[Ike, who is standing at the window, sings the next stanza with them, beginning in a low tone.]
IKE.
[He raises his voice so that the words are heard.]
WARD. Aw, shut up, Ike.
[The door opens and a pretty Salvation lass passes the tambourine while the band goes on singing. Nobody pays any attention to her. Jerusalem Slim, wearing a Salvation uniform, enters behind her and stands near the door.]
THE ARMY.
[The Lassie comes last to Ike, who looks inquisitively into the tambourine, then gravely holds out his cap to her.]
IKE. I’m in the same line myself, sister.
THE LASSIE. Jesus will save you.
IKE. Not if I see him first, he won’t. I’m a Southern Jew, and Jesus himself wouldn’t touch a Southern Jew, sister. He might be willing to do something for one of those New York Jews, but I never met anybody that didn’t draw the line at an Israelite hillbilly.
THE LASSIE. Have you tried Him?
IKE. Sister, I get saved regular every winter, whenever my shoes wear out. I’ve got a groove wore in my back from back-sliding.
THE LASSIE. “Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy-laden.” You’ll never find rest till you find Him.
IKE. Sister, if you’re speaking for yourself, I’ll come, but if you’re speaking for the Kingdom of Heaven, I’ve been to Florida and these summer resorts ain’t what they’re cracked up to be in the prospectus. You’re too pretty to go round distributing the word of God. You’re liable to create a false impression. Heaven ain’t like that. Why don’t you speak for yourself, kid?
THE LASSIE [stepping back]. I’m safe in His arms, brother.
IKE. You’d be a lot more comfortable in mine.
[The Lassie goes out. As she passes through the door, a shrill voice is heard testifying.]
THE VOICE. I was on the street and Jesus saved me. My sins fell from me and left my soul as pure as the driven snow.
[The door closes, cutting off the words.]
WARD. That was no accident, you know, about Bardi.
MAC. No, probably not.
WARD. They had it in for him, after last year.
SPIKER. You think they planned that?
WARD. I do.
CAPRARO. It is they that have red hands. The murderer loses in the end.
MAC. The kind of murderer that killed Bardi dies mostly of old age.
SLIM. You have all forgotten something. You have forgotten that God is love.
WARD [angrily]. Christ, I thought that one was dead!
MAC. Oh, God is love, is he? Well, how much does he love the guy that instructed somebody to get Bardi?
SLIM. Judge not that ye be not judged.
SPIKER. Throw him out.
MAC. You! You’re a pious fraud. You’re one of them. The net effect of all you’ve got to say is to support their capitalistic system! That’s what your army says, and that’s why business supports you. Teach ’em temperance so they’ll work steadier, teach ’em to turn the other cheek, so they won’t make trouble when they’re robbed, teach ’em to judge not, so we can jail ’em and murder ’em without a come-back. Make ’em all good slaves in the name of Jesus Christ. That’s what you stand for!
SLIM. Would you do violence for higher wages?
MAC. No, but if I had my hands on the man that shot Bardi, I wouldn’t answer for him.
CAPRARO. You would be wrong. When you take violence into your hands, you lower yourself to the level of government, which is the origin of crime and evil.
MAC. Go on! The government’s nothing so important. It’s a police system, to protect the wealth of the wealthy. And Slim there, he stands for the priests of the world, going around advising everybody to knuckle under so the bankers can keep all they’ve got! That’s why the boys voted to end the strike in there. They’ve been taught to be slaves till they don’t know enough to take what’s their own. We had the strike all won for them, and they throw it all away because they owe a little money at the corner grocery and they’re scared of the police! Capraro and I talk ourselves blue in the face for them, and Bardi gets himself killed for them, and it’s all coming their way, and then what do they do? They decide they can’t stand it any longer and they take their wage cut and go back to work! No wonder the Rockefellers are good Baptists!
ROSALIE. Then isn’t it all useless, Mac?
MAC. By God, they’re going to know they’ve been in a fight before they put me away! What else does Northfield own besides mills and docks? I’ll have them all out on him! I’ll bleed him till he can’t pay his private dicks!
WARD. Good boy!
[The telephone rings. Rosalie answers it.]
ROSALIE. Yes, he’s here. Mac.
[Mac takes the phone.]
