VOX POPULI
These were the days when Hal Surtaine worked with a sense of wildfreedom from all personal bonds. He had definitely broken with hisfather. He had challenged every interest in Worthington from which therewas anything to expect commercially. He had peremptorily banished Esm?Elliot from his heart and his hopes, though she still forced entrance tohis thoughts and would not be denied, there, the precarious rights of anundesired guest. He was now simply and solely a journalist with a mindsingle to his purpose, to go down fighting the best fight there was inhim. Defeat, he believed, was practically certain. He would make it adefeat of which no man need be ashamed.
The handling of the epidemic news, Hal left to his colleagues, devotinghis own pen to a vigorous defense of the "Clarion's" position andassertion of its policy, in the editorial columns. Concealment andsuppression, he pointed out, had been the chief factor in the disastrousspread of the contagion. Early recognition of the danger and a frankfighting policy would have saved most of the sacrificed lives. The blamelay, not with those who had disclosed the peril, but with those who hadfostered it by secrecy; probing deeper into it, with those who hadblocked such reform of housing and sanitation as would have checked afilth disease like typhus. In time this would be indicated morespecifically. Tenements which netted twelve per cent to their owners andbred plagues, the "Clarion" observed editorially, were good private butpoor public investments. Whereupon a number of highly regardedChristian citizens began to refer to the editor as an anarchist.
The "Clarion" principle of ascertaining "the facts behind the news" hadled naturally to an inquiry into ownership of the Rookeries. Wayne hadthis specifically in charge and reported sensational results from thefirst.
"It'll be a corking follow-up feature," he said. "Later we can hitch itup to the Housing Reform Bill."
"Make a fifth page full spread of it for Monday."
"With pictures of the owners," suggested Wayne.
"Why not this way? Make a triple lay-out for each one. First, a pictureof the tenement with the number of deaths and cases underneath. Then thehalf-tone of the owner. And, beyond, the picture of the house he livesin. That'll give contrast."
"Good!" said Wayne. "Fine and yellow."
By Sunday, four days after the opening story, all the material for thesecond big spread was ready except for one complication. Some involutionof trusteeship in the case of two freeholds in Sadler's Shacks, at theheart of the Rookeries, had delayed access to the records. These twowere Number 3 and Number 9 Sperry Street, the latter dubbed "thePest-Egg" by the "Clarion," as being the tenement in which thepestilence was supposed to have originated. These two last clues, Waynewas sure, would be run down before evening. Already the net of publicityhad dragged in, among other owners of the dangerous property, a highcity official, an important merchant, a lady much given to blatantplatform philanthropies, and the Reverend Dr. Wales's fashionablechurch. It was, indeed, a noble company of which the "Clarion" proposedto make martyrs on the morrow.
One man quite unconnected with any twelve per cent ownership, however,had sworn within his ravaged soul that there should be no morrow's"Clarion." Max Veltman, four days previously, had crawled home to hisapartment after a visit to the drug store where he had purchasedcertain acids. With these he worked cunningly and with completeabsorption in his pursuit, neither stirring out of his own place norcommunicating with any fellow being. Consequently he knew nothing of thesensation which had convulsed Worthington, nor of the "Clarion's" changeof policy. To his inflamed mind the Surtaine organ was a noxious thing,and Harrington Surtaine the guilty partner in the profits of Milly'sdeath who had rejected the one chance to make amends.
Carrying a carefully wrapped bundle, he went forth into the streets onSunday evening, and wandered into the Rookeries district. A red-neckedman, standing on a barrel, was making a speech to a big crowd gatheredat one of the corners. Dimly-heard, the word "Clarion" came to Veltman'sears.
"What's he saying?" he asked a neighbor.
"He's roastin' the ---- ---- 'Clarion,'" replied the man. "We ought to goup there an' tear the buildin' down."
To Veltman it seemed quite natural that popular rage should be directedtoward the object of his hatred. He sat down weakly upon the curb andwaited to see what would happen.
