Chapter 9
It had been arranged for Guffey that at the end of a week Peter was to have a secret meeting with one of the chief detectives' men. So Peter told the girls that he was tired of being a prisoner in the house and must get some fresh air. Oh, please, Mr. Gudge, don't take such a chance," cried Sadie, her thin, anxious face suddenly
growing more anxious and thin. Don't you know this house is being watched? They are just hoping to catch you out alone. It would be the last of you. I'm not so important as that," said Peter.
But she insisted that he was, and Peter was pleased in spite of his boredom. He liked to hear her insist upon his importance. Oh, she cried. Don't you know yet how much depends on you as a witness for the Gouber defense? This case is of concern to millions of people all over the world.
It is a test case, Mr. Gudge. Are they to be allowed to murder the leaders of the working class without a struggle? No, we must show them that there is a great movement, a world-wide awakening of the workers, a struggle for freedom for the wage slaves. But Peter could stand no more of this.
All right," he said, suddenly interrupting Sadie's eloquence, I suppose it's my duty to stay even if I die of consumption, being shut up without any fresh air. He would play the martyr, which was not so hard, for he was one and looked like one, with his thin, one-sided little figure and his shabby clothes.
Both Sadie and Jenny gazed at him with admiration and sighed with relief. But later on Peter thought of an idea. He could go out at night, he told Sadie, and slip out the back way so that no one would see him. He would not go into crowds or brightly lighted streets, so there would be no chance of his being recognized. There was a fellow he absolutely had to see who owed him some money.
It was way over on the other side of the city. That was why he rejected Jenny's offer to accompany him. So that evening Peter climbed a back fence and stole through a neighbor's chicken-yard and got away. He had a fine time ducking and dodging in the crowds, making sure that no one was trailing him to his secret rendezvous,
who might chance to be suspicious of his comradeship. It was in the American house, an obscure hotel, and Peter was to take the elevator to the fourth floor without speaking to anyone and to tap three times on the door of room 427. Peter did so, and the door opened and he slipped in,
and there he met Jerry McGivney with the face of a rat. Well, what have you got? demanded McGivney, and Peter sat down and started to tell. With eager fingers he undid the amateur sewing in the lining of his coat, and pulled out his notes with the names and descriptions of people who had come to see him. McGivney glanced over them quickly.
Jesus, he said, what's the good of all this? Well, but they're reds, exclaimed Peter. I know, said the other, but what of that? We can go hear them spout at meetings any night. We got membership lists of these different organizations,
but what about the Goober case? Well, said Peter, they're agitating about it all the time. They've been printing stuff about me. Sure, we know that, said McGivney, and the hell of a fine story you gave them. You must have enjoyed hearing yourself talk, but what good does that do us?
But what do you want to know? cried Peter in dismay. We want to know their secret plans, said the other. We want to know what they're doing to get our witnesses. We want to know who it is that is selling us out. Who's the spy in the jail?
Didn't you find that out? No, said Peter. Nobody said anything about it. Good God, said the detective. Do you expect them to bring you things on a silver tray?
He began turning over Peter's notes again, and finally threw them on the bed in disgust. He began questioning Peter, and Peter's dismay turned to despair. He had not got a single thing that McGivney wanted. His whole week of sleuthing had been wasted.
The detective did not mince words. It's plain that you're a boob, he said, but such as you are, we've got to do the best we can with you. Now, put your mind on it and get it straight. We know who these reds are, and we know what they're teaching.
We can't send them to jail for that. What we want you to find out is the name of their spy, and who are the witnesses in the Guber case, and what they're going to say. But how can I find out things like that?
Cried Peter. You've got to use your wits, said McGivney, but I'll give you one tip. Get yourself a girl. A girl?
Cried Peter in wonder. Sure thing, said the other. That's the way we always work. Guffy says there's just three times when people tell their secrets.
The first is when they're drunk, and the second is when they're in love. Then McGivney stopped. Peter, who wanted to complete his education, inquired, And the third?
