Part 61 (1/2)
”Yes,” spoke the big voice of Grant Adams for the first time since Fenn made his announcement, ”we can strike--that's one thing we can do. Why,”
he continued, full of emotion, ”I could no more hold those men down there against a strike when they hear this than I could fly. They'll have to fight for this right, gentlemen!”
”Be calm now, Grant,” piped the Doctor; ”don't go off half c.o.c.ked.”
Grant's eyes flared--his nose dilated and the muscles of his heavy jaw worked and knotted. He answered in a harsh voice:
”Oh, I'll be calm all right, Doctor. I'm going down in the morning and plead for peace. But I know my people. I can't hold 'em.”
Those in the room stood for a moment in dazed silence; then the Doctor and Brotherton, realizing the importance of further discussion that night, soon withdrew from the room, leaving d.i.c.k voluble in his grief and Lida, his wife, stony and speechless beside him. She shook no sympathizing hand, not even Grant's, as the Bowmans left for home. But she climbed out of the chair and down the stairs on tired, heavy feet.
In the morning there was turmoil in the Valley. In the _Times_ Jared Thurston, with the fatuous blundering which characterizes all editors of papers like his, printed the news that little Ben Bowman would be denied his rights, as a glorious victory over the reformers. In an editorial, written in old Joe Calvin's best style, the community was congratulated upon having one judge at last who would put an end to the socialistic foolishness that had been written by demagogues on the state statute books, and hinting rather broadly that the social labor program adopted by the people at the last election through the direct vote would go the way of the fool statute under which the Bowman lad hoped to cheat the courts of due process of law.
In vain did Grant Adams try to rally carpenters to the trocha. He pleaded with the men to raise a special fund to take little Ben's case through the federal courts; but he failed.
The Wahoo Valley saw in the case of little Ben Bowman the drama of greed throttling poverty, all set forth in stark, grim terms that no one could question. The story appealed directly to the pa.s.sions of the Valley and the Valley's voice rose in the demand to resort to its last weapon of defense. The workers felt that they must strike or forfeit their self-respect. And day by day the _Times_, gloating at the coming downfall in Van Dorn's program of labor-repression, threw oil on the flaming pa.s.sions of the Valley, so labor raged and went white hot. The council of the Wahoo Valley Trades Workers came together to vote on the strike. Every unit of seven was asked to meet and vote. Grant sat in his office with the executive committee a day and a night counting the slowly returning votes. Grant had influence enough to make them declare emphatically for a peaceful strike. But the voice of the Valley was for a strike. The spring was at its full. The little garden plots were blooming. The men felt confident. A conference of the officials of the council was called to formulate the demands. Grant managed to put off the strike until the hearing on the temporary injunction, June 16, was held. But the men drew up their demands and were ready for the court decision which they felt would be finally against them.
The Wahoo Valley was stirred deeply by the premonitions of the coming strike. It was proud of its record for industrial peace, and the prospect of war in the Valley overturned all its traditions.
Market Street had its profound reaction, too. Market Street and the Valley, each in its own way, felt the dreaded turmoil coming, knew what commercial disaster the struggle meant, but Market Street was timid and powerless and panic-stricken. Yet life went on. In the Valley there were births and deaths and marriages, and on the hill in Harvey, Mrs. Bedelia Nesbit was working out her plans to make over the Nesbit house, while Lila, her granddaughter, was fluttering about in the seventh Heaven, for she was living under the same sky and sun and stars that bent over Kenyon, her lover, home from Boston for the Morton-Adams wedding. He might be hailed as a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p once or twice a day, if she managed to time her visits to Market Street properly, or he might be seen from the east veranda of her home at the proper hour, and there was a throb of joy that blotted out all the rest of the pale world. There was one time; two times indeed they were, and a hope of a third, when slipping out from under the shadow of her grandmother's belligerent plumes, Lila had known the actual fleeting touch of hands; the actual feasting of eyes and the quick rapture of meeting lips at a tryst. And when Mrs. Nesbit left for Minneapolis to consult an architect, and to be gone two weeks--Harvey and the Valley and the strike slipped so far below the sky-line of the two lovers that they were scarcely aware that such things were in the universe.
