Comrade Yetta. Edwards Albert

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СКАЧАТЬ try not to be a slave. I can't fight much. I don't know how. I guess that's the real trouble – we're not afraid – only we don't know. I ain't got no education. I had to stop school when my father died. I was only fifteen. But I'll try not to make it harder for those that are fighting. I think…"

      But her excitement had burned out the stimulation of the wine. She suddenly saw the sea of faces. It turned her from The Voice of her Race into a very frightened young woman, who knew neither how to go ahead nor how to sit down.

      "That's all I've got to say!" she stammered. "I'll try not to be a slave."

      Her simple, straightforward story, above all her self-accusation, turned the spirit of the assembly. "That's right," a number of men admitted, and there was considerable applause. She was too confused, too frightened at her own daring, to realize that she had saved the meeting from failure. But Miss Train, who never lost her presence of mind, recognized the Psychological Moment to end the speech making, and she signalled to the orchestra to begin the dance music. Every one got up and began, with a great hubbub, to move the benches back against the walls.

      But Harry Klein was in no mood for dancing. In this unfamiliar, disturbing atmosphere, he also was discovering that his companion had a new and unsuspected side. It was something he did not understand, with which he was unprepared to deal. Everything seemed conspiring to tear her away from him. There were limits even to his patience. He must get her out on the sidewalk – into his own country.

      "Come on," he said gruffly, taking firm hold of her arm. "I've had enough of this. Come on, I say. I ain't going to listen to hot air all night."

      In her moment of exaltation, Yetta had almost forgotten the existence of her fiancé. His brusque manner broke into her mood with a suddenness which dazed her. He had led her down the hall, nearly to the door, before she could collect her wits. Beyond the door was the dark night and helplessness and unknown fear. Here in the hall was the woman who had been in the Settlement, the woman of whom she was not afraid.

      "Wait," she said. "I want to talk to Miss Train."

      In all that hostile environment, Miss Train's silent disdain had been the most outspoken. Harry would rather have had Yetta talk with Rachel. Rachel at least was afraid of him.

      "Come on," he growled, and jerked her nearer to the door.

      "No, no. I want to stop."

      "Don't you begin to holler," he hissed, with a rough jerk. He tried to subdue her with his hard eyes. "Come on. Don't you make no row. Don't you holler."

      They were close to the dark doorway now, and somehow Yetta could not find breath to scream out her fright. He pushed her roughly out into the vestibule. But his progress came to a sudden stop. Some one caught him by the collar and swung him off his feet.

      "Not so fast, my man." It was Longman. "Where are you trying to take this young lady?"

      Harry's free hand made an instinctive movement towards his hip pocket, but Longman's hand got there first.

      "Oh, ho!" he said softly. "Concealed weapons?"

      Jake nearly wept with rage. He – the president of a political club, the dreaded leader of a murderous gang – held up in such a manner for the mockery of a lot of working-men!

      "I asked you where you were taking this young lady," Longman repeated.

      "I brought her here," Jake snarled, trying desperately to regain his sang froid. "I guess I can take her away when she's tired of the show."

      "Yes. Of course you can take her away, if she wants to go. But you can't if she doesn't. I didn't catch your name," he continued, turning to Yetta, "but I'd be very glad to see you safely home, whenever you want to go. Would you prefer to go with me or with this – " he looked first at the wilted desperado in his grip and then at the little circle of men who had gathered about. "He's a Cadet, isn't he, comrades?"

      There was a growl of assent.

      "You ain't going to throw me down now, are you, Yetta," Jake pleaded, the thought of losing her suddenly undoing what he considered his manhood, "just because this gang has picked on me."

      "Of course you can go with him if you want to," Longman said kindly. "But really I think you'd better not. You won't do much for Freedom if you go with him."

      "I'll stay," Yetta said simply.

      And then Jake began to curse and threaten.

      "Shut up," Longman said laconically, and Jake obeyed.

      "Here," he continued to some of the men, "hand him over to the police. Be careful; he's got a gun in his pocket. Make a charge of 'concealed weapons.' And – what is your name? – Rayefsky. Thanks. Miss Train wanted to speak to you – that's why I happened along just now. Won't you come and we'll find her."

      He told her how much he had liked her speech, as he led her across the room and chatted busily about other insignificant things, just as if rescuing a young girl from the brink of perdition was one of the most natural things in the world. Yetta was not at all hysterical, but she had had enough strange emotions to upset any one that night. His quiet steady tone, as if everything of course was all right, was like a rock to lean upon.

      He left her in an empty committee-room off the stage and hurried out to find Mabel, who, as a matter of fact, had not sent him to find Yetta. With no small exertions he pried her loose from the swarm of admiring young girls, and, leading her to the door of the committee-room, told her what had happened.

      "Good old Walter," she laughed; "warning me not to butt in, and doing the rescue all by yourself."

      "I didn't butt in," he said sheepishly, "until the chap began to use force."

      "Are muscles the only kind of force you recognize?" she said. "I'll bet he wasn't using half as much force when you interfered as he had other times without touching her."

      She went into the committee-room and closed the door. And in a very few minutes Yetta was lost in the wonder of a friend. Hundreds of girls had sobbed out their troubles on Miss Train's shoulder before, but, although she made jokes to her friends about how tears faded her shirtwaists, none of the girls had ever failed to find a ready sympathy. Although the process had lost the charm of novelty to Mabel it was for Yetta a new and entirely wonderful experience. Not since her father had comforted her for a stubbed toe or a cut finger had she cried on anybody's shoulder. And Miss Train, as well as Longman, had the tact, as soon as possible, to lead her thoughts away from the evening's tragedy to the new ideals which the meeting had called to life. As soon as her tears were dried, Mabel took her out in the main hall and introduced her to her friends. Longman came up and claimed a dance, and after it was over he sat beside her for a time and talked to her about labor unions and the struggle for Liberty. And then he called over Isadore Braun, the socialist lawyer, and had him dance with her. These two were her only partners at her first ball. Every few minutes Mabel managed to escape from her manifold duties and sit beside her.

      About midnight they took her home. Longman shook hands with her, and Mabel kissed her good night. Yetta went up the dark stairway very tired and shaken.

      CHAPTER VIII

      NEW FRIENDS

      "Interesting girl," Longman said as he and Miss Train turned away from Yetta's door.

      "Yes. I'll have to keep an eye on her. She may be a valuable recruit."

      Longman laughed.

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