The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot
and I must try to wake them up!”
Etienne's eyes opened wide. He did not in the least comprehend how he
could serve.
“I know you will not desert a friend, Etienne. I know you'll stand
behind me. I know you love the children. So be a brave man now!”
The next moment Etienne was so frightened that he feared he would drop
where he stood, because the young man raised his voice so that it rang
through the great hall and all eyes were turned that way.
“Your honor the mayor, and gentlemen; I am a stranger here. But I humbly
ask permission to address you.”
“If you are a witness in the police matter you will be called on in your
turn after the recess,” stated the mayor.
“I am not a witness in the police matter. I am here on other business.”
“There is no other business before this meeting.”
“But there should be, sir, for the business I have come on is a dreadful
matter. It is a matter of life and death.”
A hush fell on those in the chamber, and the mayor and his aldermen
leaned forward, staring apprehensively. They had been warned that there
were dangerous labor-agitators in the city. Many meetings had been
broken up by the police at the request of Colonel Dodd, president of
the Consolidated Water Company, and other employers had backed him. This
tall young man had startled them with his sudden outbreak.
“It is a matter, gentlemen, which concerns every man, woman, and child
in this city--vitally concerns them every hour of the day--every hour
they are awake. You say you have no other business now except this
silly police investigation. For God's sake, wake up and attend to real
business--save the people's lives. Here you are in session and here are
the people to listen.”
“State your complaint. Be very brief,” commanded the mayor.
But Walker Farr, it was plain, possessed craft as well as courage; he
realized that curiosity, properly tickled, will make men more patient in
listening.
“First, I want to call a witness. I am not known to this city. But I
have here a man whom many of you know, I'm sure, for he has stood out in
plain view of a street where many pass, and has worked there for thirty
years. It is Etienne Provancher.”
Several men laughed when Farr pushed the old man into view. There was a
murmured chorus of “Pickaroon.”
“It's for the children--the poor folks--for the memory of our little
girl,” hissed Farr in the old man's ear. “Will you go to your bed
to-night--the night of the day we buried her--knowing that--you are a
coward? These are only men. We must tell them so that they will know.
Speak! Tell them!” He set his firm clutch around the trembling old
Frenchman's arm and held him out where all could see.
“I do not know how to talk here--to so much man--to the lords of the
city,” stammered the miserable old man, licking his parched lips, scared
until all was black before his eyes.
The hush was profound. Men curved their palms at their ears, wondering
what old Pickaroon could have to say in City Hall.
“Remember what we have left up there--in the cemetery--the poor children
in their graves,” muttered Farr, again bending close to Etienne's ear.
Then, thus reminded, thus spurred, all his Gallic emotion bursting into
flame in him suddenly, the old man felt the desperate resolution that
often animates the humble and ignorant in great emergencies. The little
ones had been martyrs--why not he? That thought flashed through the
tumult in his brain.
“Yes, since you all hark for me to speak I will speak,” he declared.
“Messieurs, I am a poor man. Not wise. It is very hard for me to talk
to you. But I have been to-day up where the little children are bury--so
many of them, with their playthings on the graves. I went to take there
anodder little child, poor baby girl. I leave her there with the odder
ones--so very lonesome all of them--their modders cannot sing them to
sleep any more.”
“This is irregular,” cried the mayor. “What do you want?”
“Nottings for maself,” cried Etienne, passionately shrill in his tone
now. “But I have to ask you, masters of this city, how much longer shall
you send poison down the water-pipes to the poor folks and the
children in the tenement blocks? It is poison that has kill our little
Rosemarie--and all her life ahead! The doctor say so--and he say I
cannot understand about the rich man, why he do it. But I understand
that the childs are dying. I say you shall not sent that water--if you
do send it I will bring here the fadders who have lost their babies and
the modders of the babies.” His lips curled back in his excitement
and froth flecked his mouth. “Sacred name of God! We shall tear that
poison-factory up from the ground with our bare hands!”
“Officer, put that man out of the room,” ordered the mayor.
“Won't you listen to us?” shouted Farr. “You are the chief magistrate of
this city. You and these aldermen are the guardians of the people. Are
you going to sit there in those cushioned chairs and let a crowd of rich
assassins murder the poor people?”
Men hissed that speech.
The mayor rapped his gavel furiously.
“This is no matter to be brought up here at this time. You're slandering
honorable men, sir! We have other business.”
“Can there be any other business as important as this?”
“Put both of these men out, officer.”
“Are you and these aldermen owned by the water syndicate, as report says
you are?” cried Farr. “Look here, you men, men in this room and at the
door! This is your City Hall--these aldermen are elected by your votes.
Aren't you going to demand that the people be heard in this matter?
Don't you know that typhoid fever is killing off the children in this
city--and that poison water is the cause of it?”
“It's rotten stuff to drink--we all know that,” cried a voice. “But
there'll have to be a change in politics in this state before they'll
give us anything else.”
Two policemen elbowed their rough way to Farr and Etienne.
