Chapter 21
Section 41 and 42 of 100% The Story of a Patriot by Upton Sinclair. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Section 41 So Nell and Peter settle down to work out the details of their frame-up of Joe Angel and Pat McCormick.
Peter must get a bunch of them together, and get them to talking about bombs and killing And then he must slip a note into the pockets of all who showed interest, calling them to meet for a real conspiracy. Nell would write the notes, so that no one could fasten the job on to Peter. She pulled out a pencil and a little pad from her handbag and began,
If you really believe in a bold stroke for the workers' rights, meet me. And then she stopped. Where? In the studios, put in Peter. And Nell wrote,
In the studios? Is that enough? Room 17. Peter knew that this was the room of Nikitin, a Russian painter who called himself an anarchist. So Nell wrote,
Room 17. And after further discussion she added, Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. No names and no talk. Action!
This time was set because Peter recollected that there was to be a gathering of the Wobblies in their headquarters this very evening. It was to be a business meeting, but of course these fellows never got together very long without starting the subject of tactics. There was a considerable element among them who were dissatisfied with what they called
the supine attitude of the organization and were always arguing for action. Peter was sure he would be able to get some of them interested in the idea of a dynamite conspiracy. As it turned out, Peter had no trouble at all. The subject was started without his having to put in a word.
Were the workers to be driven like sheep to the slaughter and the Wobblies not to make one move? So asked the blue-eyed angel, vehemently, and added that if they were going to move, American City was as good a place as any. He had talked with enough of the rank and file to realize that they were ready for action.
All they needed was a battle cry and an organization to guide them. Henderson, the big lumberjack, spoke up. That was just the trouble. You couldn't get an organization for such a purpose. The authorities would get spies among you.
They would find out what you were doing and drive you underground. Well, cried Joe, we'll go underground. Yes, agreed the other, but then your organization goes bust. Nobody knows who to trust. Everybody's accusing the rest of being a spy.
Hell, said Joe Angel, I've been in jail for the movement. I'll take my chances of anybody's calling me a spy. What I'm not going to do is to sit down and see the workers driven to hell because I'm so damn careful about my precious organization. When others objected, Angel rushed on still more vehemently.
Suppose they did fail in a mass uprising. Suppose they were driven to assassination and terrorism. At least they would teach the exploiters a lesson and take a little of the joy out of their lives. Peter thought it would be a good idea for him to pose as a conservative just now.
Do you really think the capitalists would give up from fear? He asked. And the other answered, you bet I do. I tell you if we'd made it understood that every congressman who voted this country into war would be sent to the front trenches, our country would still be at peace.
But put in Peter deftly, it ain't the congressmen. It's people higher up than them. You bet, put in Gus, the Swedish sailor. You bet you. I name you one dozen big fellows in this country.
You make it clear if we don't get peace they all get killed. We get peace all right. So Peter had things where he wanted them. Who are those fellows? he asked, and got the crowd arguing over names.
Of course they didn't argue very long before somebody mentioned Nels Ackerman, who was venomously hated by the Reds because he had put up a hundred thousand dollars of the anti-Goober fund. Peter pretended not to know about Nels, and Jerry Rudd, a blanket stiff, whose head was still sore from being cracked open in a recent harvester's strike, remarked that by Jesus
if they put a few fellows like that in the trenches there'd be some pacifists in America sure enough all right. It seemed almost as if Joe Angel had come there to back up Peter's purpose. What we want, said he, is a few fellows to fight as hard for themselves as they fight for the capitalists.
Yes, assented Henderson grimly, we're all so good we wait till our masters tell us we can kill. That was the end of the discussion, but it seemed quite enough to Peter. He watched his chance, and one by one he managed to slip his little notes into the coat pockets of Joe Angel, Jerry Rudd, Henderson, and Gus the sailor.
And then Peter made his escape, trembling with excitement. The great dynamite conspiracy was on. They must be got rid of, he was whispering to himself. They must be got rid of by any means. It's my duty I'm doing.
Section 42. Peter had an appointment to meet Nell on a street corner at eleven o'clock that same night, and when she stepped off the streetcar, Peter saw that she was carrying a suitcase. Did you get your job done? she asked quickly, and when Peter answered in the affirmative she added, Here's your
bomb. Peter's jaw fell. He looked so frightened that she hastened to reassure him. It wouldn't go off, it was only the makings of a bomb, three sticks of dynamite and some fuses and part of a clock.
The dynamite was wrapped carefully, and there was no chance of its exploding, if he didn't drop it. But Peter wasn't much consoled. He had had no idea that Nell would go so far, or that he would actually have to handle dynamite. He wondered where and how she had got it, and wished to God he was out of this thing.
But it was too late now, of course. Said Nell, You've got to get this suitcase into the headquarters, and you've got to get it there without anybody seeing you. They'll be shut up pretty soon, won't they? We locked up when we left, said Peter.
And who has the key? Grady, the secretary. There's no way you can get it? I can get into the room, said Peter quickly. There's a fire escape, and the window isn't tight.
Some of us that know about it have got in that way when the place was locked. All right, said Nell, we'll wait a bit. We mustn't take chances of anyone coming back. They started to stroll along the street, Nell still carrying the suitcase, as if distrusting the state of Peter's nerves.
Meantime, she explained, I've got two pieces of paper that we've got to plant in the room, ones to be torn up and thrown into the trash basket. It's supposed to be part of a letter about some big plan that's to be pulled off, and it's signed Mac. That's for McCormick, of course.
I had to type it, not having any sample of his handwriting. The other piece is a drawing. There's no marks to show what it is, but of course the police will soon find out. It's a plan of old Ackerman's home, and there's a cross mark showing his sleeping porch. Now, what we want to do is to fix this on McCormick.
Is there anything in the room that belongs to him? Peter thought, and at last remembered that in the bookshelves were some books which had been donated by McCormick, and which had his name written in. That was the trick, exclaimed Nell. They would hide the paper in one of these books, and when the police made a thorough
search they would find it. Nell asked what was in these books, and Peter thought, and remembered that one was a book on sabotage. Put the paper in that, said Nell. When the police find it, the newspapers will print the whole book.
Peter's knees were trembling so that he could hardly walk, but he kept reminding himself that he was a he-man, a 100% American, and that in these times of war every patriot must do his part. His part was to help rid the country of these reds, and he must not flinch. They made their way to the old building in which the IWW headquarters were located, and
Peter climbed up on the fence and swung over to the fire escape, and Nell very carefully handed the suitcase to him, and Peter opened the damaged window and slipped into the room. He knew just where the cupboard was, and quickly stored the suitcase in the corner and piled some odds and ends of stuff in front of it, and threw an old piece of canvas over it. He took out of his right-hand pocket a typewritten letter, and tore it into small pieces and
threw them into the trash basket. Then he took out of his left-hand pocket the other paper with the drawing of Ackerman's house. He went to the bookcase and with shaking fingers struck a match, picked out the little red-bound book entitled Sabotage, and stuck the paper inside, and put the book back in place.
Then he climbed out on the fire escape and dropped to the ground, jumped over the fence, and hurried down the alley to where Nell was waiting for him. It's for my country, he was whispering to himself. End of sections 41 and 42.
