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Sinclair, Upton, 1878-1968

"They Call Me Carpenter"

I found Carpenter's door locked; I opened it, and rushed
in. The place was empty! The bird had flown!
How had he got out? Had he climbed through the window and slid down
a rain-spout in his prophetic robes? Had he won the heart of some
servant? Had some newspaper reporter or agent of our enemies used
bribery? I rushed downstairs, and got my car from the garage; and
all the way to the city I spent my time in such futile speculations.
How Carpenter, having escaped from the house, had managed to get
into town so quickly--that was much easier to figure out; for our
highways are full of motor traffic, and almost any driver will take
in a stranger.
I came to the city. Even outside the crowded district, the traffic
was held up for a minute or two at every corner; so I found time to
look about, and to realize that the Brigade had got to town. All day
special trains had been pouring into the city, literally dozens of
them by every road; and now the streets were thronged with men in
uniform, marching arm in arm, shouting, chanting war-cries, roaming
in search of adventure.


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