Jimmie Higgins | Page 9

garments--also her
own dress, which was half-red and half-green, and of generous, almost
crinoline proportions. Lizzie herself was built on that scale, with broad
hips and bosom, big brown eyes and heavy dark hair. She was a fine
strong woman when she had shed her bedraggled house gown, and
Jimmie was proud of his capability as a chooser of wives. It was no
small feat to find a good woman, and to recognize her, where Jimmie
had found Lizzie. She was five years older than he, a Bohemian, having
been brought to America when she was a baby. Her former name--you
could hardly call it her "maiden" name, considering the
circumstances--was Elizabeth Huszar, which she pronounced so that for
a long time Jimmie had understood it to be Eleeza Betooser.
Jimmie snatched a bite of bread and drank a cup of metallic tasting tea,
and packed the family into the baby-carriage, and trudged the mile and
half to the centre of the city. When they arrived, Lizzie took the biggest
child, and Jimmie the other two, and so they trudged into the
Opera-house. On this hot night it was like holding three stoves in your
arms, and if the babies woke up and began to cry, the parents would
have the painful choice of missing something, or else facing the
disgusted looks of everyone about them. In Belgium, at the "People's
House", the Socialists maintained a creche, but the American
movement had not yet discovered that useful institution.
Already the hall was half-full, and a stream of people pouring in.
Jimmie got himself and family seated, and then turned his eager eyes
proudly to survey the scene. The would-be-congressman's circulars
which he had placed in the seats were now being read by the sitters; the
banners he had so laboriously hung were resplendent on the walls; there
was a pitcher of ice water on the speaker's table, and a bouquet of
flowers and a gavel for the chairman; the seats in the rear of the
platform for the Liederkranz were neatly ranged, most of them already
occupied by solid German figures topped by rosy German faces: to
each detail of which achievements Jimmie had lent a hand. He had a
pride of possession in this great buzzing throng, and in the debt they
owed to him. They had no idea of it, of course; the fools, they thought

that a meeting like this just grew out of nothing! They paid their ten
cents--twenty-five cents for reserved seats--and imagined that covered
everything, with perhaps even a rake-off for somebody! They would
grumble, wondering why the Socialists persisted in charging admission
for their meetings--why they could not let people in free as the
Democrats and Republicans did. They would go to Democratic and
Republican meetings, and enjoy the brass band and the fireworks,
pyrotechnical and oratorical--never dreaming it was all a snare paid for
by their exploiters!
Well, they would learn about it to-night! Jimmie thought of the
Candidate, and how he would impress this man and that. For Jimmie
knew scores who had got tickets, and he peered about after this one and
that, and gave them a happy nod from behind his barricade of babies.
Then, craning his neck to look behind him, suddenly Jimmie gave a
start. Coming down the aisle was Ashton Chalmers, president of the
First National Bank of Leesville; and with him-could it be
possible?--old man Granitch, owner of the huge Empire Machine Shops
where Jimmie worked! The little machinist found himself shaking with
excitement as these two tall forms strode past him down the aisle. He
gave Lizzie a nudge with his elbow and whispered into her ear; and all
around was a buzz of whispers--for, of course, everybody knew these
two mighty men, the heads of the "invisible government" of Leesville.
They had come to find out what their subjects were thinking! Well,
they would get it straight!

III

The big hall was full, and the aisles began to jam, and then the police
closed the doors--something which Jimmie took as part of the universal
capitalist conspiracy. The audience began to chafe; until at last the
chairman walked out upon the stage, followed by several important
persons who took front seats. The singers stood up, and the leader
waved his wand, and forth came the Marseillaise: a French
revolutionary hymn, sung in English by a German organization--there

was Internationalism for you! With full realization of the solemnity of
this world-crisis, they sang as if they hoped to be heard in Europe.
And then rose the Chairman--Comrade Dr. Service. He was a fine, big
figure of a man, with grey moustache and beard trimmed to a point; his
swelling chest was covered by clean white linen and tight-fitting
broad-cloth, and he made a most imposing