Sister Carrie 30 страница

⇐ ПредыдущаяСтр 31 из 85Следующая ⇒

was not far off when but a few out of 7, 000 employees would have

regular two-dollar-a-day work at all. They demanded that the system be

abolished, and that ten hours be considered a day's work, barring

unavoidable delays, with $2. 25 pay. They demanded immediate acceptance

of these terms, which the various trolley companies refused.

Hurstwood at first sympathized with the demands of these men-indeed, it

is a question whether he did not always sympathize with them to the

end, belie him as his actions might. Reading nearly all the news, he

was attracted first by the scare-heads with which the trouble was noted

in the " World. " He read it fully--the names of the seven companies

involved, the number of men.

" They're foolish to strike in this sort of weather, " he thought to

himself. " Let 'em win if they can, though. "

The next day there was even a larger notice of it. " Brooklynites

Walk, " said the " World. " " Knights of Labor Tie up the Trolley Lines

Across the Bridge. " " About Seven Thousand Men Out. "

Hurstwood read this, formulating to himself his own idea of what would

be the outcome. He was a great believer in the strength of

corporations.

" They can't win, " he said, concerning the men. " They haven't any

money. The police will protect the companies. They've got to. The

public has to have its cars. "

He didn't sympathize with the corporations, but strength was with them.

So was property and public utility.

" Those fellows can't win, " he thought.

Among other things, he noticed a circular issued by one of the

companies, which read:

ATLANTIC AVENUE RAILROAD

SPECIAL NOTICE

The motormen and conductors and other employees of this company having

abruptly left its service, an opportunity is now given to all loyal men

who have struck against their will to be reinstated, providing they

will make their applications by twelve o'clock noon on Wednesday,

January 16th. Such men will be given employment (with guaranteed

protection) in the order in which such applications are received, and

runs and positions assigned them accordingly. Otherwise, they will be

considered discharged, and every vacancy will be filled by a new man as

soon as his services can be secured. (Signed)

Benjamin Norton, President

He also noted among the want ads. one which read:

WANTED. --50 skilled motormen, accustomed to Westinghouse system, to

run U. S. mail cars only, in the City of Brooklyn; protection

guaranteed.

He noted particularly in each the " protection guaranteed. " It

signified to him the unassailable power of the companies.

" They've got the militia on their side, " he thought. " There isn't

anything those men can do. "

While this was still in his mind, the incident with Oeslogge and Carrie

occurred. There had been a good deal to irritate him, but this seemed

much the worst. Never before had she accused him of stealing--or very

near that. She doubted the naturalness of so large a bill. And he had

worked so hard to make expenses seem light. He had been " doing"

butcher and baker in order not to call on her. He had eaten very

little--almost nothing.

" Damn it all! " he said. " I can get something. I'm not down yet. "

He thought that he really must do something now. It was too cheap to

sit around after such an insinuation as this. Why, after a little, he

would be standing anything.

He got up and looked out the window into the chilly street. It came

gradually into his mind, as he stood there, to go to Brooklyn.

" Why not? " his mind said. " Any one can get work over there. You'll get

two a day. "

" How about accidents? " said a voice. " You might get hurt. "

" Oh, there won't be much of that, " he answered. " They've called out

the police. Any one who wants to run a car will be protected all

right. "

" You don't know how to run a car, " rejoined the voice.

" I won't apply as a motorman, " he answered. " I can ring up fares all

right. "

" They'll want motormen, mostly. "

" They'll take anybody; that I know. "

For several hours he argued pro and con with this mental counselor,

feeling no need to act at once in a matter so sure of profit.

In the morning he put on his best clothes, which were poor enough, and

began stirring about, putting some bread and meat into a page of a

newspaper. Carrie watched him, interested in this new move.

" Where are you going? " she asked.

" Over to Brooklyn, " he answered. Then, seeing her still inquisitive,

he added: " I think I can get on over there. "

" On the trolley lines? " said Carrie, astonished.

" Yes, " he rejoined.

" Aren't you afraid? " she asked.