Another chance auditor of that speech did not wait. McGuire Ellis stayedjust long enough to scent danger, and hurried back to the office.
"Trouble brewing down in the Rookeries," he told Hal.
"More than usual?"
"Different from the usual. There's a mob considering paying us a visit."
"The new press!" exclaimed Hal.
"Just what I was thinking. A rock or a bullet in its pretty littleinsides would cost money."
"We'd better notify Police Headquarters."
"I have. They gave me the laugh. Told me it was a pipe-dream. They'resore on us because of our attack on the department for dodging saloonlaw enforcement."
"I don't like this, Mac," said Hal. "What a fool I was to put the pressin the most exposed place."
"Fortify it."
"With what?"
"The rolls."
Print-paper comes from the pulp-mills in huge cylinders, seven feet longby four in diameter. The highest-powered small arm could not send abullet through the close-wrapped fabric. Ellis's plan offered perfectprotection if there was enough material to build the fortification. Theentire pressroom force was at once set to work, and in half an hour thedelicate and costly mechanism was protected behind an impenetrablebarrier which shut it off from view except at the south end. The supplyof rolls had fallen a little short.
"Let 'em smash the window if they like," said Ellis. "Plate-glassinsurance covers that. I wish we had something for that corner."
"With a couple of revolvers we could guard it from these windows," saidHal. "But where are we to get revolvers on a Sunday night?"
"Leave that to me," said Ellis, and went out.
Hal, standing at the open second-story window, surveyed the strategicpossibilities of the situation. His outer office jutting out into anarrow L overlooked, from a broad window, the empty space of the street.From the front he could just see the press, behind its plate-glass. Thiswas set back some ten feet from the sidewalk line proper, and markingthe outer boundary stood a row of iron posts of old and dubious origin,formerly connected by chains. Hal had a wish that they were still sojoined. They would have served, at least, as a hypothetical guard-line.The flagged and slightly depressed space between these and the front ofthe building, while actually of private ownership, had long beenregarded as part of the thoroughfare. Overlooking it from the north end,opposite Hal's office, was another window, in the reference room. Anykind of gunnery from those vantage-spots would guard the press. Butwould the mere threat of firing suffice? That is what Hal wished toknow. He had no desire to pump bullets into a close-packed crowd. On theother hand, he did not propose to let any mob ruin his property withouta fight. His military reverie was interrupted by the entrance of BimCurrier, followed by Dr. Elliot.
"Why the fortification?" asked the latter.
"We've heard rumors of a mob attack."
"So've I. That's why I'm here. Want any help?"
"Why, you're very kind," began Hal dubiously; "but--"
"Rope off that space," cut in the brisk doctor, seizing, with apracticed eye, upon the natural advantage of the sentinel posts. "Gotany rope?"
"Yes. There's some in the pressroom. It isn't very strong."
"No matter. Moral effect. Mobs always stop to think, at a line. I know.I've fought 'em before."
"This is very good of you, to come--"
"Not a bit of it. I noticed what the 'Clarion' did to its medicaladvertisers. I like your nerve. And I like a fight, in a good cause.Have 'em paint up some signs to put along the ropes. 'Danger.'--'KeepOut.'--'Trespassers Enter Here at their Peril'; and that sort of thing."
"I'll do it," said Hal, going to the telephone to give the orders.
While he was thus engaged, McGuire Ellis entered.
"Hello!" the physician greeted him. "What have you got there?Revolvers?"
"Count 'em; two," answered Ellis.
"Gimme one," said the visitor, helping himself to a long-barreled .45.
"Here! That's for Hal Surtaine," protested Ellis.
"Not by a jug-ful! He's too hot-headed. Besides, can he afford to be init if there should be any serious trouble? Think of the paper!"
"You're right there," agreed Ellis, struck by the keen sense of thisview. "If they could lay a killing at his door, even in self-defense--"
"Pree-cisely! Whereas, I don't intend to shoot unless I have to, andprobably not then."
