menu_book Chapter 12

100% The Story of a Patriot by Upton Sinclair. Sections 42 to 45. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 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 with anyone coming back. They started to stroll along the street, Nell still carrying the suitcase, as if distrusting the state of Peter's nerves. At the same time, she explained, I've got two pieces of paper that we've got to plant in the room, one's 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 from a cormac, 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 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. But 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 key 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 in 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. Section 43 The job was now complete except for getting McCormick to the rendezvous next morning. Nell had prepared and would mail in the post office a special delivery letter addressed to McCormick's home.

This would be delivered about seven o'clock in the morning and inside was a typewritten note as follows. Mac, come to room 17 of the studios at eight in the morning. Very important. Our plan is all ready.

My part is done. Joe Nell figured that McCormick would take this to be a message from Angel. He wouldn't know what it was about, but he'd be all the more certain to come and find out. The essential thing was that the raid by the detectives must occur the very minute

the conspirators got together, for as soon as they compared notes they would become suspicious and might scatter at once. McGivney must have his men ready, he must be notified, and have plenty of time to get them ready. But there was a serious objection to this.

If McGivney had time, he would demand a talk with Peter, and Nell was sure that Peter couldn't questioning at McGivney's hands. Peter needless to say agreed with her. His heart threatened to collapse at the thought of such an ordeal. What Peter really wanted to do was to quit the whole thing right there and then, but

he dared not say so. He dared not face the withering scorn of his confederate. Peter clenched his hands and set his teeth, and when he passed a streetlight he turned his face away so that Nell might not read the humiliating terror written there. But Nell read it all the same.

Nell believed that she was dealing with a quivering, pasty-faced coward, and proceeded on that basis. She worked out the plans, she gave Peter his orders, and she stuck by him to see that he carried them out. Peter had McGivney's home telephone number, which he was only supposed to use in the most

desperate emergency. He was to use it now, and tell McGivney that he had just caught some members of the IWW, with Pat McCormick as their leader, preparing to blow up some people with dynamite bombs. They had some bombs in a suitcase in their headquarters and were just starting out with other bombs in their pockets.

Peter must follow them, otherwise he would lose them, and some crime might be committed before he could interfere. McGivney must have his agents ready with automobiles to swoop down upon any place that Peter indicated. Peter would follow up the conspirators and phone McGivney again at the first opportunity he could find.

Nell was especially insistent that when Peter spoke to McGivney he must have only a moment to spare, no time for questions, and he must not stop to answer any. He must be in a state of trembling excitement, and Peter was sure that would be very easy. He rehearsed over to Nell every word he must say, and just how he was to cut short the conversation and hang up the receiver.

Then he went into an all-night drug store just around the corner from the headquarters and from a telephone booth called McGivney's home. It was an apartment house, and after some delay Peter heard the voice of his employer, surly with sleep. But Peter waked him up quickly.

Mr. McGivney, there's a dynamite plot. What? IWW, they've got bombs in a suitcase, they're starting off to blow somebody up tonight. By God, what do you mean, who? I don't know yet.

I only heard part of it, and I've got to go. They're starting. I've got to follow them. I may lose them, and it'll be too late. You hear me?

I've got to follow them. I hear you. What do you want me to do? I'll phone you again the first chance I get. You have your men ready, a dozen of them.

Have automobiles, so you can come quick. You get me? Yes, but I can't talk any more. I may lose them. I haven't a second.

You be at your phone, and have your men ready. Everything ready. You get me? Yes, but listen, man. You sure you're not mistaken?

Yes, yes, I'm sure, cried Peter, his voice mounting in excitement. They've got dynamite, I tell you. Everything. It's a man named... Nelson.

Nelson what? The man they're going to kill. I've got to go now. You get ready. Goodbye.

And Peter hung up the receiver. He had got so excited over the part he was playing that he sprang up and ran out of the drug store as if he really had to catch up with some IWW conspirators carrying a dynamite bomb. But there was Nell, and they strolled down the street again.

They came to a small park and sat on one of the benches because Peter's legs would no longer hold him up. Nell walked about to make sure there was no one on any of the other benches. Then she came back and rehearsed the next scene with Peter. They must go over it most carefully, because before long the time was coming when Peter

wouldn't have Nell to coach him and must be prepared to stand on his own legs. Peter knew that, and his legs failed him. He wanted to back down and declare that he couldn't go ahead with it. He wanted to go to McGivney and confess everything. Nell divined what was going on in his soul and wished to save him the humiliation of

having it known. She sat close to him on the bench and put her hand on his as she talked to him, and presently Peter felt a magic thrill stealing over him. He ventured to put his arm about Nell and to get still more of this delicious sensation. And Nell permitted the embraces.

For the first time she even encouraged them. Peter was a hero now. He was undertaking a bold and desperate venture. He was going to put it through like a man and win Nell's real admiration. Our country's at war! she exclaimed.