" What of? " he answered. " The police are protecting them. "

" The paper said four men were hurt yesterday. "

" Yes, " he returned; " but you can't go by what the papers say. They'll

run the cars all right. "

He looked rather determined now, in a desolate sort of way, and Carrie

felt very sorry. Something of the old Hurstwood was here-the least

shadow of what was once shrewd and pleasant strength. Outside, it was

cloudy and blowing a few flakes of snow.

" What a day to go over there, " thought Carrie.

Now he left before she did, which was a remarkable thing, and tramped

eastward to Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue, where he took the car.

He had read that scores of applicants were applying at the office of

the Brooklyn City Railroad building and were being received. He made

his way there by horse-car and ferry--a dark, silent man--to the

offices in question. It was a long way, for no cars were running, and

the day was cold; but he trudged along grimly. Once in Brooklyn, he

could clearly see and feel that a strike was on. People showed it in

their manner. Along the routes of certain tracks not a car was running.

About certain corners and nearby saloons small groups of men were

lounging. Several spring wagons passed him, equipped with plain wooden

chairs, and labeled " Flatbush" or " Prospect Park. Fare, Ten Cents. " He

noticed cold and even gloomy faces. Labor was having its little war.

When he came near the office in question, he saw a few men standing

about, and some policemen. On the far corners were other men--whom he

took to be strikers--watching. All the houses were small and wooden,

the streets poorly paved. After New York, Brooklyn looked actually

poor and hard-up.

He made his way into the heart of the small group, eyed by policemen

and the men already there. One of the officers addressed him.

" What are you looking for? "

" I want to see if I can get a place. "

" The offices are up those steps, " said the bluecoat. His face was a

very neutral thing to contemplate. In his heart of hearts, he

sympathized with the strikers and hated this " scab. " In his heart of

hearts, also, he felt the dignity and use of the police force, which

commanded order. Of its true social significance, he never once

dreamed. His was not the mind for that. The two feelings blended in

him--neutralized one another and him. He would have fought for this

man as determinedly as for himself, and yet only so far as commanded.

Strip him of his uniform, and he would have soon picked his side.

Hurstwood ascended a dusty flight of steps and entered a small, dust-

colored office, in which were a railing, a long desk, and several

clerks.

" Well, sir? " said a middle-aged man, looking up at him from the long

desk.

" Do you want to hire any men? " inquired Hurstwood.

" What are you--a motorman? "

" No; I'm not anything, " said Hurstwood.

He was not at all abashed by his position. He knew these people needed

men. If one didn't take him, another would. This man could take him

or leave him, just as he chose.

" Well, we prefer experienced men, of course, " said the man. He paused,

while Hurstwood smiled indifferently. Then he added: " Still, I guess

you can learn. What is your name? "

" Wheeler, " said Hurstwood.

The man wrote an order on a small card. " Take that to our barns, " he

said, " and give it to the foreman. He'll show you what to do. "

Hurstwood went down and out. He walked straight away in the direction

indicated, while the policemen looked after.

" There's another wants to try it, " said Officer Kiely to Officer Macey.

" I have my mind he'll get his fill, " returned the latter, quietly.

They had been in strikes before.

Chapter XLI

THE STRIKE

The barn at which Hurstwood applied was exceedingly short-handed, and

was being operated practically by three men as directors. There were a

lot of green hands around--queer, hungry-looking men, who looked as if

want had driven them to desperate means. They tried to be lively and

willing, but there was an air of hang-dog diffidence about the place.

Hurstwood went back through the barns and out into a large, enclosed

lot, where were a series of tracks and loops. A half dozen cars were

there, manned by instructors, each with a pupil at the lever. More

pupils were waiting at one of the rear doors of the barn.

In silence Hurstwood viewed this scene, and waited. His companions

took his eye for a while, though they did not interest him much more

than the cars. They were an uncomfortable-looking gang, however. One

or two were very thin and lean. Several were quite stout. Several

others were rawboned and sallow, as if they had been beaten upon by all

sorts of rough weather.