MAC. Hello. Hello, Ben. What? Wait a minute. They’re not going back to work! I know they voted it down but they’re not going back because the engineers are staying out. Did you get that? And now get this, too. The engineers are staying out on my word that the mills are going out in sympathy, and you’ve got to work it for me. No, I’ve got to wait here till the meeting’s over. You can pull that through for me. [A pause.] Well, can you do this? Can you hold them half an hour till I can get there? Put on a show. Make it dramatic, and I’ll be over as soon as I hear from Andy. You’re damn right we’ll have the longshoremen out again! We’ll make them eat that vote and like it! All right! [He hangs up, and turns to Ward.] What was that you heard about raids tonight?
WARD. I got it from old Bauer.
MAC. Well, there may be something in it, from what Benny says. They’ve got a posse mobilized over at the mills.
ROSALIE. Then you won’t go over there?
MAC. I’ve got to. It’s probably only the regular guard. They call out the State Militia every time a couple of mill-workers shake hands. [He takes down the receiver.] Give me the committee room. Hello. Hello, Andy. I know you’re not alone. You don’t need to talk. You can give it to me yes or no. Are they waiting to hear from the mills? Well, the mills are waiting to hear from you, so for God’s sake shove them over. Yes. Benny says they will. And move fast or I won’t be in time. I’m going over there. [He comes over to Rosalie.] You’ve got to be a sport, sweetheart, you’ve got to.
ROSALIE. I can’t do it any more. I’ve done it all I can. [She is set and stern.]
MAC. It’s the only chance the strike’s got, Rosalie. If I go down there with the news that the engineers are going out I’m pretty sure I can stampede them.
ROSALIE. You’d better go then. Only don’t ask me to be a sport about it. I’m not going to try any more. I’m not going to be interested any more.
MAC. What do you want me to do? Put on a white collar and sit in an office and push a pen around all day?
ROSALIE. You could do anything—anything you wanted to—only you don’t want to do anything but—save humanity or something like that—I don’t know what! All I know is they aren’t worth it—and they don’t care how much you do for them!
MAC. They’re the only people who are worth anything. I admit they’re lunkheads and you’ve got to tell them. By God, somebody’s got to do the telling.
ROSALIE. Get wise to yourself, Mac. They sit around here and guzzle coffee and yes you one day and then go in there and vote you down the next! And they aren’t worth it and you don’t get anything out of it!
MAC. I get a hell of a lot of fun out of it.
ROSALIE. I thought so. You start strikes because you like to be in a fight and you run them because you like to act like a tin Napoleon—that’s all!
MAC. Thanks!
ROSALIE. That’s that—there’s nothing more to say—go ahead with your strike—do anything you like but don’t count on me.
MAC. Does that mean you are walking out on me?
ROSALIE. It does. Don’t touch me and don’t come near me. I’m through, Mac, through. I don’t want to see you again and I hope— [Rosalie runs out.]
SPIKER. “Tin Napoleon,” eh? Getting soft, Mac? Never knew you to take anything like that before.
MAC. You try it on, fella, and see what’ll happen to you. [Phone rings. Mac answers.] Hello. What? Who is this? How do you know that? I’ve just been talking to Benny. They did! Ah, Christ! Can’t you round them up? Can’t you get another hall? You don’t have to let them get away with that! Who have you got with you? [A long pause.] All right. All right. Well, it certainly lets us down over here. Where are you going to be? I’ll call you there. [He hangs up.] That settles it.
WARD. What’s up?
MAC. Police broke up the mill meeting, wrecked the hall, and scattered the crowd. They won’t vote tonight. Anyway, they’re licked. And I guess we are. What do you say, Cappie?
CAPRARO. We must call Andy.
MAC. I wish I thought the engineers would go out alone.
CAPRARO. They will not. Anyway, you must tell them.
MAC. You tell ’em, Cappie.
CAPRARO [going to telephone]. Give me the committee room.
SPIKER. So they go back tomorrow.
MAC. Looks like it.
CAPRARO. Hello, Andy. It’s all off. Police raided the mill-workers. Oh, no, no, no! We must not do that! Yes, so am I. [He hangs up.]
SPIKER. You’d let the longshoremen go back to work tomorrow—after that?
MAC. Not if I saw my way out of it.
SPIKER. What kind of guts have we got in this crowd, anyway? We can’t let ’em get away with that! Don’t you see it? They get away with that and we’re licked for good—the whole labor crowd’s licked?