They explained the wisdom of this procedure to Hal, who reluctantlyadmitted it, agreeing to leave the weapons in the hands of Dr. Elliotand McGuire Ellis.
"Put Ellis here in this window. I'll hold the fort yonder." He pointedacross the space to the reference room in the opposite L. "Nine timesout of ten a mob don't really--" He stopped abruptly, his facestiffening with surprise, and some other emotion, which Hal for themoment failed to interpret. Following the direction of his glance, thetwo other men turned. Dr. Surtaine, suave and smiling, was advancingacross the floor.
"Ellis, how are you? Good-evening, Dr. Elliot. Ah! Pistols?"
"Yes. Have one?" invited Ellis smoothly.
"I brought one with me." He tugged at his pocket, whence emerged a cheapand shiny weapon. Hal shuddered, recognizing it. It was the revolverwhich Milly Neal had carried.
"So you've heard?" asked Ellis.
"Ten minutes ago. I haven't any idea it will amount to much, but Ithought I ought to be here in case of danger."
Dr. Elliot grunted. Ellis, suggesting that they take a look at the otherdefense, tactfully led him away, leaving father and son together. Theyhad not seen each other since the Emergency Health Committee meeting.Something of the quack's glossy jauntiness faded out of his bearing ashe turned to Hal.
"Boy-ee," he began diffidently, "there's been a pretty bad mistake."
"There's been worse than that," said Hal sadly.
"About Milly Neal. I thought--I thought it was you that got her intotrouble."
"Why? For God's sake, why?"
"Don't be too hard on me," pleaded the other. "I'd heard about theroad-house. And then, what she said to you. It all fitted in. Hale putme right. Boy-ee, I can sleep again, now that I know it wasn't you."
The implication caught at Hal's throat.
"Why, Dad," he said lamely, "if you'd only come to me and asked--"
"Somehow I couldn't. I was waiting for you to tell me." He slid his bighand over Hal's shoulder, and clutched him in a sudden, jerky squeeze,his face averted.
"Now, that's off our minds," he said, in a loud and hearty voice. "Wecan--"
"Wait a minute. Father, you saw the story in the 'Clarion,'--the storyof Milly's death?"
"Yes, I saw that."
"Well?"
"I suppose you did what you thought was right, Boy-ee."
"I did what I had to do. I hated it."
"I'm glad to know that much, anyway."
"But I'd do it again, exactly the same."
The Doctor turned troubled eyes on his son. "Hasn't there been enoughjudging of each other between you and me, Boy-ee?" he asked sorrowfully.
In wretched uncertainty how to meet this appeal, Hal hesitated. He wassaved from decision by the return of McGuire Ellis.
"No movement yet from the enemy's camp," he reported. "I just had atelephone from Hale's club."
"Perhaps they won't come, after all," surmised Hal.
"There's pretty hot talk going. Somebody's been helping along byserving free drinks."
"Now who could that be, I wonder?"
"Maybe some of our tenement-owning politician friends who aren't keenabout having to-morrow's 'Clarion' appear."
"We ought to have a reporter down there, Mac."
"Denton's there. Well, as there's nothing doing, I'll tackle a littlework." And seating himself at his desk beside the broad window Ellisproceeded to annihilate some telegraph copy, fresh off the wire. Withthe big tenement story spread, the morrow's paper would be straitenedfor space. Excusing himself to his father, Hal stepped into his privateoffice--and recoiled in uttermost amazement. There, standing in thefurther doorway, lovely, palpitant, with the color flushing in hercheeks and the breath fluttering in her throat, stood Esm?Elliot.
"Oh!" she gasped, stretching out her hands to him. "I've tried so to getyou by 'phone. There's a mob coming--"
"Yes, I know," said Hal gently. He led her to a chair. "We're ready forthem."
"Are you? I'm so glad. I was afraid you wouldn't know in time."
"How did you find out?"
"I've been working with Mr. Hale down in the district. I heard rumors ofit. Then I listened to what the people said, and I hurried here in mycar to warn you. They're drunk, and mean trouble."