" Did you see by the paper they are going to call out the militia? "

Hurstwood heard one of them remark.

" Oh, they'll do that, " returned the other. " They always do. "

" Think we're liable to have much trouble? " said another, whom Hurstwood

did not see.

" Not very. "

" That Scotchman that went out on the last car, " put in a voice, " told

me that they hit him in the ear with a cinder. "

A small, nervous laugh accompanied this.

" One of those fellows on the Fifth Avenue line must have had a hell of

a time, according to the papers, " drawled another. " They broke his car

windows and pulled him off into the street 'fore the police could stop

'em. "

" Yes; but there are more police around to-day, " was added by another.

Hurstwood hearkened without much mental comment. These talkers seemed

scared to him. Their gabbling was feverish--things said to quiet their

own minds. He looked out into the yard and waited.

Two of the men got around quite near him, but behind his back. They

were rather social, and he listened to what they said.

" Are you a railroad man? " said one.

" Me? No. I've always worked in a paper factory. "

" I had a job in Newark until last October, " returned the other, with

reciprocal feeling.

There were some words which passed too low to hear. Then the

conversation became strong again.

" I don't blame these fellers for striking, " said one. " They've got the

right of it, all right, but I had to get something to do. "

" Same here, " said the other. " If I had any job in Newark I wouldn't be

over here takin' chances like these. "

" It's hell these days, ain't it? " said the man. " A poor man ain't

nowhere. You could starve, by God, right in the streets, and there

ain't most no one would help you. "

" Right you are, " said the other. " The job I had I lost 'cause they

shut down. They run all summer and lay up a big stock, and then shut

down. "

Hurstwood paid some little attention to this. Somehow, he felt a

little superior to these two--a little better off. To him these were

ignorant and commonplace, poor sheep in a driver's hand.

" Poor devils, " he thought, speaking out of the thoughts and feelings of

a bygone period of success. " Next, " said one of the instructors.

" You're next, " said a neighbor, touching him.

He went out and climbed on the platform. The instructor took it for

granted that no preliminaries were needed.

" You see this handle, " he said, reaching up to an electric cutoff,

which was fastened to the roof. " This throws the current off or on.

If you want to reverse the car you turn it over here. If you want to

send it forward, you put it over here. If you want to cut off the

power, you keep it in the middle. "

Hurstwood smiled at the simple information.

" Now, this handle here regulates your speed. To here, " he said,

pointing with his finger, " gives you about four miles an hour. This is

eight. When it's full on, you make about fourteen miles an hour. "

Hurstwood watched him calmly. He had seen motormen work before. He

knew just about how they did it, and was sure he could do as well, with

a very little practice.

The instructor explained a few more details, and then said:

" Now, we'll back her up. "

Hurstwood stood placidly by, while the car rolled back into the yard.

" One thing you want to be careful about, and that is to start easy.

Give one degree time to act before you start another. The one fault of

most men is that they always want to throw her wide open. That's bad.

It's dangerous, too. Wears out the motor. You don't want to do that. "

" I see, " said Hurstwood.

He waited and waited, while the man talked on.

" Now you take it, " he said, finally.

The ex-manager laid hand to the lever and pushed it gently, as he

thought. It worked much easier than he imagined, however, with the

result that the car jerked quickly forward, throwing him back against

the door. He straightened up sheepishly, while the instructor stopped

the car with the brake.

" You want to be careful about that, " was all he said.

Hurstwood found, however, that handling a brake and regulating speed

were not so instantly mastered as he had imagined. Once or twice he

would have ploughed through the rear fence if it had not been for the

hand and word of his companion. The latter was rather patient with

him, but he never smiled.

" You've got to get the knack of working both arms at once, " he said.

" It takes a little practice. "

One o'clock came while he was still on the car practicing, and he began

to feel hungry. The day set in snowing, and he was cold. He grew weary

of running to and fro on the short track.