MAC. Pretty damn near it.
SPIKER. Look here, Mac. I never knew you to go soft before. What’s the matter with you? Do you want a vacation?
MAC. I didn’t ask for one, but I guess I’m going to get it.
SPIKER. Ward, what’s the matter with you? I don’t understand this bunch. Are we going to lie down? God, there’s got to be something to do!
WARD. There’s got to be, all right, but I can’t think of it.
SPIKER. I’ll tell you what I’d do if anybody had the guts to go with me—I’d fix it so nobody could go to work, scabs or union. I’d blow the docks to hell!
WARD. There wouldn’t be any sense to that.
SPIKER. Christ, what a crowd!
MAC. Be logical, man, be logical. I’ll do anything that’ll get us anywhere. Only that wouldn’t. Not this time.
SPIKER. Now’s the time it would do some good. And why not? They’ve used everything on us.
WARD. Well, I’d like to see it.
SPIKER. Only you won’t touch it—oh, no! You wanted to know what you could do about the strike—and I told you that’s all—and do I get volunteers? I do not. Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going alone.
MAC. Are you joking?
SPIKER. I don’t joke with nitroglycerine. [Suvorin has silently risen and come over behind Spiker. He lays his hand on Spiker’s shoulder. Spiker jumps.] What do you want?
SUVORIN. You asked for a man.
SPIKER. Well?
SUVORIN. Will I do?
SPIKER. Will you come with me?
SUVORIN. Who are you?
SPIKER. Who the hell are you?
SUVORIN. You know me. I run this restaurant.
SPIKER. You’re no longshoreman.
SUVORIN. You asked for a man.
SPIKER. All right. Who else is coming?
SUVORIN. And now, who are you?
SPIKER. Say, bohunk, I guess you know who I am.
SUVORIN. I do not.
SPIKER. Well, I don’t know as I can help you then.
MAC. He’s all right, Suvorin. He’s been working with us three months. He’s a California wobbly. They grow wild out there.
SPIKER. Anybody else game to go along?
MAC. You wouldn’t go into that?
SUVORIN. If he will tell me who he is.
SPIKER. Damn it, Mac told you who I am!
SUVORIN. How long were you in California?
SPIKER. Is this a third degree?
SUVORIN. Why not answer me?
MAC. Tell him, Spiker. He’s all right. There’s nobody here you need be afraid of.
SPIKER. Three years.
SUVORIN. And before that?
SPIKER. Do you want my life history?
SUVORIN. This is a serious matter.
SPIKER. All right. I’ve been an I.W.W. organizer over four years. Before that I was in Pittsburgh.
SUVORIN. What was your trade?
SPIKER. Iron-worker.
SUVORIN. You’ve never been an iron-worker.
SPIKER. Are you calling me a liar?
SUVORIN. I am. Look at that hand. Look at that wrist. [He holds up Spiker’s hand.] Where do you wear it?
SPIKER. What are you getting nasty about?
SUVORIN. I said where do you wear it? On your underwear?
SPIKER. What do you mean?
SUVORIN. Your badge!
SPIKER. I don’t wear any badge. Do I look like a dick?
SUVORIN. You do. [He seizes Spiker’s shirt and turns the collar down.]
SPIKER. Take your lousy paws off me.
SUVORIN. There it is. [He withdraws his hand with a detective’s badge in it.]
SPIKER. You planted that on me!
SUVORIN. Oh, no.
MAC [rising]. Look, here, Spiker!—
SPIKER [his hands on a gun in his pocket]. Let go of me!
[Sowerby slides under the table and stays there.]
SUVORIN. Certainly.
[Spiker, released, backs to the street door, his eyes on Mac.]
MAC. Spiker, is that true? [Spiker, nearing the door, makes no answer.] You’re a rat, then, are you? [Spiker disappears.] Why, God damn his soul, he’s been sitting in with us all through the strike! [He makes a sudden dash for the cash drawer, takes out the gun and makes for the door.]
ROSALIE. Mac!
[Suvorin blocks Mac’s way and pinions him, Ward takes the gun.]
MAC. All right, all right. I’m letting go. Only that’s the nearest I ever came to bumping anybody off.
[Ward replaces the gun.]