"That was good of you! I appreciate it."
"No. It was a debt. I owed it to the 'Clarion.' You've been--splendidabout the typhus."
"Worthington doesn't look at it that way," returned Hal, with a rathergrim smile.
"When they understand, they will."
"Perhaps. But, see here, you can't stay. There may be danger. It'sawfully good of you to come. But you must get away."
She looked at him sidelong. In her coming she had been the new Esm? theEsm?who was Norman Hale's most unselfish and unsparing worker, the Esm?who thought for others, all womanly. But, now that the strain hadrelaxed, she reverted, just a little, to her other self. It was, for themoment, the Great American Pumess who spoke:--
"Won't you even say you're glad to see me?"
"Glad!" The echo leaped to his lips and the fire to his eyes as the oldunconquered longing and passion surged over him. "I don't think I'veknown what gladness is since that night at your house."
Her eyes faltered away from his. "I don't think I quite understand," shesaid weakly; then, with a change to quick resolution:--
"There is something I must tell you. You have a right to know it. It'sabout the paper. Will you come to see me to-morrow?"
"Yes. But go now. No! Wait!"
From without sounded a dull murmur pierced through with an occasionalwhoop, jubilant rather than threatening.
"Too late," said Hal quietly. "They're coming."
"I'm not afraid."
"But I am--for you. Stay in this room. If they should break into thebuilding, go up those stairs and get to the roof. They won't comethere."
He went into the outer room, closing the door behind him.
From both directions and down a side street as well the dwellers in theslums straggled into the open space in front of the "Clarion" office. ToHal they seemed casual, purposeless; rather prankish, too, like a lot ofurchins out on a lark. Several bore improvised signs, uncomplimentary tothe "Clarion." They seemed surprised when they encountered the ropebarrier with its warning placards. There were mutterings and queries.
"No serious harm in them," opined Dr. Elliot, to whom Hal had gone tosee whether he wanted anything. "Just mischief. A few rocks maybe, andthen they'll go home. Look at old Mac."
Opposite them, at his brilliantly lighted window desk, sat McGuireEllis, in full view of the crowd below, conscientiously blue-pencilingtelegraph copy.
"Hey, Mac!" yelled an acquaintance in the street. "Come down and have adrink."
The associate editor lifted his head. "Don't be young," he retorted. "Gohome and sleep it off." And reverted to his task.
"What are we doin' here, anyway?" roared some thirster for information.
Nobody answered. But, thus recalled to a purpose, the mob pressedagainst the ropes.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" A great, rounded voice boomed out above them,drawing every eye to the farthermost window where stood Dr. Surtaine,his chest swelling with ready oratory.
"Hooray!" yelled the crowd. "Good Old Doc!"--"He pays thefreight."--"Speech!"
"Say, Doc," bawled a waggish soul, "I gotta corn, marchin' up here. WillCertina cure it?"
And another burst into the final lines of a song then popular; in whichhe was joined by several of his fellows:
"Father, he drinks Seltzer. Redoes, like hell! (Crescendo.) He drinks Cer-tee-nah!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed the wily charlatan. "Unaccustomed as Iam to extempore speaking, I cannot let pass this opportunity towelcome you. We appreciate this testimonial of your regard for the'Clarion.' We appreciate, also, that it is a warm night and a thirstyone. Therefore, I suggest that we all adjourn back to the Old TwelfthWard, where, if the authorities will kindly look the other way, I shallbe delighted to provide liquid refreshments for one and all in which todrink to the health and prosperity of an enlightened free press."
The crowd rose to him with laughter. "Good old Sport!"--"Mine'sCertina."--"Come down and make good."--"Free booze, free speech, freepress!"--"You're on, Doc! You're on."
"He's turned the trick," growled Dr. Elliot to Hal. "He's a smooth one!"
Indeed, the crowd wavered, with that peculiar swaying which presages ageneral movement. At the south end there was a particularly densegathering, and there some minor struggle seemed to be in progress. Criesrose: "Let him through."--"What's he want?"
