Part 55 (1/2)
The clerk read the note aloud, after the morgue had been phoned, and the body covered.
”To Paul Judson:
”This act is my punishment, for living on the earth your presence scars; a just G.o.d will punish you in another world.
”This act will bring home to your conscience your responsibility for murder:
”Murder of twenty-three miners in the mine explosion;
”Murder of John Dawson, and fifty innocent strikers, by the guns of your gunmen;
”Murder of your guards by your own acts;
”Murder of the bodies, hearts and souls of starving strikers.
Murder of good in all people. Murder of justice in your courts.
”Murder of me, as a warning of what you deserve.
”CHRISTOPHER DUCKWORTH.”
”Can you beat it?” the clerk whistled. ”A plain nut.”
”I seen how crazy he looked,” said the information clerk. ”Good thing he didn't miss an' hit you, Courtney.”
A little stenographer fainted. One of the telephone operators discussed it with a chummy runner. ”I wouldn't work here now, not if you paid me!
It's awful bad luck.”
”Gee, if I was afraid of stiffs!” he said, pityingly.
The scrubwomen grumbled at having to clean up the floor again. ”Ought to be extra pay for this.... Bad enough to clean them floors once.”
Paul Judson, returning from Jackson on the morning train, did not learn about the grim protest until he reached the office.
V
THE SCATTERING
XXIX
Stella Cole loitered, fascinated by the glisten of the new Judson kitchen. She addressed the cook, with that shade of superiority family servants invariably feel to newcomers.
”Could you ask Miss' Mary to step heah a secon', Mahaly?”
The girl departed, sniffing superciliously at the old mountain woman who still had the monopoly of the Judson laundry.
The gaunt-cheeked negress faced her mistress with an elemental dignity.