the dwelling place of ligh-第52章

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picketers　remained。

Over　the　black　rim　of　the　Clarendon　Mill　to　the　eastward　the　sky　had
caught　fire。　　The　sun　had　risen；　the　bells　were　ringing　riotously；
resonantly　in　the　clear；　cold　air。　　Another　working　day　had　begun。

Janet；　benumbed　with　cold；　yet　agitated　and　trembling　because　of　her
unwonted　experience　of　the　morning；　made　her　way　back　to　Fillmore　Street。
She　was　prepared　to　answer　any　questions　her　mother　might　ask；　as　they
ate　their　dismal　breakfast；　and　Hannah　asked　no　questions；　she　longed　to
blurt　out　where　she　had　been；　to　announce　that　she　had　cast　her　lot　with
the　strikers；　the　foreigners；　to　defend　them　and　declare　that　these　were
not　to　blame　for　the　misfortunes　of　the　family；　but　men　like　Ditmar　and
the　owners　of　the　mills；　the　capitalists。　　Her　mother；　she　reflected
bitterly；　had　never　once　betrayed　any　concern　as　to　her　shattered
happiness。　　But　gradually；　as　from　time　to　time　she　glanced　covertly　at
Hannah's　face；　her　resentment　gave　way　to　apprehension。　　Hannah　did　not
seem　now　even　to　be　aware　of　her　presence；　this　persistent　apathy　filled
her　with　a　dread　she　did　not　dare　to　acknowledge。

〃Mother！〃　she　cried　at　last。

Hannah　started。　　〃Have　you　finished？〃　she　asked。

〃Yes。〃

〃You've　b'en　out　in　the　cold；　and　you　haven't　eaten　much。〃　　Janet　fought
back　her　tears。　　〃Oh　yes；　I　have；〃　she　managed　to　reply；　convinced　of　the
futility　of　speech；　of　all　attempts　to　arouse　her　mother　to　a　realization
of　the　situation。　　Perhapsthough　her　heart　contracted　at　the　thought
perhaps　it　was　a　merciful　thing！　　But　to　live；　day　after　day；　in　the
presence　of　that　comfortless　apathy！。。。　　Later　in　the　morning　she　went
out；　to　walk　the　streets；　and　again　in　the　afternoon；　and　twice　she
turned　her　face　eastward；　in　the　direction　of　the　Franco…Belgian　Hall。
Her　courage　failed　her。　　How　would　these　foreigners　and　the　strange
leaders　who　had　come　to　organize　them　receive　her；　Ditmar's　stenographer？
She　would　have　to　tell　them　she　was　Ditmar's　stenographer；　they　would
find　it　out。　　And　now　she　was　filled　with　doubts　about　Rolfe。　　Had　he
really　thought　she　could　be　of　use　to　them！　　Around　the　Common；　in　front
of　the　City　Hall　men　went　about　their　affairs　alertly；　or　stopped　one
another　to　talk　about　the　strike。　　In　Faber　Street；　indeed；　an　air　of
suppressed　excitement　prevailed；　newsboys　were　shouting　out　extras；　but
business　went　on　as　though　nothing　had　happened　to　disturb　it。　　There
was；　however；　the　spectacle；　unusual　at　this　time　of　day；　of　operatives
mingling　with　the　crowd；　while　policemen　stood　watchfully　at　the　corners；
a　company　of　soldiers　marched　by；　drawing　the　people　in　silence　to　the
curb。　　Janet　scanned　the　faces　of　these　idle　operatives；　they　seemed　for
the　most　part　either　calm　or　sullen；　wanting　the　fire　and　passion　of　the
enthusiasts　who　had　come　out　to　picket　in　the　early　hours　of　the　day；　she
sought　vainly　for　the　Italian　girl　with　whom　she　had　made　friends。
Despondency　grew　in　her；　a　sense　of　isolation；　of　lacking　any　one；　now；
to　whom　she　might　turn；　and　these　feelings　were　intensified　by　the　air　of
confidence　prevailing　here。　　The　strike　was　crushed；　injustice　and　wrong
had　triumphedwould　always　triumph。　　In　front　of　the　Banner　office　she
heard　a　man　say　to　an　acquaintance　who　had　evidently　just　arrived　in
town：

〃The　Chippering？　　Sure；　that's　running。　　By　to…morrow　Ditmar'll　have　a
full　force　there。　　Now　that　the　militia　has　come；　I　guess　we've　got　this
thing　scotched。。。〃

