"It doesn't
matter, because I couldn't use the story. Mr. Stebbins is one of our
'sacred cows.' Good-day, and thank you."
He started away; and suddenly all my terror of newspaper publicity
overwhelmed me. I simply could not face the public as guardian of a
Bolshevik! I shouted: "Young man!" And the reporter turned,
respectfully, to listen. "I tell you, Mr. Carpenter is _not_ a
radical! Get that clear!" And to the young man's skeptical
half-smile I exclaimed: "He's a Christian!" At which the reporter
laughed out loud.
XXVII
We got to the Labor Temple, and found the place in a buzz of
excitement, over what had occurred in front of Prince's last night.
I had suspected rough work on the part of the police, and here was
the living evidence--men with bandages over cracked heads, men
pulling open their shirts or pulling up their sleeves to show black
and blue bruises. In the headquarters of the Restaurant Workers we
found a crowd, jabbering in a dozen languages about their troubles;
we learned that there were eight in jail, and several in the
hospital, one not expected to live.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128