“John, what the hell—” Pierce began. “It’s this stinking European fellow that’s behind everything!” By now Pierce had read enough to feel that he had found the source of evil. The man Marx was a threat to all that Malvern was.
John nodded and then said somberly, “All the same, Pierce, no foreigner could make headway here if we didn’t have four million unemployed. By Gawd, man, that’s a tenth of our population, pretty nearly! What’s happening at Martinsburg—” he broke off, shaking his head again.
“What’s happening now?” Pierce demanded. “I thought the police had—”
John snorted. “Police! They gave up. The mob was something awful. Why, Pierce, man, where have you been? The President of the United States has ordered out the government artillery!”
“Good God,” Pierce gasped. “But where are the state troops?”
“They wouldn’t fire on the strikers,” John said glumly. “Rotten with communism — the lot of them!”
Pierce felt dizzy with alarm. What he had seen as a dissatisfaction localized to a single industry, inspired by a single man, now grew into a danger as wide as the nation. He looked about the strange room and wished himself back at Malvern. The confidence with which he had left his own state, had crossed Virginia and Maryland, was gone. He was a stranger here, and who would listen to him? He dreaded meeting the executives whom he had been so sure he could guide. Then he pushed aside fear.
“John, we’ve got to be a beacon to the nation,” he said. “We’ve got to lead the railroads so wisely and so firmly that what we do will be a light to other industries. Everything depends on the railroads — we’re basic! If we can keep running and whip our men into reason, the nation will keep steady.”
“Amen, Pierce — if we can do it,” John replied.
They lifted their glasses simultaneously and looked at one another.
“Damn it, John,” Pierce said, “I can’t think of a thing in this world that’s worth proposing!”
“Nor I, by Gawd,” John agreed with unutterable gloom.
They drank their whiskey down in silence and for the comfort of their own bodies.
Pierce was awakened the next morning by his arm being shaken and then by the sound of shots. He looked up into Lucinda’s terrified eyes.
“Pierce — Pierce,” she was crying, “wake up — there’s some sort of a battle going on outside!”
He opened his dazed eyes wide and heard a roar like that of the sea beating against cliffs. He leaped out of bed, his nightshirt flying around him, and rushed to the window. A mob of people filled the street, milling, pushing, surging, yelling. “It’s here,” he cried, “the strike!”
“Let’s get out of this town, Pierce!” Lucinda cried back.
“You and the girls,” he amended. “You’d better go right to Washington as quick as you can before all the trains stop. Get out of the room, Luce, so that I can get dressed.”
She ran into the next room, obedient for once. Then the hall door opened and Joe came in. The white showed around the pupils of his eyes. “Lordy, lordy, what we goin’ to do?” he groaned. “The war’s bust out again — what the Yankees want now, marster?”
Before Pierce could answer, there was a loud knock and John MacBain came in, fully dressed. He had a telegram in his hand.
“I’ve got to get to Pittsburgh, Pierce,” he announced abruptly. “The Pennsylvania militia has been ordered out — they’re fighting mobs in the streets, there, too, by Gawd!”
“Pittsburgh!” Pierce groaned. “The whole country has gone mad.”
“They’re burning rolling stock there,” John said heavily. “You’ve got to meet the directors without me, Pierce.”
“If I have to, I have to,” Pierce said doggedly.
They clasped hands firmly and John was gone. Pierce turned. Behind him Joe stood waiting to shave him, mug in one hand and razor in the other. Pierce saw his hand shaking like an aspen.
“Give the razor to me. If you’re as scared as that, you’ll cut my throat,” he said sharply. All this nonsense, he thought angrily. What was the matter with him?
He dipped the brush in the soapy water briskly, swabbed his chin, and began to shave himself with long even strokes.
Behind him, Joe moaned, “We all be killed, I reckon!”
“Nonsense,” Pierce replied. Now that action was necessary he felt strong and competent. He had been an officer in the army, and he felt his blood grow cool again. He was not afraid of battle, now that he knew who the enemy was. He had sworn never again to enter a war against his fellow men but these communists were not fellow men. They were devils of destruction.
“You tell Georgia to help your mistress and the girls pack up right away,” he commanded Joe. “After breakfast I’ll get them into the private car and off to Washington.”
“You and me—” Joe faltered.
“We’re going to stay right here,” Pierce said grimly.
“Oh my — oh my!” Joe whispered under his breath.
He tiptoed out of the room and Pierce dressed himself. He had just buttoned his collar when the door opened smartly and he saw Sally mirrored over his shoulder. She was dressed for travel in her blue suit and hat. Her cheeks were flaming and her blue eyes were bright.
“Papa—” She came in and shut the door. “I’m not going to Washington—”
Pierce felt enormous irritation. “Oh yes, you are,” he retorted to her reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to be too busy to look after women—”
“Papa, I want to stay, with you—”
“You can’t stay with me — you must stay out of my way.”
“Papa—” she began again, but he snapped at her.
“Now, Sally, you can’t have your wish this time! The whole country is in danger. I’ve got to get to the company offices as fast as I can get rid of you girls.”
“But, Papa — why are they fighting?”
“It’s a strike — you know that—” He was trying to fasten his tie.
“But why, Papa?”
“Well — they don’t want their wages cut.”
“Why do you cut them, Papa?”
“It’s not I — it’s the company.”
“But you told the company to do it—”
“I simply gave my opinion — the company is losing money — why, our profits are cut in half! The men have to share in the loss, that’s all. Management can’t take it all—”
“But, Papa, did you lose money or only just not make so much?”
“It’s the same thing,” Pierce declared.
“No, it isn’t,” Sally maintained.
Pierce turned to his beloved child with wrath and fury. “Now Sally, you don’t know what you’re talking about. If I expect to make five thousand dollars on a horse and I don’t make but twenty-five hundred, I’ve lost twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“No, you haven’t, Papa — you haven’t lost anything. You have the twenty-five hundred.”
She made such a picture of beauty as she stood there, her pretty face serious, her cheeks flaming, her red-gold hair curling under her blue hat, that his heat was smitten in the midst of his anger, and he softened.
“Honey, don’t you try to tell a man he hasn’t lost money when he knows his pocket is lighter than it ought to be. You get along — have you had your breakfast?”
Sally shook her head.
“Well, then, eat fast — I’m going straight to the station to see about a train to pull the car out — a freight or anything—”
“Papa, I warn you—” His daughter flung up her head and faced him. “If you make me go to Washington — I’ll — I’ll run away!”