Just　how　and　when　that　order　and　confidence　of　Faber　Street　began　to　be
permeated　by　disquietude　and　alarm；　Janet　could　not　have　said。　　Something
was　happening；　somewhereor　about　to　happen。　　An　obscure；　apparently
telepathic　process　was　at　work。　　People　began　to　hurry　westward；　a　few
had　abandoned　the　sidewalk　and　were　running；　while　other　pedestrians；
more　timid；　were　equally　concerned　to　turn　and　hasten　in　the　opposite
direction。　　At　the　corner　of　West　Street　was　gathering　a　crowd　that　each
moment　grew　larger　and　larger；　despite　the　efforts　of　the　police　to
disperse　it。　　These　were　strikers；　angry　strikers。　　They　blocked　the
traffic；　halted　the　clanging　trolleys；　surged　into　the　mouth　of　West
Street；　booing　and　cursing　at　the　soldiers　whose　threatening　line　of
bayonets　stretched　across　that　thoroughfare　half…way　down　toward　the
canal；　guarding　the　detested　Chippering　Mill。　　Bordering　West　Street；
behind　the　company's　lodging…houses　on　the　canal；　were　certain　low
buildings；　warehouses；　and　on　their　roofs　tense　figures　could　be　seen
standing　out　against　the　sky。　　The　vanguard　of　the　mob；　thrust　on　by
increasing　pressure　from　behind；　tumbled　backward　the　thin　cordon　of
police；　drew　nearer　and　nearer　the　bayonets；　while　the　soldiers　grimly
held　their　ground。　　A　voice　was　heard　on　the　roof；　a　woman　in　the　front
rank　of　the　mob　gave　a　warning　shriek；　and　two　swift　streams　of　icy　water
burst　forth　from　the　warehouse　parapet；　tearing　the　snow　from　the
cobbles；　flying　in　heavy；　stinging　spray　as　it　advanced　and　mowed　the
strikers　down　and　drove　them　like　flies　toward　Faber　Street。　　Screams　of
fright；　curses　of　defiance　and　hate　mingled　with　the　hissing　of　the　water
and　the　noise　of　its　impact　with　the　groundlike　the　tearing　of　heavy
sail…cloth。　　Then；　from　somewhere　near　the　edge　of　the　mob；　came　a
single；　sharp　detonation；　quickly　followed　by　anotherbelow　the　watchmen
on　the　roof　a　window　crashed。　　The　nozzles　on　the　roof　were　raised；　their
streams；　sweeping　around　in　a　great　semi…circle；　bowled　down　the　rioters
below　the　tell…tale　wisps　of　smoke；　and　no　sooner　had　the　avalanche　of
water　passed　than　the　policemen　who；　forewarned；　had　sought　refuge　along
the　walls；　rushed　forward　and　seized　a　man　who　lay　gasping　on　the　snow。
Dazed；　half　drowned；　he　had　dropped　his　pistol。　　They　handeuffed　him　and
dragged　him　away　through　the　ranks　of　the　soldiers；　which　opened　for　him
to　pass。　　The　mob；　including　those　who　had　been　flung　down；　bruised　and
drenched；　and　who　had　painfully　got　to　their　feet　again；　had　backed
beyond　the　reach　of　the　water；　and　for　a　while　held　that　ground；　until
above　its　hoarse；　defiant　curses　was　heard；　from　behind；　the　throbbing　of
drums。

〃Cossacks！　　More　Cossacks！〃

The　cry　was　taken　up　by　Canadians；　Italians；　Belgians；　Poles；　Slovaks；
Jews；　and　Syrians。　　The　drums　grew　louder；　the　pressure　from　the　rear　was
relaxed；　the　throng　in　Faber　Street　began　a　retreat　in　the　direction　of
the　power　plant。　　Down　that　street；　now　in　double　time；　came　three
companies　of　Boston　militia；　newly　arrived　in　Hampton；　blue…taped；
gaitered；　slouch…hatted。　　From　columns　of　fours　they　wheeled　into　line；
and　with　bayonets　at　charge　slowly　advanced。　　Then　the　boldest　of　the
mob；　who　still　lingered；　sullenly　gave　way；　West　Street　was　cleared；　and
on　the　wider　thoroughfare　the　long　line　of　traffic；　the　imprisoned
trolleys　began　to　move　again。。。。

Janet　had　wedged　herself　into　the　press　far　enough　to　gain　a　view　down
West　Street　of　the　warehouse　roofs；　to　see　the　water　turned　on；　to　hear
the　screams　and　the　curses　and　then　the　shots。　　Once　more　she　caught　the
contagious　rage　of　the　mob；　the　spectacle　had　aroused　her　to　fury；　it
seemed　ignominious；　revolting　that　human　beings；　already　sufficiently
miserable；　should　be　used　thus。　　As　she　retreated　reluctantly　across　the
car　tracks　her　attention　was　drawn　to　a　man　at　her　side；　a　Slovak。　　His
face　was　white　and　pinched；　his　clothes　were　wet。　　Suddenly　he　stopped；
turned　and　shook　his　fist　at　the　line　of　soldiers。

