be apower of evil only, because, first, it was an impotent


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T H E PRECIOU S M OB 81power, except as it might act upon human fear, andbecause, secondly, its possessors, unable to do good,became wholly intent upon doing evil to others, inenvy, malice and disappointment. A nd so still inthis day of artificial light.What was the faith of old witches? Faith in thepower of a phrase to change realities. "T ho ut, tou t,througho ut and abo ut." M erely tha t, and anythingmight happen as you wished it. T ru e still in theage of applied science.What was then as now the greatest common de-lusion? T h a t you could overcome the disagreeablefacts by the simple rite of denying their existence.A nd the greatest of all human passions? T h epassion for martyrdom. . . .

For a moment he was pleased, even a little ad-miring of his mind. W h at he had just been think-ing was not altogether bad . N o t bad at all. Good,in fact. Very good. H e would turn it to someaccount in an essay. T he n his critical faculty re-viewed it and it went to pieces. I t was bad. In-trinsically bad. N ot tha t any p art of it was falsebut that as a whole it represented a fatal confusionof illusion and idea as he conceived them . T h isalways happen ed. I t was his curse. N oth ing hedid with his creative power ever escaped the de-structive acid of his critical judgment. H e knewtoo much; he was knowledge-foundered and he kneweren that.


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Capuchin returned to New Freedom moving thew aters before him. H e had in his pocket a blinddraft on a New York bank for a sum fifty thou-sand dollars more than enough to buy the one im-po rtan t newspaper in the state . A t the last mom enthe had had the inspiration to exaggerate the pur-chase price; afterward he justified it neatly on theground tha t the excess was working capital. H emeant to put it all in.

With him to New Freedom went Dwind, to writehim a banking law, loaned for that purpose by theLothian College, and Semicorn, to do what shouldturn out to be best.On the train Capuchin talked a great deal, all thetime in fact, and D wind became irritated by it. H ewished to be meditating."How long have you known Jael?" Capuchinasked him."M iss Saint-Leon?" said D wind, in a tilted tone."I mean" said Capuchin, his face slightly crum-pled."I knew her in college," said Dwind, leaving a(

proper interval for the other's abashment.But it was much easier to step on Capuchin than85


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J U M P I N G C H A R IO T S 87He could think of no way to say it that would notsound ra th er bald . She frowned while he hesitated,then smiled a little and said they would leave itas it was. A nd all the way back to Liberty he keptcalling himself a fool and wondering at her hard-ness in th at one mom ent. H e almost told D wind,wishing somebody's opinion on what would havehappened if he had said gift.

I IThe capital of New Freedom was a flat, checker-board town of six thousand people, clinging to arailro ad tangent,. It had a trolley line, three ban ks,one eight-story office building, an Odd Fellows Hall,two movie theatres, nine gas stations, electric lights,a chiropractor, a tourist camp, a country club, notrees, three-quarters-of-a-mile of boulevard withlights down the middle and geometrical spaces indi-cated for botanical effects.In first appearances there was no sign of arevolution having taken place. Ev eryth ing was run-ning. P eople were going about as usual. T heyseemed suspicious of strangers, however, and thatcertainly is not standard equipment in the westernspecification. T here were oth er signs as the viewdeepened.At the Chamber of Commerce the publicity manwas clearing out his desk, moving, going away tolook for another job of boosting. N o more fundsfor that purpose here.


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J U M P I N G C H A R IO T S 91A voice behind him said, " D 'j 'u see the specula-tors boosted wheat two cents?"Off he went at once on the economics and ethicsof grain speculation, treating it not as a subject butas an object. H e could see the speculators at th eirnefarious wo rk. H e saw them putting up the priceof wheat to discredit him and the Freemen's League.Another voice asked, "What are we going to doabout it?"T h a t was a new object. Instantly he visualizedthe future of N ew Freedom . T he word was inte-gra tion . H e pronounced it as if he had originatedits sound and meaning. T hey were going to inte-grate the activities of New Freedom, integrate agri-culture and industry together, base one upon the

other, as it should be, and so achieve economicliberty, spiritual freedom and common prosperity.It had been once like that in a crude way on thefarms of their forefathers. Ev erything they wanted,those forefathers, they raised and made for them-selves. T h e community self-contained. T h a t w asit. Farm ing at the base, then their own grist mills,saw mills, tanneries, boot and shoe shops, spinningwheels, looms, forges, soap kettles, smoke houses.L ab or contentedly integrated. Secure from exploittation . M odernly it had to be achieved on a larg escale. A whole state regard ed as one community.But there was the model in full principle. N o specu-lators. N o middlemen. N o advertising. No un-fair exchange. Idyllic existence realized.


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JUM PIN G CHARIOTS 93"Gone to the ho tel," said Semicorn. "W hat amI to do?"Capuchin pressed his temples and covered hiseyes, trying to remember everything."W hat are you to do ? . . . M r. Semicorn . . .yes." He looked up, then began dusting his personbriskly. "P ending further events, M r . Semicorn,you will be my fido akatees. T h a t is to say, youwill stick around . I need somebody with me all thetime. Maybe you can think of a way to keep thesepeople off. Y ou see how it is. I never get any timeto think. Come with me now ."H e led the way out through a back door. H ewas going to buy the newspaper. T h a t he could notforget.

IVThey were still together, fido behaving perfectly,when at nine o'clock that evening Capuchin distinctlyremembered D wind. H e was found at the hotel in

possession of the bridal suite. H e had already dis-missed two stenographers and was with weary hero-ism controlling an impulse to perform a bodily in-jury upon the third. W hat restrained him was thefact that he had exhausted the stock. T he re

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