They ran the car to the end and both got off. Hurstwood went into the

barn and sought a car step, pulling out his paper wrapped lunch from

his pocket. There was no water and the bread was dry, but he enjoyed

it. There was no ceremony about dining. He swallowed and looked about,

contemplating the dull, homely labor of the thing. It was

disagreeable--miserably disagreeable--in all its phases. Not because

it was bitter, but because it was hard. It would be hard to any one,

he thought.

After eating, he stood about as before, waiting until his turn came.

The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but the greater

part of the time was spent in waiting about.

At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate with himself as

to how he should spend the night. It was half-past five. He must soon

eat. If he tried to go home, it would take him two hours and a half of

cold walking and riding. Besides he had orders to report at seven the

next morning, and going home would necessitate his rising at an unholy

and disagreeable hour. He had only something like a dollar and fifteen

cents of Carrie's money, with which he had intended to pay the two

weeks' coal bill before the present idea struck him.

" They must have some place around here, " he thought. " Where does that

fellow from Newark stay? "

Finally he decided to ask. There was a young fellow standing near one

of the doors in the cold, waiting a last turn. He was a mere boy in

years--twenty-one about--but with a body lank and long, because of

privation. A little good living would have made this youth plump and

swaggering.

" How do they arrange this, if a man hasn't any money? " inquired

Hurstwood, discreetly.

The fellow turned a keen, watchful face on the inquirer.

" You mean eat? " he replied.

" Yes, and sleep. I can't go back to New York to-night. "

" The foreman'll fix that if you ask him, I guess. He did me. "

" That so? "

" Yes. I just told him I didn't have anything. Gee, I couldn't go

home. I live way over in Hoboken. "

Hurstwood only cleared his throat by way of acknowledgment.

" They've got a place upstairs here, I understand. I don't know what

sort of a thing it is. Purty tough, I guess. He gave me a meal ticket

this noon. I know that wasn't much. "

Hurstwood smiled grimly, and the boy laughed.

" It ain't no fun, is it? " he inquired, wishing vainly for a cheery

reply.

" Not much, " answered Hurstwood.

" I'd tackle him now, " volunteered the youth. " He may go 'way. "

Hurstwood did so.

" Isn't there some place I can stay around here to-night? " he inquired.

" If I have to go back to New York, I'm afraid I won't"

" There're some cots upstairs, " interrupted the man, " if you want one of

them. "

" That'll do, " he assented.

He meant to ask for a meal ticket, but the seemingly proper moment

never came, and he decided to pay himself that night.

" I'll ask him in the morning. "

He ate in a cheap restaurant in the vicinity, and, being cold and

lonely, went straight off to seek the loft in question. The company

was not attempting to run cars after nightfall. It was so advised by

the police.

The room seemed to have been a lounging place for night workers. There

were some nine cots in the place, two or three wooden chairs, a soap

box, and a small, round-bellied stove, in which a fire was blazing.

Early as he was, another man was there before him. The latter was

sitting beside the stove warming his hands.

Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire. He was sick

of the bareness and privation of all things connected with his venture,

but was steeling himself to hold out. He fancied he could for a while.

" Cold, isn't it? " said the early guest.

" Rather. "

A long silence.

" Not much of a place to sleep in, is it? " said the man.

" Better than nothing, " replied Hurstwood.

Another silence.

" I believe I'll turn in, " said the man.

Rising, he went to one of the cots and stretched himself, removing only

his shoes, and pulling the one blanket and dirty old comforter over him

in a sort of bundle. The sight disgusted Hurstwood, but he did not

dwell on it, choosing to gaze into the stove and think of something

else. Presently he decided to retire, and picked a cot, also removing

his shoes.

While he was doing so, the youth who had advised him to come here

entered, and, seeing Hurstwood, tried to be genial.

" Better'n nothin', " he observed, looking around.

Hurstwood did not take this to himself. He thought it to be an

expression of individual satisfaction, and so did not answer. The youth

imagined he was out of sorts, and set to whistling softly. Seeing

another man asleep, he quit that and lapsed into silence.

