Comrade Yetta Part 21

"Gee," the matron said with sudden, cringing respect. "Why didn't you tell me you had a pull?"

So Yetta was taken out of the Inferno, before her tired senses had fully waked up to its horrors. The warden's house was outside the prison. It had a pleasant lawn, close-clipped, its flower beds well tended, for the labor of the "trusties" was free. There was already a nurse for the children, and Yetta did not have anything to do. The yesterday's storm had been the end of winter, and an almost midsummer heat had fallen on New York. She spent most of her time on a rustic bench under a great elm. There was a fine open view across the busy river to the busier city.

The real nurse was sn.o.bbish and would not speak to her, which saved her from much foolish chatter. n.o.body paid any attention to her except the warden's three-year-old boy, who continually escaped from his nurse and tried to climb into Yetta's lap. They gave her good meals and a comfortable bed. It was somewhat unkind of them to jerk the baby out of Yetta's lap whenever he found his way there. But otherwise she was very well treated. The only restrictions they put on her was that she should not leave the lawn and should not read the papers. "It would give her a swelled head," the warden said. His prohibition had the advantage of keeping her from the excitement of contact with the strike.

Above everything else, Yetta needed rest and quiet to think. The first day she dozed. The second day her mind woke up. She had a fear that she would forget something. So many things had happened in the past month.

Ten days seemed to her a limitless time, so she began at the beginning.

Her earliest recollections were of the dingy little book-store and her father. The morning pa.s.sed in rearranging her memories of him. When they called her for supper, she had reached, in the review of her life, Rachel's first dance. Afterwards she sat in the little dormer window of her bedroom and looked out at the twilight falling over the city; she watched the lights on the river and the stars in their courses overhead and went over her acquaintance with Harry Klein.

She had learned a great deal during this month out of the shop. From words dropped here and there, from things she had seen, she had come to a clearer understanding of the thing she had escaped. She had thought she was in love with Harry Klein! She went to sleep realizing how hollow had been her conception of love. The word had a very different content now that she had seen Walter and Mabel together and had heard the gossip of the girls. The thought of two such people being in love seemed very wonderful to her.

After breakfast the next morning she took her seat again in the shade of the elm tree and, with her chin in her hands, pondered over the strike.

She had a remarkable memory for words and phrases. She could have given a full synopsis of all the speeches she had heard in that month. Most of the people who had talked at the meetings had tried to tell what the strike meant. She went over the various and often contradictory explanations, and, supplementing them with her own experience and observations, reached an interpretation of her own. Much of it came as a direct inheritance from her father. The two speakers who had influenced her most were Longman and Braun. With the former she believed that all those who loved liberty were under a sacred obligation to struggle for it. And Braun's straightforward, concise statement of social organization seemed to her reasonable. As soon as possible she wanted to get a chance to study Socialism.

Meanwhile the storm kicked up by her arrest was growing apace. That morning the papers contained an open letter which the Commissioner of Corrections had addressed to the ladies of the Woman's Trade Union League. He had been forced to this action, because the evening papers had published interviews with other strikers who had been in the workhouse. They gave impressive details of the nauseous place, of the rank food, the vermin, the dark cells, and the debased a.s.sociations. The Commissioner's letter was a dignified doc.u.ment. It had been written by his secretary. In a sweeping manner he denounced the accusations made by the strikers as malicious libel and referred the ladies of the Advisory Council and the public in general to page 213 of the last report of the Prison a.s.sociation, which gave just tribute to the modern sanitation, the wholesome dietary, and the healthy regime of the workhouse.

"In regard to the case of Miss Rayefsky, about whom this agitation has centred, the Commissioner begs to point out that he has no manner of responsibility over commitments. It is not within his province to pa.s.s judgment on the decisions of the courts. He must accept whomsoever is committed to his custody. In reply to his inquiry, the warden of the workhouse informs him that, instead of suffering the fantastic tortures which certain hysterical lawbreakers have tried to persuade the public are actualities in the workhouse, Miss Rayefsky has been detailed to the work of nurse to the warden's children, and is living--probably in greater comfort than she ever knew before--as a member of his household.

"As the Commissioner does not care to ask the public to take his word in preference to irresponsible newspaper stories, he invites the Woman's Trade Union League to appoint a committee to visit Miss Rayefsky in the workhouse and report to the public."

While Yetta was pondering over the meanings of strikes and industrial warfare, all New York was discussing her case and reading what various society ladies thought about the way their pet had been treated.

Pick-Axe lost his job as private detective and had to go back to highway robbery.

After lunch Yetta tackled the hardest problem of all--why had she tried to kill Pick-Axe? Instinctively she felt that Longman would understand.

But neither Mabel nor Braun would,--Braun least of all. Her act did not fit in with Socialism. No other speakers had urged the strikers as vigorously as the Socialists to abstain from violence or lawbreaking.

Longman was not the only one who would understand. There was Casey, the secretary of the Central Federated Union, and the men of the "Pastry Cooks' Union." She could have told them about it without any hesitancy.

She tried for some minutes to decide whether her father would have understood. She was not sure. She wanted to judge herself justly in the matter, but try as hard as she might, she found it impossible to blame herself sincerely. Her speculations were interrupted by Longman's voice.

"What are you thinking about so hard?"

She jumped up in surprise to see that Longman and Mrs. Karner had come across the lawn without her hearing their approach. The warden had established himself in a chair where he could watch them.