Kenyon could not see even the grim cast of decision mantling Grant's face. Day by day, while the votes a.s.sembled which ordered the strike, the deep abiding purpose of Grant Adams's soul rose and stood ready to master him. He and the men seemed to be coming to their decision together. As the votes indicated by a growing majority their determination, in a score of ways Grant made it evident to those about him, that for him time had fruited; the day was ready and the hour at hand for his life plans to unfold. Those nearest him knew that the season of debate for Grant Adams had pa.s.sed. He was like one whose sails of destiny are set and who longs to put out into the deep and let down his nets. So he pa.s.sed the long days impatiently until the hearing of the injunction in little Ben's suit arrived, and every day burned some heavier line into his face that recorded the presence of the quenchless fire of purpose in his heart.
A smiling, affable man was Judge Thomas Van Dorn in his court the morning of June 16. He had his ticket bought for Chicago and a seat in the great convention of his party a.s.sured. He walked through the court room, rather dapperly. He put his high silk hat on the bench beside him, by way of adding a certain air of easy informality to the proceedings.
His red necktie brought out every thin wrinkle in his burnished brown face and upon the pink brow threaded by a chain lightning of a scar. The old mushy, emotional voice of his youth and maturity had thickened, and he talked loudly. He listened to arguments of counsel. Young Joe Calvin, representing the Fuel Company, was particularly eloquent. Henry Fenn knew that his case was hopeless, but made such reply as he could.
”Well,” cut in the court before Fenn was off his feet at the close of his argument, ”there's nothing to your contention. The court is familiar with those cases, cited by counsel. Either the const.i.tution means what it says or it doesn't. This court is willing to subscribe to a fund to pay this Bowman child a just compensation. This is a case for charity and the company is always generous in its benevolence. The Socialists may have the state courts, and the people are doubtless crazy--but this court will uphold the const.i.tution. The injunction is made permanent.
The court stands adjourned.”
The crowd of laborers in the court room laughed in the Judge's face.
They followed Grant Adams, who with head bowed in thought walked slowly to the street car. ”Well, fellows,” said Grant, ”here's the end. As it stands now, the law considers steel and iron in machinery more sacred than flesh and blood. The court would have allowed them to appropriate money for machines without due process of law; but it enjoins them from appropriating money for flesh and blood.” He was talking to the members of the Valley Labor Council as they stood waiting for a car. ”We may as well miss a car and present our demands to the Calvins. The sooner we get this thing moving, the better.”
Ten minutes later the Council walked into the office of Calvin and Calvin. There sat Joseph Calvin, the elder, a ratty little man still, with a thin stringy neck and with a bald head. His small, mousy eyes blinked at the workmen. He was exceedingly polite. He admitted that he was attorney for the owners' a.s.sociation in the Valley, that he could if he chose speak for them in any negotiations they might desire to make with their employees, but that he was authorized to say that the owners were not ready to consider or even to receive any communication from the men upon any subject--except as individual employees might desire to confer with superintendents or foremen in the various mines and mills.
So they walked out. At labor headquarters in South Harvey, Nathan Perry came sauntering in.
”Well, boys--let's have your agreement--I think I know what it is. We're ready to sign.”
In an hour men were carrying out posters to be distributed throughout the Valley, signed by Grant Adams, chairman of the Wahoo Valley Trades Workers' Council. It read:
STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE
The managers of our mines and mills in the Wahoo Valley have refused to confer with representatives of the workers about an important matter. Therefore we order a general strike of all workers in the mines and mills in this District. Workers before leaving will see that their machines are carefully oiled, covered, and prepared to rest without injury. For we claim partners.h.i.+p interest in them, and should protect them and all our property in the mines and mills in this Valley. During this strike, we pledge ourselves.
To orderly conduct.
To keep out of the saloons.
To protect our property in the mines and mills.