“The big chap is right--it's about time to have this water question
opened up, Mr. Mayor,” called another voice.
“Open it up in a legal and proper way, then,” snapped the mayor. “Go to
the law.”
“That's it--go to the law--go to the law,” jeered another. “And we'll
all be dead and the lawyers will have all our money before the thing is
decided.”
There were more hisses.
But an outburst of indorsing voices indicated that many men in that
chamber understood more or less of the political management behind the
Consolidated Water Company.
“If a thing is wrong, change it. What better law do you need than
that?” asked Farr, disregarding an officer's thumb that jerked imperious
gesture.
“When you know a little more law you won't be ignoramus enough to come
into a public hearing and try to break it up. You'd better go and study
law,” said the indignant mayor. He pounded his gavel to indicate that
the recess was over.
“I'll take your advice,” replied Farr, towering over the policeman and
vibrating his finger at his Honor. “If you hadn't found law so handy
in your own case you wouldn't forget yourself in your excitement and
recommend it to others. If we've got to fight the devil we'd better use
his weapons.”
Men shouted approval all around him.
“Clear the room,” ordered the mayor. “Everybody out!”
“Keep your hands off,” Farr advised the officer nearest him. “I'll go
without any help. I have found out that I'm only wasting my time in this
place.”
In the corridor men pressed around him. Some of them insisted on shaking
his hand. Others shouted commendation. Still others exhibited only frank
curiosity in the stalwart stranger. And others were clamorously hostile.
“By gad! If you wanted to start something you took the right way to do
it,” affirmed one of the throng.
“You showed good courage,” declared an elderly man with an earnest face.
“Some of the rest of us have tried to do something in the past. But
those who didn't have much power were either kept out or kicked out
of any office in city government or the legislature--and those who did
amount to something were gobbled up by the machine. The machine can pay.
Working for the people isn't very profitable. So I'm afraid you won't
get very far.”
“You needn't worry about that chap not getting along all right,”
remarked one of the group--but his indorsement was ironical. “He's a
construction boss for the Consolidated, and he went into that hearing
to start some kind of a back-fire. Shrewd operators--the Consolidated
folks.”
The men about Farr pulled away from him and there was considerable
malicious laughter in the crowd.
“So we see the game, even if we don't catch on to the meaning of it just
now,” said the observant one.
Farr squared his shoulders. They stared at him with fresh interest and
a bit of additional respect. They saw in him something more than a
mere popular agitator--a disturber of a municipal hearing; he must be
a trusted agent of the great political machine, executing a secret
mission.
“You're right--I have been working for the Consolidated,” he admitted in
tones that all could hear.
“Move on! Get outdoors! Clear this corridor--all of you,” shouted a
captain of police who had come hurrying up from down-stairs and had
taken command of the situation.
The crowd began to surge on, following Farr.
“I went to work digging in their trenches because I struck this town on
my uppers and needed the money--needed it quick. I was promoted to be a
boss. But I want to tell you now, gentlemen, that I do not work for the
Consolidated.”
“I reckon you're right,” said somebody. “I just overheard a man
telephoning to the superintendent about you--and if I'm any judge of a
conversation you are _not_ working for the Consolidated. Not any more!”
“I'm sorry you're going to leave the city,” lamented the elderly man.
“We need chaps like you.”
“I'm not going to leave the city.”
“You might just as well,” counseled one of the bystanders, “after what
you said in that hearing. If you get a job in this city after this
you'll be a good one!”
When they were outside City Hall, Farr waited for a moment on the steps.
Etienne, still trembling after that most terrible experience of his
placid life, pressed close at the young man's side.
“Will all you gentlemen please take a good look at me so that
you'll know me when you see me again?” invited the ex-boss for the
Consolidated.
They stared at him. His face was well lighted by the arc-light under the
arch of the door.
“I am not a labor-leader, nor a walking delegate, nor a politician, nor
an anarchist. You men go home and unscrew the faucets in your kitchens,
take a good sniff, and pull the slime out of the valve. Then remember
that the mayor and aldermen of this city wouldn't listen to me to-night
in the Hall that the tax-payer's money built. Also remember that a
little later they will listen to me. Gentlemen, my name is Walker Farr.
I'm going to stay here in this city. Good night.”
XII
AT THE FOOT OF THE THRONE
As usual at nine-thirty in the afternoon, the big tower clock on the
First National Bank building in the city of Marion pointed the finger of
its minute-hand straight downward.
As usual, at this hour, as he had done for many years, Colonel Symonds
Dodd eased himself down from the equipage that brought him to his
office. This day the vehicle was his limousine car.
In view of the fact that Colonel Dodd owned the First National block the
big clock seemed to point its finger at him with the bland pride of a
flunky in a master. It seemed to say, “Behold! The great man is here!”
Colonel Dodd was never embarrassed when fingers were pointed at him
wherever he went. If a man is lord of finance and politics in his state
he expects to be pointed out.
When he stepped from his car he carried in his arms, with great