SUVORIN. Sit there and think it over! And when next you wish to do a thing like that do it well, with forethought to save your skin, not like a fool! [He looks over the group.] How many years have I sat here listening to fools’ talk? Five, ten—many years. And what have I learned from you? I have learned that you know nothing—that you learn nothing! Uplifters, you are, reformers, dreamers, thinking to make over the earth. I know you all, and you are all fools but Ike, who is a pan-handler. That is sensible.... The earth is old. You will not make it over. Man is old. You will not make him over. You are anarchists, maybe, some of you socialists, some of you wobblies, you are all believers in pap. The world is old, and it is owned by men who are hard. Do you think you can win against them by a strike? Let us change the government, you say. Bah! They own this government, they will buy any government you have. I tell you there is no government—there are only brigands in power who fight for more power! It has always been so. It will always be so. Till you die! Till we all die! Till there is no earth!
This Spiker you have here, you believe him, he looks right to you. How do I know him? I have a test for him. All my life I listen among men for a man who has hell in him, as I have. All my life I listen for one rebel, and when I have thought to find him I have looked under his lapel for the badge. When I find him he is a spy—always! There is only one man with enough hell in him to be dangerous—enough hell and cunning and power—and it is I alone! I came here from tyranny to find a free country, and this country set out to break me in its prisons because I believed in its liberty. You should know what it is to wear iron to your bone! I can tell you of liberty! I can tell you of justice! There is none! There are men with whips and there are whipped men! That is all. And you are whipped. Because you are fools.
WARD. Who’s whipped?
SUVORIN. You are. You are whipped before you start. The government sets a little game for you, and you play it with them, and the government wins because it is their game. Then they put you in prison till you have tuberculosis. That is the end of you. It is an easy way. You are children in their hands. You have not even bothered to get money to fight them, you have not even learned to break from a prison, you do not even learn their tricks. Bah! They have cheap little tricks to hold you—handcuffs, bars—do you think they could hold me again with handcuffs and bars?—Yes, but you are happier so. You have not gone bad inside—and that is why you are not dangerous. That is why—you are not dangerous. [He sits, his head in his hands.] Play your game. They are safe from you.
[The door opens and a Policeman and Sergeant enter. Spiker stands in the doorway. Mac and Ward rise.]
SERGEANT. Sit still, sit still. Just got warrants for a couple of arrests here, that’s all.
MAC. Who do you want?
SERGEANT. James Macready and Dante Capraro.
ROSALIE. They’re not here.
SPIKER. Oh, yes, they are.
WARD. Hello, rat.
SPIKER. Those two.
SERGEANT [to Mac]. What’s your name?
MAC. Macready.
SERGEANT. Well, you’re wanted. What’s yours?
CAPRARO. Capraro.
SERGEANT. You two come along. That’s all.
MAC. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Where’s your warrant?
SERGEANT. Oh, I see. Constitutional rights and everything, huh? Well, here you are.
MAC. Wait. Let me read it.
SERGEANT. Sure, read it.
MAC [reading]. Do you mean you’re arresting us for a murder?
SERGEANT. That’s what it says, ain’t it?
MAC. You can’t arrest us for any murder.
SERGEANT. I guess I can.
ROSALIE. What murder?
MAC. Kendall, the paymaster. Listen, we know nothing about that. We were having troubles of our own this afternoon.
POLICEMAN. We don’t know anything about that.
ROSALIE. But you can’t do this. It isn’t right.
SERGEANT. I don’t want any argument about it.
SPIKER [coming in]. You’d better search the place for weapons, sergeant. Look in the cash drawer.
MAC. You lousy fink, is this your affair?
SPIKER. And look them over for guns.
[Mac suddenly hits Spiker in the jaw. Spiker goes down. The Sergeant grabs Mac, who wrestles with him to get at Spiker. The other policeman gets him from behind. Rosalie tries to help and is shoved away. The Sergeant turns to Capraro.]
SERGEANT. How about you?
CAPRARO. I know nothing of a murder.
SERGEANT. Put out your hands.
CAPRARO. I will not.
[He is handcuffed. Spiker finds the gun in the cash drawer.]
SPIKER [to Suvorin]. Whose is this?
SUVORIN. I do not know.
ROSALIE. It’s mine. I put it there.
SERGEANT. How long have you had it?
ROSALIE. I don’t know. I’ve always had it.