And these devils are stopping it. So pretty soon Peter was ready to face the whole world. Peter was ready to go himself and blow up the king of American city with a dynamite bomb. In that mood he stayed through the small hours of the morning sitting on the bench clasping

his girl in his arms and wishing she would give a little more time to heeding his love-making and less to making him recite his lessons. Section 44 So the day began to break and the birds to sing. The sun rose on Peter's face gray with exhaustion from the Irish apple's in Nell's cheeks,

badly faded. But the time for action had come and Peter went off to watch McCormick's home until seven o'clock when the special delivery letter was due to arrive. It came on time and Peter saw McCormick come out of the house and set forth in the direction of the studios.

It was too early for the meeting so Peter figured that he would stop to get his breakfast and sure enough Mac turned into a little dairy lunch and Peter hastened to the nearest telephone and called his boss. Mr. McGivney, he said, I lost those fellas last night but now I got them again. They decided not to do anything till today.

They're having a meeting this morning and we've got a chance to nab them all. Where demanded McGivney. Room 17 in the studios. But don't let any of your men go near there till I make sure the right fellas are in. Listen here Peter Gudge, cried McGivney.

Is this straight goods? My God, cried Peter, what do you take me for? I tell you they've got loads of dynamite. What have they done with it? They've got some in their headquarters.

About the rest I don't know. They carried it off and I lost them last night. But then I found a note in my pocket. They were inviting me to come in. My God, exclaimed the rat-faced man.

We've got the whole thing I tell you. Have you got your men ready? Yes. Well then, have them come to the corner of 7th and Washington streets and you come to 8th and Washington.

Meet me there just as quick as you can. I get you, was the answer and Peter hung up and rushed off to the appointed rendezvous. He was so nervous that he had to sit on the steps of a building. As time passed and McGivney didn't appear, wild imaginings began to torment him. Maybe McGivney hadn't understood him correctly.

Or maybe his automobile might break down. Or maybe his telephone might have got out of order at precisely the critical moment. He and his men would arrive too late. They would find the trap sprung and the prey escaped. Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. At last an automobile rushed up the street and McGivney stepped out and the automobile sped on. Peter got McGivney's eye and then stepped back into the shelter of a doorway.

McGivney followed. Have you got them? He cried. I don't know, chattered Peter. They said they were coming at eight.

Let me see that note, commanded McGivney. So Peter pulled out one of Nell's notes, which he had saved for himself. If you really believe in a bold stroke for the workers' rights, meet me in the studios, room 17, tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. No names and no talk.

Action. You found that in your pocket? Demanded the other. Yes, sir. And you've no idea who put it there?

No, but I think Joe Angel. McGivney looked at his watch. You've got twenty minutes yet, he said. You got the dicks? Asked Peter.

A dozen of them. What's your idea now? Peter stammered out his suggestions. There was a little grocery store just across the street from the entrance to the studio building.

Peter would go in there and pretend to get something to eat and would watch through the window and the moment he saw the right men come in, he would hurry out and signal to who would be in a drug store at the next corner. McGivney must keep out of sight himself because the Reds knew him as one of McGuffey's agents. It wasn't necessary to repeat anything twice.

McGivney was keyed up and ready for business and Peter hurried down the street and stepped into the little grocery store without being observed by anyone. He ordered some crackers and cheese and seated himself on a box by the window and pretended to eat. But his hands were trembling so that he could hardly get the food into his mouth.

And this was just as well because his mouth was dry with fright and crackers and cheese are articles of diet not adapted to such a condition. He kept his eyes glued on the dingy doorway of the old studio building and presently, hurrah, he saw McCormick coming down the street. The Irish boy turned into the building and a couple of minutes later came Gus the sailor

And before another five minutes had passed, here came Joe Angel and Henderson. They were walking quickly, absorbed in conversation, and Peter could imagine he heard them talking about those mysterious notes and who could be the writer and what the devil could they mean. Peter was now wild with nervousness. He was afraid somebody in the grocery store would notice him and he made desperate efforts

to eat the crackers and cheese and scattered the crumbs all over himself and over the floor. Should he wait for Jerry Rudd or should he take those he had already? He had got up and started for the door when he saw the last of his victims coming down the street. Jerry was walking slowly and Peter couldn't wait until he got inside.

A car was passing and Peter took the chance to slip out and bolt for the drug store. Before he had got halfway there, McGivney had seen him and was on the run to the next corner. Peter waited only long enough to see a couple of automobiles come whirling down the street, packed solid with husky detectives. Then he turned off and hurried down a side street.

He managed to get a couple of blocks away and then his nerves gave way entirely and he sat down on the curb stone and began to cry, just the way little Jenny had cried when he told her he couldn't marry her. People stopped to stare at him and one benevolent old gentleman came up and tapped him on the shoulder and asked what the trouble was.

Peter between his tear-stained fingers gasped, My mother died. And so they let him alone and after a while he got up and hurried off again. Section 45 Peter was now in a state of utter funk.