"It's Max Veltman," said Hal, catching sight of a wild, strained face."What is he up to?"
The former "Clarion" man squirmed through the front rank and crawledslowly under the ropes. Above the murmur of confused tones, a voice ofterror shrilled out:
"He's got a bomb."
The mass surged back from the spot. Veltman, moving forward upon theunprotected south end of the press, was fumbling at his pocket. "I'llfix your free and enlightened press," he screamed.
Dr. Elliot turned on Hal with an imperative question.
"Is it true, do you think? Will he do it? Quick!"
"Crazy," said Hal.
"God forgive me!" prayed the ex-navy man as his arm whipped up.
There were two quick reports. At the second, Veltman stopped, halfturned, threw his arms widely outward, and vanished in a blinding glare,accompanied by a gigantic snap! as if a mountain of rock had beenriven in twain.
To Hal it seemed that the universe had disintegrated in thatconcussion. Blackness surrounded him. He was on the floor, halfcrouching, and, to his surprise, unhurt. Groping his way to the windowhe leaned out above an appalling silence. It endured only a moment. Thenrose the terrible clamor of a mob in panic-stricken flight, above aninsistent undertone of groans, sobs, and prayers.
"I had to kill him," muttered Dr. Elliot's shaking voice at Hal's ear."There was just the one chance before he could throw his bomb."
Every light in the building had gone out. Guiding himself by the lightof matches, Hal hurried across to his den. He heard Esm?s voice beforehe could make her out, standing near the door. "Is any one hurt?"
Hal breathed a great sigh. "You're all right, then! We don't know howbad it is."
"An explosion?"
"Veltman threw a bomb. He's killed."
"Boy-ee!" called Dr. Surtaine.
"Here, Dad. You're safe?"
"Yes."
"Thank God! Careful with that match! The place is strewn with papers."
Men from below came hurrying in with candles, which are part of everynewspaper's emergency equipment. They reported no serious injuries tothe staff or the equipment. Although the plate-glass window had beenshattered into a million fragments and the inner fortification toppledover, the precious press had miraculously escaped injury. But in astrewn circle, outside, lay rent corpses, and the wounded pitifullystriving to crawl from that shambles.
With the steadiness which comes to nerves racked to the point ofcollapse, Hal made the rounds of the building. Two men in the pressroomwere slightly hurt. Their fellows would look after them. Wayne, with hismen, was already in the street, combining professional duty with firstaid. The scattered and stricken mob had begun to sift back, only asubdued and curious crowd now. Then came the ambulances and the belatedpolice, systematizing the work.
Quarter of an hour had passed when Dr. Surtaine, Esm?Elliot, heruncle--much surprised at finding her there--and Hal stood in theeditorial office, hardly able yet to get their bearings.
"I shall give myself up to the authorities," decided Dr. Elliot. He wasdeadly pale, but of unshaken nerve.
"Why?" cried Hal. "It was no fault of yours."
"Rules of the game. Well, young man, you have a paper to get out forto-morrow, though the heavens fall. Good-night."
Hal gripped at his hand. "I don't know how to thank you--" he began.
"Don't try, then," was the gruff retort. "Where's Mac?"
He turned to McGuire Ellis's desk to bid that sturdy toiler good-night.There, dimly seen through the flickering candlelight, the undisputedShort-Distance Slumber Champion of the World sat, his head on his arms,in his familiar and favorite attitude of snatching a few moments'respite from a laborious existence.
"Will you look at that!" cried the physician in utmost amazement.
At the sight a wild surge of mirth overwhelmed Hal's hair-triggernerves. He began to laugh, with strange, quick catchings of the breath:to laugh tumultuously, rackingly, unendurably.
"Stop it!" shouted Dr. Elliot, and smote him a sledge-blow between theshoulders.
For the moment the hysteria was jarred out of Hal. He gasped, gurgled,and took a step toward his assistant.
"Hey, Mac! Wake up! You've spilled your ink."
