Part 16 (1/2)

”You are right--I am ruined,” said the laborer listlessly. ”I couldn't bring myself to write Shund's name because he reduced my brother-in-law to beggary--this is what made me select the yellow ticket.”

”You are a fool. Were Mr. Schwefel to recommend the devil, your duty would be to vote for the devil. What need you care who is on the ticket? You have only to write the names on the ticket--nothing more than that. Do you think progress would nominate men that are unfit--men who would not promote the interests of the state, who would not further the cause of humanity, civilization, and liberty? You are a fool for not voting for what is best for yourself.”

”I am sorry now, but it's too late.” sighed Leicht. ”I wouldn't have thought, either, that Mr. Schwefel would get angry because a man wanted to vote to the best of his judgment.”

”There you are prating sillily again. Best of your judgment!--you mustn't have any judgment. Leave it to others to judge; they have more brains, more sense, more knowledge than you. Progress does the thinking: our place is to blindly follow its directions.”

”But, Mr. Spitzkopf, mine is only the vote of a poor man; and what matters such a vote?”

”There is your want of sense again. We are living in a state that enjoys liberty. We are living in an age of intelligence, of moral advancement, of civilization and knowledge, in a word, we are living in an age of progress; and in an age of this sort the vote of a poor man is worth as much as that of a rich man.”

”If only I had it to do over! I would give my right hand to have it to do over!”

”You can repair the mischief if you want.”

”Instruct me how, Mr. Spitzkopf; please tell me how!”

”Very well, I will do my best. As you acted from thoughtlessness and no bad intention, doubtless Mr. Schwefel will suffer himself to be propitiated. Go down into the court, and wait till I come. I shall get you another ticket; you will then vote for progress, and all will be satisfactory.”

”I am a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Spitzkopf--a thousand times obliged!”

The agent went back to the hall. Leicht descended to the courtyard, where he found a ring of timid operators like himself surrounding the st.u.r.dy Holt. They were talking in an undertone. As often as a progressionist drew near, their conversation was hushed altogether.

Holt's voice alone resounded loudly through the court, and his huge strong hands were cutting the air in animated gesticulations.

”This is not a free election; it is one of compulsion and violence,”

cried he. ”Every factoryman is compelled to vote as his employer dictates, and should he refuse the employer discharges him from the work. Is not this most despicable tyranny! And these very tyrants of progress are perpetually prating about liberty, independence, civilization! That's a precious sort of liberty indeed!”

”A man belonging to the ultramontane party cannot walk the streets to-day without being hooted and insulted,” said another. ”Even up yonder in the hall, those gentlemen who are considered so cultivated stick their heads together and laugh scornfully when one of us draws near.”

”That's so--that's so, I have myself seen it,” cried Holt. ”Those well-bred gentlemen show their teeth like ferocious dogs whenever they see a yellow ticket or an ultramontane. I say, Leicht, has anything happened you? You look wretched!” Leicht drew near and related what had occurred. The honest Holt's eyes gleamed like coals of fire.

”There's another piece of tyranny for you,” cried he. ”Leicht, my poor fellow, I fancy I see in you a slave of Schwefel's. From dawn till late you are compelled to toil for the curmudgeon, Sundays not excepted.

Your church is the factory, your religion working in straw, and your G.o.d is your sovereign master Schwefel. You are ruining your health amid the stench of brimstone, and not so much as the liberty of voting as you think fit is allowed you. It's just as I tell you--you factorymen are slaves. How strangely things go on in the world! In America slavery has been abolished; but lo! here in Europe it is blooming as freshly as trees in the month of May. But mark my word, friends, the fruit is deadly; and when once it will have ripened, the great G.o.d of heaven will shake it from the trees, and the generation that planted the trees will have to eat the bitter fruit.”

Leicht shunned the society of the ultramontanes and stole away.

Presently Spitzkopf appeared with the ticket.

”Your ticket is filled out. Come and sign your name to it.” Schwefel was again standing near the entrance, and he again beckoned the laborer to approach. ”I am pacified. You may now continue working for me.”

Carl and Seraphin returned to the Palais Greifmann. Louise received them with numerous questions. The banker related what had pa.s.sed; Gerlach strode restlessly through the apartment.

”The most curious spectacle must have been yourself,” said the young lady. ”Just fancy you on the rostrum at the 'Key of Heaven'! And very likely the ungrateful ultramontanes would not so much as applaud.”

”Beg pardon, they did, miss!” a.s.sured Seraphin. ”They applauded and cried bravo.”

”Really? Then I am proud of a brother whose maiden speech produced such marvellous effects. May be we shall read of it in the daily paper.

Everybody will be surprised to hear of the banker Greifmann making a speech at the 'Key of Heaven.'” Carl perceived the irony and stroked his forehead.

”But what can you be pondering over, Mr. Seraphin?” cried she to him.