He knew that he would have to face McGivney and he just couldn't do it. All he wanted was Nell and Nell, knowing that he would want her, had agreed to be in the park at half past eight. She had warned him not to talk to a soul until he had talked to her. Meantime she had gone home and renewed her Irish roses with French rouge and restored

her energy with coffee and cigarettes and now she was waiting for him, smiling serenely, as fresh as any bird or flower in the park that summer morning. She asked him in even tones how things had gone and when Peter began to stammer that he didn't think he could face McGivney she proceeded to build up his courage once more. She let him put his arms about her and even there in broad daylight she whispered to him

to get himself together, to be a man and worthy of her. What had he to be afraid of anyway? They hadn't a single thing on him and there was no possible way they could get anything. His hands were clean all the way through and all he had to do was stick it out. He must make up his mind in advance that no matter what happened he would never break

down, he would never vary from the story he had rehearsed with her. She made him go over the story again, how on the previous evening at the gathering in the IWW headquarters they had talked about killing Nelson Ackerman as a means of bringing the war to an end. And after the talk he had heard Joe Angel whisper to Jerry Rudd that he had the makings

of a bomb already. He had a suitcase full of dynamite stored there in the closet and he and Pat McCormick had been planning to pull off something that very night. Peter had gone out but had watched outside and had seen Angel, Henderson, Rudd and Gus come out.

Peter had noticed that Angel's pockets were stuffed and had assumed that they were going to do their dynamiting so he had phoned McGivney from the drugstore. By this phoning he had missed the crowd and then he had been ashamed and afraid to tell McGivney and had spent the night wandering in the park. But early in the morning he had found the note and had understood that it must have

been slipped into his pocket and that the conspirators wanted him to come in on their scheme. That was all except for three or four sentences or fragments of sentences which Peter had overheard between Joe Angel and Jerry Rudd. Nell made him learn these sentences by heart and she insisted that he must not under any

circumstances try to remember or be persuaded to remember anything further. At last Peter was adjudged ready for the ordeal and went to room 427 in the American house and threw himself on the bed. He was so exhausted that once or twice he dozed. But then he would think of some new question that McGivney might ask him and would start

into wakefulness. At last he heard a key turn and started up. There entered one of the detectives, a man named Hammett. Hello, Gudge, said he. The boss wants you to get arrested.

Arrested? exclaimed Peter. Good Lord! He had a sudden swift vision of himself shot up in a cell with those reds and forced to listen to their hard luck stories.

Well, said Hammett, we're arresting all the reds and if we skip you they'll be suspicious. You better go somewhere right away and get caught. Peter saw the wisdom of this and after a little thought he chose the home of Miriam Jankovic. She was a real red and didn't like him. But if he was arrested in her home she would have to like him and it would tend to make

him solid with the left wingers. He gave the address to Hammett and added, You better come as soon as you can because she may kick me out of the house. Ha! That's all right, replied the other with a laugh.

Tell her the police are after you and ask her to hide you. So Peter hurried over to the Jewish quarter of the city and knocked on a door in the top story of a tenement house. The door was opened by a stout woman with her sleeves rolled up and her arms covered with soap suds.

Yes, Miriam was in. She was out of a job just now, said Mrs. Jankovic. They had fired her because she talked socialism. Miriam entered the room, giving the unexpected visitor a cold stare that said as plain as words,

Jenny Todd. But this changed at once when Peter told her that he had been to IWW headquarters and found the police in charge. They had made a raid and claimed to have discovered some kind of plot. Fortunately Peter had seen the crowd outside and had got away.

Miriam took him into an inside room and asked him a hundred questions which he could not answer. He knew nothing except that he had been to a meeting at headquarters the night before and this morning he had gone there to get a book and had seen the crowd and run. Half an hour later came a bang on the door and Peter dived under the bed.

The door was burst open and he heard angry voices commanding and vehement protests from Miriam and her mother. To judge from the sounds, the men began throwing the furniture this way and that. Suddenly a hand came under the bed and Peter was grabbed by the ankle and hauled forth to confront four policemen in uniform.

It was an awkward situation because apparently these policemen hadn't been told that Peter was a spy. The boobs thought that they were getting a real dynamiter. One grabbed each of Peter's wrists and another kept him and Miriam covered with a revolver while the fourth proceeded to go through his pockets looking for bombs.

When they didn't find any they seemed vexed and shook him and hustled him about and made clear they would be glad of some pretexts to batter his head. Peter was careful not to give them such a pretext. He was frightened and humble and kept declaring that he didn't know anything. He hadn't done any harm.

We'll see about that, young fellow, said the officer as he snapped the handcuffs on Peter's wrists. Then while one of them remained on guard with the revolver the other three proceeded to ransack the place, pulling out the bureau drawers and kicking the contents this way and that, grabbing every scrap of writing they could find and jamming it into a couple

of suitcases. There were books with red bindings and terrifying titles but no bombs and no weapons more dangerous than a carving knife and Miriam's tongue. The girl stood there with her black eyes flashing lightnings and told the police exactly what she thought of them.

She didn't know what had happened in the IWW headquarters but she knew that whatever it was, it was a frame-up and she dared them to arrest her and almost succeeded in her fierce purpose. However, the police contented themselves with kicking over the wash tub and its contents and took their departure leaving Mrs. Yankovitch screaming in the midst of a flood.

End of sections 42 to 45