Before he could speak or move further, Esm?Elliot's arms were abouthim. Her face was close to his. He could feel the strong pressure ofher breast against him as she forced him back.
"No, no!" she was pleading, in a swift half-whisper. "Don't go near him.Don't look. Please don't. Come away."
He set her aside. A candlelight flared high. From Ellis's desk trickleda little stream. Dr. Elliot was already bending over the slackened form.
"So it wasn't ink," said Hal slowly. "Is he dead, Dr. Elliot?"
"No," snapped the other. "Esm? bandages! Quick! Your petticoat! That'lldo. Get another candle. Dr. Surtaine, help me lift him. There! Surtaine,bring water. Do you hear? Hurry!"
When Hal returned, uncle and niece were working with silent deftnessover Ellis, who lay on the floor. The wounded man opened his eyes uponhis employer's agonized face.
"Did he get the press?" he gasped.
"Keep quiet," ordered the Doctor. "Don't speak."
"Did he get the press?" insisted Ellis obstinately.
"Mac! Mac!" half sobbed Hal, bending over him. "I thought you weredead." And his tears fell on the blood-streaked face.
"Don't be young," growled Ellis faintly. "Did--he--get--the--press?"
"No."
The wounded man's eyes closed. "All right," he murmured.
Up to the time that the ambulance surgeons came to carry Ellis away, Dr.Elliot was too busy with him even to be questioned. Only after the stillburden had passed through the door did he turn to Hal.
"A piece of metal carried away half the back of his neck," he said. "Andwe let him sit there, bleeding his life away!"
"Is there any chance?" demanded Hal.
"I doubt if they'll get him to the hospital alive."
"The best man in Worthington!" said Hal passionately. "Oh!" He shook hisclenched fists at the outer darkness. "I'll make somebody pay for this."
Esm?s hand fell upon his arm. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked.
"No. You must go home. It's been a terrible thing for you."
"I'll go to the hospital," she said, "and I'll 'phone you as soon asthere is any news."
"Better come home with me, Hal," said his father gently.
The younger man turned with an involuntary motion toward the desk, stillwet with his friend's blood.
"I'll stay on the job," he said.
Understanding, the father nodded his sympathy. "Yes; I guess that wouldhave been Mac's way," said he.
Work pressing upon the editor from all sides came as a boon. The paperhad to be made over for the catastrophe which, momentarily, overshadowedthe typhus epidemic in importance. In hasty consultation, it was decidedthat the "special" on the ownership of the infected tenements should beset aside for a day, to make space. Hal had to make his own statement,not alone for the "Clarion," but for the other newspapers, whoserepresentatives came seeking news and also--what both surprised andtouched him--bearing messages of sympathy and congratulation, and offersof any help which they could extend from men to pressroomaccommodations. Not until nearly two o'clock in the morning did Hal findtime to draw breath over an early proof, which stated the casualties asseven killed outright, including Veltman who was literally torn topieces, and twenty-two seriously wounded.
From his reading Hal was called to the 'phone. Esm?s voice came to himwith a note of hope and happiness.
"Oh, Hal, they say there's a chance! Even a good chance! They'veoperated, and it isn't as bad as it looked at first. I'm so glad foryou."
"Thank you," said Hal huskily. "And--bless you! You've been an angelto-night."
There was a pause: then, "You'll come to see me--when you can?"
"To-morrow," said he. "No--to-day. I forgot."
They both laughed uncertainly, and bade each other good-night.
Hal stayed through until the last proof. In the hallway a heavy figurelifted itself from a chair in a corner as he came out.
"Dad!" exclaimed Hal.
"I thought I'd wait," said the charlatan wistfully.
No other word was necessary. "I'll be glad to be home again," said Hal."You can lend me some pajamas?"
"They're laid out on your bed. Every night."
The two men passed down the stairs, arm in arm. At the door they paused.Through the building ran a low tremor, waxing to a steady thrill. Thepresses were throwing out to the world once again their irrevocablemessage of fact and fate.