Hurstwood made the best of a bad lot by keeping on his clothes and

pushing away the dirty covering from his head, but at last he dozed in

sheer weariness. The covering became more and more comfortable, its

character was forgotten, and he pulled it about his neck and slept. In

the morning he was aroused out of a pleasant dream by several men

stirring about in the cold, cheerless room. He had been back in

Chicago in fancy, in his own comfortable home. Jessica had been

arranging to go somewhere, and he had been talking with her about it.

This was so clear in his mind, that he was startled now by the contrast

of this room. He raised his head, and the cold, bitter reality jarred

him into wakefulness.

" Guess I'd better get up, " he said.

There was no water on this floor. He put on his shoes in the cold and

stood up, shaking himself in his stiffness. His clothes felt

disagreeable, his hair bad.

" Hell! " he muttered, as he put on his hat.

Downstairs things were stirring again.

He found a hydrant, with a trough which had once been used for horses,

but there was no towel here, and his handkerchief was soiled from

yesterday. He contented himself with wetting his eyes with the ice-

cold water. Then he sought the foreman, who was already on the ground.

" Had your breakfast yet? " inquired that worthy.

" No, " said Hurstwood.

" Better get it, then; your car won't be ready for a little while. "

Hurstwood hesitated.

" Could you let me have a meal ticket? " he asked with an effort.

" Here you are, " said the man, handing him one.

He breakfasted as poorly as the night before on some fried steak and

bad coffee. Then he went back.

" Here, " said the foreman, motioning him, when he came in. " You take

this car out in a few minutes. "

Hurstwood climbed up on the platform in the gloomy barn and waited for

a signal. He was nervous, and yet the thing was a relief. Anything

was better than the barn.

On this the fourth day of the strike, the situation had taken a turn

for the worse. The strikers, following the counsel of their leaders

and the newspapers, had struggled peaceably enough. There had been no

great violence done. Cars had been stopped, it is true, and the men

argued with. Some crews had been won over and led away, some windows

broken, some jeering and yelling done; but in no more than five or six

instances had men been seriously injured. These by crowds whose acts

the leaders disclaimed.

Idleness, however, and the sight of the company, backed by the police,

triumphing, angered the men. They saw that each day more cars were

going on, each day more declarations were being made by the company

officials that the effective opposition of the strikers was broken.

This put desperate thoughts in the minds of the men. Peaceful methods

meant, they saw, that the companies would soon run all their cars and

those who had complained would be forgotten. There was nothing so

helpful to the companies as peaceful methods. All at once they blazed

forth, and for a week there was storm and stress. Cars were assailed,

men attacked, policemen struggled with, tracks torn up, and shots

fired, until at last street fights and mob movements became frequent,

and the city was invested with militia.

Hurstwood knew nothing of the change of temper.

" Run your car out, " called the foreman, waving a vigorous hand at him.

A green conductor jumped up behind and rang the bell twice as a signal

to start. Hurstwood turned the lever and ran the car out through the

door into the street in front of the barn. Here two brawny policemen

got up beside him on the platform--one on either hand.

At the sound of a gong near the barn door, two bells were given by the

conductor and Hurstwood opened his lever.

The two policemen looked about them calmly.

" 'Tis cold, all right, this morning, " said the one on the left, who

possessed a rich brogue.

" I had enough of it yesterday, " said the other. " I wouldn't want a

steady job of this. "

" Nor I. "

Neither paid the slightest attention to Hurstwood, who stood facing the

cold wind, which was chilling him completely, and thinking of his

orders.

" Keep a steady gait, " the foreman had said. " Don't stop for any one

who doesn't look like a real passenger. Whatever you do, don't stop

for a crowd. "

The two officers kept silent for a few moments.

" The last man must have gone through all right, " said the officer on

the left. " I don't see his car anywhere. "

" Who's on there? " asked the second officer, referring, of course, to

its complement of policemen.

" Schaeffer and Ryan. "

There was another silence, in which the car ran smoothly along. There

⇐ Предыдущая 26 27 28 29 303132 33 34 35 Следующая ⇒