The third is when they're both drunk and in love, was the reply. And Peter was silent, smitten with admiration. This business of sleuthing was revealing itself as more complicated and more fascinating all the time.
Ain't you seen any girl you fancy in that crowd? Demanded the other. Well, it might be, said Peter shyly. You'd ought to be easy, continued the detective. Them reds are all free lovers, you know.
Free lovers? exclaimed Peter. How do you mean? Didn't you know about that? laughed the other.
Peter sat staring at him. All the women that Peter had ever known or heard of took money for their love. They either took it directly, or they took it in the form of automobile rides
and flowers and candy and tickets to the wang doodle things. Could it be that there were women who did not take money in either form, but whose love was entirely free? The detective assured him that such was the case.
They boast about it, he said. They think it's right. And to Peter, that seemed the most shocking thing he had yet heard about the reds. To be sure, when he thought it over,
he could see that it had some redeeming points. It was decidedly convenient from the point of view of the man. It was so much money in his pocket. If women chose to be that silly, and Peter found himself suddenly thinking
about little Jenny Todd, yes, she would be that silly. It was plain to see. She gave away everything she had, so of course she would be a free lover.
Peter went away from his rendezvous with McGivney, thrilling with a new and wonderful idea. You couldn't have got him to give up his job now. This sleuthing business was the real thing. It was late when Peter got home,
but the two girls were sitting up for him, and their relief at his safe return was evident. He noticed that Jenny's face expressed deeper concern than her sister's, and this gave him a sudden new emotion.
Jenny's breath came and went more swiftly because he had entered the room, and this affected his own breath in the same way. He had a swift impulse towards her, an entirely unselfish desire to reassure her
and relieve her anxiety. But with an instinctive understanding of the sex game, which he had not before known he possessed, he checked this impulse and turned instead to the older sister,
assuring her that nobody had followed him. He told an elaborate story, prepared on the way. He had worked for ten days for a fellow at Sowing Wood. Hard work, you bet.
And then the fellow had tried to get out of paying him. Peter had caught him at his home that evening and had succeeded in getting five dollars out of him and a promise of a few dollars more every week. That was to cover future visits to McGivney.
Section 18. Peter lay awake a good part of the night, thinking over this new job, that of getting himself a girl. He realized that for some time
he had been falling in love with little Jenny. But he wanted to be sane and practical. He wanted to use his mind in choosing a girl. He was after information, first of all. Then who had the most to give him?
He thought of Miss Nevins, who was secretary to Andrews, the lawyer. She would surely know more secrets than anyone else. But then Miss Nevins was an old maid, who wore spectacles and broad-toed shoes
and was evidently out of the question for lovemaking. Then he thought of Miss Standish, the tall blonde beauty who worked in an insurance office and belonged to the Socialist Party. She was a swell dresser,
and Peter would have been glad to have something like that to show off to McGivney and the rest of Goffey's men. But with the best efforts of his self-esteem, Peter could not imagine himself persuading Miss Standish to look at him.
There was a Miss Yankovitch, one of the real reds, who trained with the IWW. But she was a Jewess with sharp black eyes that clearly indicated a temper and frightened Peter. Also, he had a suspicion that she was interested in McCormick,
though of course with these free lovers you could never tell. But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jenny. He didn't know if Jenny knew many secrets, but surely she could find some out for him.
Once he got her for his own, he could use her to question others. And so Peter began to picture what love with Jenny would be like. She wasn't exactly what you would call swell,
but there was something about her that made him sure he needn't be ashamed of her. With some new clothes, she would be pretty, and she had grand manners. She had not shown the least fear of the rich ladies
who came to the house in their automobiles. Also, she knew an awful lot for a girl, even if most of what she knew wasn't so. Peter lost no time in setting to work at his new job. In the papers next morning
appeared the usual details from Flanders. Thousands of men being shot to pieces almost every hour of the day and night, a million men on each side locked in a ferocious combat that had lasted for weeks, that might last for months.
