Jimmie Higgins | Page 7

and beat him in addition; so
Jimmie had skipped out, and for ten years had lived the life of a street
waif in the cities and a hobo on the road. He had learned a bit about
machinery, helping in a garage, and then, in a rush-time, he had got a

job in the Empire Machine Shops. He had stayed in Leesville, because
he had got married; he had met his wife in a brothel, and she had
wanted to quit the life, and they had taken a chance together.
"I don't tell that to everybody," said Jimmie. "You know--they mightn't
understand. But I don't mind you knowin'."
"Thank you," replied the Candidate, and put his hand on Jimmie's
shoulder. "Tell me how you became a Socialist."
There was nothing special about that, was the answer. There had been a
fellow in the shop who was always "chewing the rag"; Jimmie had
laughed at him--for his life had made him suspicious of everybody, and
if there was any sort of politician, it was just another scheme of
somebody to wear a white collar and live off the workers. But the
fellow had kept pegging away; and once Jimmie had been laid off for a
couple of months, and the family had near starved, and that had given
him time to think, and also the inclination. The fellow had come along
with some papers, and Jimmie had read them, and it dawned upon him
that here was a movement of his fellow-workers to put an end to their
torments.
"How long ago was that?" asked the Candidate, and Jimmie answered
three years. "And you haven't lost your enthusiasm?" This with an
intensity that surprised Jimmie. No, he answered, he was not that kind.
Whatever happened, he would keep pegging away at the task of freeing
labour. He would not see the New Day, perhaps, but his children would
see it; and a fellow would work like the devil to save his children.
So they came to the city; and the Candidate pressed Jimmie's arm.
"Comrade," he said, "I want to tell you how much good this little trip
has done me. I owe you a debt of gratitude."
"Me?" exclaimed Jimmie.
"You have given me fresh hope and courage, and at a time when I felt
beaten. I got into town this morning, and I'd had no sleep, and I tried to
get some in the hotel and couldn't, because of the horror that's

happening. I wrote a dozen telegrams and sent them off, and then I was
afraid to go back to the hotel-room, because I knew I'd only lie awake
all afternoon. But now--I remember that our movement is rooted in the
hearts of the people!"
Jimmie was trembling. But all he could say was: "I wish I could do it
every Sunday."
"So do I," said the Candidate.

VII

They walked down Main Street, and some way ahead they saw a crowd
gathered, filling the pavement beyond the kerb. "What is that?" asked
the Candidate, and Jimmie answered that it was the office of the Herald.
There must be some news.
The other hastened his steps; and Jimmie, striding alongside, fell silent
again, knowing that the gigantic burden and woe of the world was
falling upon his hero's shoulders once more. They came to the edge of
the crowd, and saw a bulletin in front of the newspaper office. But it
was too far away for them to read. "What is it?" they asked.
"It says the Germans are going to march into Belgium. And they've
shot a lot of Socialists in Germany."
"WHAT?" And the Candidate's hand clutched Jimmie's arm.
"That's what it says."
"My God!" exclaimed the man. And he began pushing his way into the
crowd, with Jimmie in his wake. They got to the bulletin, and stood
reading the typewritten words--a bare announcement that more than a
hundred leading German Socialists had been executed for efforts to
prevent mobilization. They continued staring, until people pushing

behind them caused them to draw back. Outside the throng they stood,
the Candidate gazing into space, and Jimmie gazing at the Candidate,
both of them dumb. It was a fact that they could not have been more
shocked if the news had referred to the members of Local Leesville of
the Socialist Party of America.
The pain in the Candidate's face was so evident that Jimmie groped
about in his head for something comforting to say. "At least they done
what they could," he whispered.
The other suddenly burst forth: "They are heroes! They have made the
name Socialist sacred for ever!" He rushed on, as if he were making a
speech-so strong becomes a life-time habit. "They have written their
names at the very top of humanity's roll