Several men laughed when Farr pushed the old man into view. There was a murmured chorus of “Pickaroon.”
“It's for the children--the poor folks--for the memory of our little girl,” hissed Farr in the old man's ear. “Will you go to your bed to-night--the night of the day we buried her--knowing that--you are a coward? These are only men. We must tell them so that they will know. Speak! Tell them!” He set his firm clutch around the trembling old Frenchman's arm and held him out where all could see.
“I do not know how to talk here--to so much man--to the lords of the city,” stammered the miserable old man, licking his parched lips, scared until all was black before his eyes.
The hush was profound. Men curved their palms at their ears, wondering what old Pickaroon could have to say in City Hall.
“Remember what we have left up there--in the cemetery--the poor children in their graves,” muttered Farr, again bending close to Etienne's ear.
Then, thus reminded, thus spurred, all his Gallic emotion bursting into flame in him suddenly, the old man felt the desperate resolution that often animates the humble and ignorant in great emergencies. The little ones had been martyrs--why not he? That thought flashed through the tumult in his brain.
“Yes, since you all hark for me to speak I will speak,” he declared. “Messieurs, I am a poor man. Not wise. It is very hard for me to talk to you. But I have been to-day up where the little children are bury--so many of them, with their playthings on the graves. I went to take there anodder little child, poor baby girl. I leave her there with the odder ones--so very lonesome all of them--their modders cannot sing them to sleep any more.”
“This is irregular,” cried the mayor. “What do you want?”
“Nottings for maself,” cried Etienne, passionately shrill in his tone now. “But I have to ask you, masters of this city, how much longer shall you send poison down the water-pipes to the poor folks and the children in the tenement blocks? It is poison that has kill our little Rosemarie--and all her life ahead! The doctor say so--and he say I cannot understand about the rich man, why he do it. But I understand that the childs are dying. I say you shall not sent that water--if you do send it I will bring here the fadders who have lost their babies and the modders of the babies.” His lips curled back in his excitement and froth flecked his mouth. “Sacred name of God! We shall tear that poison-factory up from the ground with our bare hands!”
“Officer, put that man out of the room,” ordered the mayor.
“Won't you listen to us?” shouted Farr. “You are the chief magistrate of this city. You and these aldermen are the guardians of the people. Are you going to sit there in those cushioned chairs and let a crowd of rich assassins murder the poor people?”
Men hissed that speech.
The mayor rapped his gavel furiously.
“This is no matter to be brought up here at this time. You're slandering honorable men, sir! We have other business.”
“Can there be any other business as important as this?”
“Put both of these men out, officer.”
“Are you and these aldermen owned by the water syndicate, as report says you are?” cried Farr. “Look here, you men, men in this room and at the door! This is your City Hall--these aldermen are elected by your votes. Aren't you going to demand that the people be heard in this matter? Don't you know that typhoid fever is killing off the children in this city--and that poison water is the cause of it?”
“It's rotten stuff to drink--we all know that,” cried a voice. “But there'll have to be a change in politics in this state before they'll give us anything else.”
Two policemen elbowed their rough way to Farr and Etienne.
“The big chap is right--it's about time to have this water question opened up, Mr. Mayor,” called another voice.
“Open it up in a legal and proper way, then,” snapped the mayor. “Go to the law.”
“That's it--go to the law--go to the law,” jeered another. “And we'll all be dead and the lawyers will have all our money before the thing is decided.”
There were more hisses.
But an outburst of indorsing voices indicated that many men in that chamber understood more or less of the political management behind the Consolidated Water Company.
“If a thing is wrong, change it. What better law do you need than that?” asked Farr, disregarding an officer's thumb that jerked imperious gesture.
“When you know a little more law you won't be ignoramus enough to come into a public hearing and try to break it up. You'd better go and study law,” said the indignant mayor. He pounded his gavel to indicate that the recess was over.
“I'll take your advice,” replied Farr, towering over the policeman and vibrating his finger at his Honor. “If you hadn't found law so handy in your own case you wouldn't forget yourself in your excitement and recommend it to others. If we've got to fight the devil we'd better use his weapons.”
Men shouted approval all around him.
“Clear the room,” ordered the mayor. “Everybody out!”
“Keep your hands off,” Farr advised the officer nearest him. “I'll go without any help. I have found out that I'm only wasting my time in this place.”
In the corridor men pressed around him. Some of them insisted on shaking his hand. Others shouted commendation. Still others exhibited only frank curiosity in the stalwart stranger. And others were clamorously hostile.
“By gad! If you wanted to start something you took the right way to do it,” affirmed one of the throng.
“You showed good courage,” declared an elderly man with an earnest face. “Some of the rest of us have tried to do something in the past. But those who didn't have much power were either kept out or kicked out of any office in city government or the legislature--and those who did amount to something were gobbled up by the machine. The machine can pay. Working for the people isn't very profitable. So I'm afraid you won't get very far.”
“You needn't worry about that chap not getting along all right,” remarked one of the group--but his indorsement was ironical. “He's a construction boss for the Consolidated, and he went into that hearing to start some kind of a back-fire. Shrewd operators--the Consolidated folks.”
The men about Farr pulled away from him and there was considerable malicious laughter in the crowd.
“So we see the game, even if we don't catch on to the meaning of it just now,” said the observant one.
Farr squared his shoulders. They stared at him with fresh interest and a bit of additional respect. They saw in him something more than a mere popular agitator--a disturber of a municipal hearing; he must be a trusted agent of the great political machine, executing a secret mission.
“You're right--I have been working for the Consolidated,” he admitted in tones that all could hear.
“Move on! Get outdoors! Clear this corridor--all of you,” shouted a captain of police who had come hurrying up from down-stairs and had taken command of the situation.
The crowd began to surge on, following Farr.
“I went to work digging in their trenches because I struck this town on my uppers and needed the money--needed it quick. I was promoted to be a boss. But I want to tell you now, gentlemen, that I do not work for the Consolidated.”
“I reckon you're right,” said somebody. “I just overheard a man telephoning to the superintendent about you--and if I'm any judge of a conversation you are _not_ working for the Consolidated. Not any more!”
“I'm sorry you're going to leave the city,” lamented the elderly man. “We need chaps like you.”
“I'm not going to leave the city.”
“You might just as well,” counseled one of the bystanders, “after what you said in that hearing. If you get a job in this city after this you'll be a good one!”
When they were outside City Hall, Farr waited for a moment on the steps. Etienne, still trembling after that most terrible experience of his placid life, pressed close at the young man's side.
“Will all you gentlemen please take a good look at me so that you'll know me when you see me again?” invited the ex-boss for the Consolidated.
They stared at him. His face was well lighted by the arc-light under the arch of the door.
“I am not a labor-leader, nor a walking delegate, nor a politician, nor an anarchist. You men go home and unscrew the faucets in your kitchens, take a good sniff, and pull the slime out of the valve. Then remember that the mayor and aldermen of this city wouldn't listen to me to-night in the Hall that the tax-payer's money built. Also remember that a little later they will listen to me. Gentlemen, my name is Walker Farr. I'm going to stay here in this city. Good night.”
XII
AT THE FOOT OF THE THRONE
As usual at nine-thirty in the afternoon, the big tower clock on the First National Bank building in the city of Marion pointed the finger of its minute-hand straight downward.
As usual, at this hour, as he had done for many years, Colonel Symonds Dodd eased himself down from the equipage that brought him to his office. This day the vehicle was his limousine car.
In view of the fact that Colonel Dodd owned the First National block the big clock seemed to point its finger at him with the bland pride of a flunky in a master. It seemed to say, “Behold! The great man is here!”