SERGEANT. I’ll take it. [Spiker hands it over.] That’s a service revolver.
ROSALIE. Mac!
SERGEANT. You say this is yours?
ROSALIE. Yes.
SERGEANT. You can’t talk to him, you know. What’s your name?
ROSALIE. Rosalie Suvorin.
SERGEANT. That’s all. We’re going.
ROSALIE. Wait just a minute—please!
SERGEANT. You can’t go along, you know.
ROSALIE. Can’t I speak to him a minute?
SERGEANT. No.
MAC. Don’t worry, kid. I’ve been pinched before.
[He and the Sergeant go out, following Capraro and the other Policeman. Spiker hits Mac outside the door.]
SERGEANT [at the door]. By the way, I don’t think so much of the crowd you keep in here.
SUVORIN. Neither do I.
[Exit Sergeant. Ward goes to the door. Milkin is scribbling on a napkin.]
MILKIN [to Ike]. See dat? Dat don’t look so good. Dat’s de wrong sign.
ACT II
SCENE I
Scene: Office of District Attorney Salter in the courthouse.
There is a window, partly ivy-covered, at the right, and a door at the rear communicating with the Judge’s chambers. A door at the left opens on a hallway. The rear and lefthand walls are almost covered with a legal reference library, mostly in yellow leather bindings. There are two desks, one for Salter, one for his secretary. A couple of padded chairs are placed to front the attorney’s desk. The desks are piled with stacks of letters and ’script.
Salter, a thin, keen, and rather weary person, enters from the hall, tosses a hat on the rack, and begins to search through a mass of papers. He finds what he wants and sits at his desk.
There is a tap at the door and Haslet enters. He is a well-dressed, middle-aged business man.
It is after lunch.
SALTER. Oh, hello, Arthur.
HASLET. How’s our little trial coming?
SALTER. It’s all right.
HASLET. Going to convict?
SALTER. Oh, yes.—Want to let ’em off?
HASLET. I do not.
SALTER. Thought maybe somebody had changed his mind.
HASLET. Good God, man, those two Bolsheviks have raised more hell in this town the last two years than you’d get out of a dozen reform administrations. Every time we turn around they start something new on us.
SALTER. Damned unpleasant.
HASLET. They’ve turned my hair grey, and they’ve cost the Northfield company a couple of millions, one time and another.
SALTER. It’s rather hard to make it look as if they had anything to do with the murder—
HASLET. Why is it?
SALTER. Lord, there’s no evidence.
HASLET. It looks like a pipe to me.
SALTER. I wish you had the job. And the next time the boys want to pin something on a couple of radicals I wish you’d call in a little expert advice before you start.
HASLET. You, for instance?
SALTER. Me, for instance. It might make it a damn sight easier.
HASLET. Not that I tried to pin anything on them. But I think it was a damned good idea.
SALTER. Well so far as I’m concerned it’s a mess. And devilish uncomfortable.
HASLET. How about that bomb last night?
SALTER. That helps. By the way, who set that bomb?
HASLET. How would I know? Some of their blackhand friends, I suppose.
SALTER. Oh, no. They know better than that. Even a foreigner knows better than to set a bomb under a juryman’s front porch. Is Spiker still working for the company?
HASLET. You think Spiker did it?
SALTER. Well, I bet he knows who did.
HASLET. It was all news to me.
SALTER. Spiker’s got it in for Macready and Capraro. He’ll do more than he’s paid for. It wasn’t necessary at that. Not with this jury. It’s a hundred and forty proof Shriners and Chamber of Commerce.
HASLET. What are you kicking about then?
SALTER. The way it looks, that’s all. It’s the God-damnedest flimsiest case I ever had on my hands, yes, and the most sickening bunch of welching witnesses I ever had to deal with. We’re going to convict and it’s going to look like a frame-up. If I had it to do over again I’d see Northfield and his docks and mills in hell before I’d handle it.
HASLET. You’re nervous, Will. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you own any stock?
SALTER. I need some evidence to show up in the newspapers. You told me your operatives had an airtight case, and they said the same thing, and your witnesses are trying to back out all along the line. And who has to hold them to it? I do. It’s a rotten job. I’d like to know how Spiker got that original bunch of affidavits. He must have had everybody chloroformed.
