100%: the Story of a Patriot

Section 13

Section 13They continued to come, one at a time or in groups; old womenand young women, old men and young men, fanatics and dreamers,agitators who could hardly open their mouths without some white-hotwordsescaping, revealing a blaze of passion smouldering in thedeeps of them. Peter became more and more uneasy, realizing that hewas actually in the midst of all the most dangerous“Reds” of American City. They it was whom ourlaw-abiding citizens dreaded, who were the objects of more concernto the police than all the plain, everyday burglars and bandits.Peter now could see the reason—he had not dreamed that suchangry and hate-tormented people existed in the world. Such peoplewould be capable of anything!He sat, with his restless eyeswandering from one face to another. Which one of this crowd hadhelped to set off the bomb? And would they boast about it to himthis evening?

Peter half expected this; but then again, he wondered. They weresuch strange criminals! They called him “Comrade”; andthey spoke with that same affection that had so bewildered him inlittle Jennie. Was this just a ruse to get his confidence, or didthese people really think that they loved him—Peter Gudge, astranger and a secret enemy? Peter had been at great pains to foolthem; but they seemed to him so easy to fool that his pains werewasted. He despised them for this, and all the while he listened tothem he was saying to himself, “The poor nuts!”

They had come to hear his story,and they plied him withquestions, and made him tell over and over again every detail.Peter, of course, had been carefully instructed; he was not tomention the elaborate confession he had been made to sign; thatwould be giving too dangerous a weapon tothese enemies of law andorder. He must tell as brief a story as possible; how he hadhappened to be near the scene of the explosion, and how the policehad tried to force him to admit that he knew something about thecase. Peter told this, according to orders; but he had not beenprepared for the minute questioning to which he was subjected byAndrews, the lawyer, aided by old John Durand, the leader of theseamen. They wanted to know everything that had been done to him,and who had done it, and how and when and where and why. Peter hada sense of the dramatic, and enjoyed being the center of attentionand admiration, even tho it was from a roomful of criminal“Reds.” So he told all the picturesque details of howGuffey had twisted his wrist and shut him in a dungeon; the memoryof the pain was still poignant, and came out of him now, with arealism that would have moved a colder group.

So pretty soon here were all these women sobbing and raging.LittleAda Ruth became inspired, and began reciting apoem—orwas shecomposing it right here, before his eyes? Sheseemed entranced withindignation. It was something about theworkers arising—the outcryof a mob—“No furtherpatience with a heedless foe—Get off our backs, or else tohell you go!”

Peter listened, and thought to himself, “The poornut!” And then Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy, took the floor,and began shaking his long black locks, and composing a speech, itseemed. And Peter listened, and thought again, “The poornut!” Then another man, the editor of a labor journal,revealed the fact that he was composing an editorial; he knewGuffey, and was going to publish Guffey’s picture, and brandhim as an “Inquisitionist.” He asked for Peter’spicture, and Peter agreed to have one taken, and to be headlined as“The Inquisitionist’s Victim.” Peter had no ideawhat the long word meant; but he assented, and thought again,“The poor nut!” All of them were“nuts”—taking other people’s troubles withsuch excitement!

But Peter was frightened, too; he couldn’t altogetherenjoy being a hero, in this vivid and startling fashion; having hisname and fame spread from one end of the country to the other, sothat organized labor might know the methods which the greattraction interests of American City were employing tosend awell-known labor leader to the gallows! The thing seemed to growand grow before Peter’s frightened eyes. Peter, the ant, feltthe earth shaking, and got a sudden sense of the mountain size ofthe mighty giants who were stamping in combat over his head. Peterwondered, had Guffey realized what a stir his story would make,what a powerful weapon he was giving to his enemies? What couldGuffey expect to get from Peter, to compensate for this damage tohis own case? Peter, as he listened to the stormy oratory in thecrowded little room, found himself thinking again and again ofrunning away. He had never seen anything like the rage into whichthese people worked themselves, the terrible things they said, thedenunciations, not merely of the police of American City, but ofthe courts and the newspapers, the churches and the colleges,everything that seemed respectable and sacred to law-abidingcitizens like Peter Gudge.

Peter’s fright became apparent. But why shouldn’t hebe frightened? Andrews, thelawyer, offered to take him away andhide him, lest the opposition should try to make way with him.Peter would be a most important witness for the Goober defense, andthey must take good care of him. But Peter recovered hisself-possession, and took up his noble role. No, he would take hischances with the rest of them, he was not too much afraid.

Sadie Todd, the stenographer, rewarded him for his heroism. Theyhad a spare bedroom in their little home, and if Peter cared tostay with them for a while, theywould try to make him comfortable.Peter accepted this invitation, and at a late hour in the eveningthe gathering broke up. The various groups of “Reds”went their way, their hands clenched and their faces portraying agrim resolve to make out of Peter’sstory a means of lashingdiscontented labor to new frenzies of excitement. The men claspedPeter’s hand cordially;the ladies gazed at him with soulfuleyes, and whispered their admiration for his brave course, theirhope, indeed their conviction, that hewould stand by the truth tothe end, and would study their ideas and join their“movement.” All the while Peter watched them, andcontinued saying to himself: “The poor nuts!”