Mrs. Karner had happened to be in the office when the Commissioner's letter arrived. She had appointed herself, together with Mabel and Longman, the committee to visit Yetta. They had notified the Commissioner, and he in turn had warned the warden. But just as they were about to start, a representative of the a.s.sociation of Vest Manufacturers had telephoned to Mabel for a conference. It was too important to miss. So Mrs. Karner and Longman had come alone.

Yetta rushed into Mrs. Karner's arms and had hard work not to kiss Longman. She had not realized that she was lonely until she saw the familiar faces.

"We've only got fifteen minutes," Longman said. "So we must get down to business. Did they bring you to the warden's house at once?"

"No. At first--the first night I was in a cell. It was about nine the next morning the warden came and took me out."

"Just as I was telling you," Longman said to Mrs. Karner. "When they read the newspapers, they got scared and made an exception for her. Your newspaper campaign did it."

"What?"

And Mrs. Karner told Yetta all about it; how angry her friends were to hear of her being accused of a.s.sault and how they had made an awful row in the papers. Yetta's face burned. If Longman had been alone, she would have told him the truth in spite of Braun's interdiction. But she was not sure that Mrs. Karner would understand.

"It's hard on you, Yetta," Longman said, "to be locked up. But it's great business for the strike. It was just such a picturesque outrage as this that was needed to attract attention. The papers are full of it, and everybody's for the vest-makers. The girls took a collection on the street yesterday and got nearly a thousand dollars. The bosses are scared. Their organization is breaking up. Two of the shops have settled already. It looks like a victory all round."

For ten minutes more they gave her the hopeful news and loving messages.

Then they saw the warden coming across the gra.s.s.

"Is there anything you'd like to have me send you?" Longman asked.

"I'd like some books that tell about Socialism."

"Warden," Longman said as the official approached, "we've enjoyed this visit very much. We're greatly obliged to you for your especial kindness to Miss Rayefsky. Would you have any objection to my sending her some books?"

"She can read my books, if she wants to," he said gruffly.

"That's very kind, I'm sure. But she wants to study. It's some books on economics I want to send her."

"I've no objection," the warden said. "Send them to me. But no newspapers."

Mrs. Karner kissed her again, and Longman shook hands. There had been little of such kindness in Yetta's life, and their visit touched her deeply. The thoughts of the last few days had been tinged with bitterness. It was softened by the realization that she had friends. In the great city there beyond the river were people who cared for her. And what wonderful people they were!

The Department tug swung out into the current, and Yetta saw Mrs. Karner waving her handkerchief. She jumped up to wave back.

When Mrs. Karner sat down, there were tears in her eyes.

"Do you suppose she'll keep the faith?" she asked Longman.

He was surprised by the question. He had never heard Mrs. Karner use the word "faith" before. She was ordinarily brilliantly cynical.

"I don't quite understand."

"Oh, yes, you do. Will she have the--what do the long distance runners call it?--'wind,' 'staying power,' to keep her faith in revolt? In Socialism? It's a long race, this life of ours, and an obstacle race every foot--will she last?"... In a moment she went on. "Oh, I hope she will. It's beautiful! I hope she won't be fooled into something else.

Nothing on earth is worth so much as faith--Why don't you say something?"

"I'm--"

"Oh, you're surprised to hear me talk like this. But don't be mean and rub it in, even if I have sold out. Once upon a time--" she broke off suddenly and then began again. "Do you really suppose any one ever lived who has not had some youth and faith? I was a girl once. Time was when there weren't any wrinkles on my soul. Why! Once upon a time, I was going to write the Great American Novel! Sometimes I try to comfort myself by saying that newspaper work was too hard for a woman. I ought to make a pilgrimage somewhere--on my knees--to thank the G.o.ds I wasn't born a vest-maker. I did not have the nerve--the staying power. I sold out.

"And when this d.i.n.ky little boat gets to the dock, I'll ask you to get into my car and come up to Sherry's for tea. It will save me from going to that great Social Inst.i.tution, that bulwark of America's greatness--The Home. I'd invite you to it, only it would seem like an insult. There's a big room looking out on the Drive--full of Gothic furniture; some of it was made in the Middle Ages and some was made in Milwaukee. Bert has a fad for Gothic. Home's a sort of Musee du Cluny.

This isn't my day, but some women are sure to drop in. Some in skirts and some in trousers, and they'll talk nonsense and worse. And once upon a time I was a real woman, and worked with real men and had thoughts.

It's so long ago I almost forgot about it till this little vest-maker came along, with her big eyes and her faith."

The boat b.u.mped against the pier.

"Don't be scared at my melodramatics," she said. "Come up to Sherry's and I'll tell you the latest scandal. Some of it is quite untellable.

We'll forget the little Jewess with her disturbing eyes. Curses on them!

You know, looking into them makes me understand why they crucified Christ at such an early age.--Will you come?"

"Can we stop on the way and get those books for Yetta?"

Late that night Longman took out one of his printed sheets of foolscap and added Mrs. Karner's credo to his collection. It was the first of his questionnaires he had filled out since he had begun preparations for the expedition to a.s.syria.

The next morning the warden handed Yetta a bundle of books. On the fly-leaf of the smallest one--Th.o.r.eau's _Essays_--Longman had written: "Th.o.r.eau lived before Socialism commenced. But I don't think any of the modern writers have bettered 'On the Duty of Civic Disobedience.'"