〃The　Cossack；　the　politzman　belong　to　the　boss；　the　　capitalist！〃　he
cried。　　〃We　ain't　got　no　right　to　live。　　I　say；　kill　the　capitalistkill
Ditmar！〃

A　man　with　a　deputy's　shield　ran　toward　them。

〃Move　on！〃　he　said　brutally。　　〃Move　on；　or　I'll　roil　you　in。〃　　And　Janet；
once　clear　of　the　people；　fled　westward；　the　words　the　foreigner　had
spoken　ringing　in　her　ears。　　She　found　herself　repeating　them　aloud；
〃Kill　Ditmar！〃　as　she　hurried　through　the　gathering　dusk　past　the　power
house　with　its　bottle…shaped　chimneys；　and　crossed　the　little　bridge　over
the　stream　beside　the　chocolate　factory。　　She　gained　the　avenue　she　had
trod　with　Eda　on　that　summer　day　of　the　circus。　　Here　was　the　ragpicker's
shop；　the　fence　covered　with　bedraggled　posters；　the　deserted　grand…stand
of　the　base…ball　park　spread　with　a　milky…blue　mantle　of　snow；　and
beyond；　the　monotonous　frame　cottages　all　built　from　one　model。　　Now　she
descried　looming　above　her　the　outline　of　Torrey's　Hill　blurred　and
melting　into　a　darkening　sky；　and　turned　into　the　bleak　lane　where　stood
the　Franco…Belgian　HallHampton　Headquarters　of　the　Industrial　Workers
of　the　World。　　She　halted　a　moment　at　sight　of　the　crowd　of　strikers
loitering　in　front　of　it；　then　went　on　again；　mingling　with　them
excitedly　beside　the　little　building。　　Its　lines　were　simple　and
unpretentious；　and　yet　it　had　an　exotic　character　all　its　own；　differing
strongly　from　the　surrounding　houses：　it　might　have　been　transported　from
a　foreign　country　and　set　down　here。　　As　the　home　of　that　odd；
cooperative　society　of　thrifty　and　gregarious　Belgians　it　had　stimulated
her　imagination；　and　once　before　she　had　gazed；　as　now；　through　the
yellowed；　lantern…like　windows　of　the　little　store　at　the　women　and
children　waiting　to　fill　their　baskets　with　the　day's　provisions。　　In　the
middle　of　the　building　was　an　entrance　leading　up　to　the　second　floor。
Presently　she　gathered　the　courage　to　enter。　　Her　heart　was　pounding　as
she　climbed　the　dark　stairs　and　thrust　open　the　door；　and　she　stood　a
moment　on　the　threshold　almost　choked　by　the　fumes　of　tobacco；　bewildered
by　the　scene　within；　confused　by　the　noise。　　Through　a　haze　of　smoke　she
beheld　groups　of　swarthy　foreigners　fiercely　disputing　among　themselves
apparently　on　the　verge　of　actual　combat；　while　a　sprinkling　of　silent
spectators　of　both　sexes　stood　at　the　back　of　the　hall。　　At　the　far　end
was　a　stage；　still　set　with　painted；　sylvan　scenery；　and　seated　there；
alone；　above　the　confusion　and　the　strife；　with　a　calmness；　a　detachment
almost　disconcerting；　was　a　stout　man　with　long　hair　and　a　loose　black
tie。　　He　was　smoking　a　cigar　and　reading　a　newspaper　which　he　presently
flung　down；　taking　up　another　from　a　pile　on　the　table　beside　him。
Suddenly　one　of　the　groups；　shouting　and　gesticulating；　surged　toward　him
and　made　an　appeal　through　their　interpreter。　　He　did　not　appear　to　be
listening；　without　so　much　as　lowering　his　newspaper　he　spoke　a　few　words
in　reply；　and　the　group　retired；　satisfied。　　By　some　incomprehensible
power　he　dominated。　　Panting；　fascinated；　loath　to　leave　yet　fearful；
Janet　watched　him；　breathing　now　deeply　this　atmosphere　of　smoke；　of
strife；　and　turmoil。　　She　found　it　grateful；　for　the　strike；　the　battle
was　in　her　own　soul　as　well。　　Momentarily　she　had　forgotten　Rolfe；　who
had　been　in　her　mind　as　she　had　come　hither；　and　then　she　caught　sight　of
him　in　a　group　in　the　centre　of　the　hall。　　He　saw　her；　he　was　making　his
way　toward　her；　he　was　holding　her　hands；　looking　down　into　her　face　with
that　air　of　appropriation；　of　possession　she　remembered。　　But　she　felt　no
resentment　now；　only　a　fierce　exultation　at　having　dared。

〃You've　come　to　join　us！〃　he　excl