And sentimental little Jenny sat there with brimming eyes, talking about it while Peter ate his oatmeal in thin milk. And Peter talked about it, too, how wicked it was, and how they must stop it, he and Jenny together. He agreed with her now, he was a socialist.
And he went to see the housekeeper, who had been in the house for a long time, and told her she had converted him. Her eyes lighted up with joy, as if she had really done something to end the war.
They were sitting on the sofa, looking at the paper, and they were alone in the house. Peter suddenly looked up from the reading and said, very much embarrassed. But Comrade Jenny, yes, she said,
and looked at him with her frank gray eyes. He was being new to him. Comrade Jenny, he said, I don't know just how to say it, but I'm afraid I'm falling a little in love. Jenny drew back her hands,
then Peter heard her breath come quickly. Oh, Mr. Gudge, she exclaimed. I don't know, stammered Peter, I hope you won't mind. Oh, don't let's do that, she cried. Why not, Comrade Jenny?
And he added, I don't know as I can help it. Oh, we were having such a happy time, Mr. Gudge. I thought we were going to work for the cause. Well, but it won't interfere. Oh, but it does, it does.
It makes people unhappy. Then, and Peter's voice trembled, then you don't care the least bit for me, Comrade Jenny? She hesitated a moment. I don't know, she said, I hadn't thought.
And Peter's heart gave a leap inside him. It was the first time that any girl ever had to hesitate in answering that question for Peter. Something prompted him, just as if he had been doing this kind
of sleuthing all his life. He reached over and very gently took her hand. You do care just a little for me, he whispered. Oh, Comrade Gudge, she answered. And Peter said, call me Peter, please, please do.
Comrade Peter, she said, and there was a little catch in her throat. And Peter, looking at her, saw that her eyes were cast down. I know I'm not very much to love, he pleaded. I'm poor and obscure, I'm not good looking.
Oh, it isn't that, she cried. Oh, no, no, why should I think about such things? You are a comrade. Peter had known, of course, just how she would take this line of talk.
Nobody has ever loved me, he said sadly. Nobody cares anything about you when you're poor and have nothing to offer. I tell you that isn't it, she insisted. Please don't think that.
You are a hero. You have sacrificed for the cause and you are going on and become a leader. I hope so, said Peter modestly. But then, what is it, Comrade Jenny?
Why don't you care for me? She looked up at him and their eyes met and with a little sob in her voice she answered, I'm not well, Comrade Peter. I'm of no use.
It would be wicked for me to marry. Somewhere back in the depths of Peter where his inner self was crouching, it was as if a sudden douche of ice cold water were let down on him.
Marry? Who had said anything about marrying? Peter's reaction fitted the stock phrase of the comic papers, this is so sudden. But Peter was too clever to reveal such dismay.
He humored little Jenny saying, we don't have to marry right away. I could wait, if only I knew that you cared for me and some day when you get well. She shook her head sadly.
I'm afraid I'll never get really well and besides, neither of us have any money, Comrade Peter. Ah, there it was, money, always money. This free love was nothing but a dream. I could get a job, said Peter,
just like any other tame and conventional war. But you couldn't earn enough for the two of us, protested the girl and suddenly she sprang up. Oh, Comrade Peter, let's not fall in love with each other. Let's not make ourselves unhappy.
Let's work for the cause. Promise me that you will. Peter promised, but of course he had no remotest intention of keeping the promise. He was not only a detective, he was a man
and in both capacities, he wanted Comrade Jenny. And over the addressing of envelopes which he undertook with her, he would now and then steal love glances and Jenny knew now what these looks meant
and the faint flush would creep over her cheeks and down into her neck and throat. She was really very pretty when she was falling in love and Peter found his new job the most delightful one of his lifetime.
He watched carefully and noted the signs and was sure he was making no mistake. Before Sadie came back at suppertime, he had his arms about Comrade Jenny and was pressing kisses upon the lovely white throat
and Comrade Jenny was sobbing softly and her pleading with him to stop had grown faint and unconvincing. End of sections 17 and 18.