HASLET. Those two Bolsheviks have got it coming. I don’t give a damn so long as we don’t lose.
SALTER. You may wish you had, that’s all. The town’s crawling with reporters sending in front page stuff. It’s going to make a stink you can smell from here to Siberia.
HASLET. What does the judge think about it?
SALTER. When did a judge ever think? He’s paid not to. By the way, this Spiker person of yours, whom I dislike intensely, was in here this morning. He tells me the defense have a surprise witness to spring after I get all through.
HASLET. Who is it? The girl?
SALTER. The girl’s father.
HASLET. What of it?
SALTER. Well, Spiker thinks he’s got something on the old boy, that’s all. He’s looking up his record and if they put him on the stand he wants to spring something. I rather wish Spiker was up for murder. I’d take a passionate delight in railroading a crook, just for a change.
[Judge Vail enters from the rear; he is fastening his robe.]
HASLET. How are you, Judge?
VAIL. How are you? I’m excellent, excellent, thanks. You in court today?
HASLET. I’ll have to get back to town—just dropped in on my way. What’s the news?
VAIL. It’s all in the papers. They’re printing us verbatim this time. Great honor. I wanted to ask you, Will—as things are going now, are you likely to conclude your case today or will you require another session?
SALTER. I’m putting on my two last witnesses this afternoon. I don’t know what the defense will do.
VAIL. I fear it’s likely to drag on for some days.
HASLET. Are you betting on the results, Judge?
VAIL. I daresay they’ll be found guilty. And no doubt they are. No doubt they are. I long ago gave up trying to decide who was innocent and who was guilty. That’s the jury’s business. In this case we have an intelligent jury. [He goes to the door, then turns to deliver a dry joke.] But not too intelligent—not too intelligent. [He goes out.]
HASLET. He’s all right.
SALTER. Yeah. He’s been dead from the neck up for twenty-five years. And from the neck down for about forty—otherwise he’s fine.
HASLET. By the way, can we do anything for you?
SALTER. Sure, I want a steam yacht and a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. And I’m going to need ’em when I’m through with this. No, you big swine, run along and sell your papers. I’m incorruptible. Anyway, you don’t need to corrupt me. I’ve got to win this case now or retire. I just wish to God I’d never got into it. That’s what makes me sore.
HASLET. You’re made, man, you’re made.
SALTER. I suppose you think I’ll be the next governor.
HASLET. Why not? So long, Will!
SALTER. So long, Arthur.
[Haslet goes out left. Salter pushes a bell. A Court Attendant enters.]
ATTENDANT. Yes, sir.
SALTER. Got that woman waiting?
ATTENDANT. Yes, sir.
SALTER. Bring her in.
[The Attendant opens the door at the left and ushers in Mrs. Lubin, a woman of fifty or so.]
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, Mr. Salter.
SALTER. I got your letter this morning. Sit down.
MRS. LUBIN [sitting]. Yes, sir.
SALTER. You say you’ve changed your mind, you aren’t sure of what you saw and you can’t testify?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, sir.
SALTER. Don’t you think it’s pretty late in the day to change your mind?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, sir—but—
SALTER. Do you remember what you said in your affidavit? [He taps the paper in his hand.] You said you were standing at the front window of your apartment at four-fifteen on the afternoon of April second and you saw Macready shoot Kendall from the front seat of a Buick touring car. That’s pretty definite, isn’t it? You swore to that, didn’t you?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, sir—but—he was the only man in the room.
SALTER. Who was?
MRS. LUBIN. Macready. When I identified him.
SALTER. Well, what of it? You identified him, didn’t you? You don’t deny that?
MRS. LUBIN. They told me I had to.
SALTER. Who did?
MRS. LUBIN. The men. The detectives.
SALTER. Now, you’re going to forget about this letter, you understand? You’re going to forget about all that and testify to the story you told in your affidavit.
MRS. LUBIN. Mr. Salter, I really couldn’t identify him. I was too far away. And I’ve—Mr. Salter, I’ve been looking from that window,—and—I—couldn’t have seen the shooting at all. I heard the shot, but I couldn’t see where it was. And—Mr. Gluckstein knows that—
SALTER. How does he know?
MRS. LUBIN. He came to the apartment.
SALTER. So you’ve been talking to the defense?
MRS. LUBIN. I didn’t know who he was then. He came and asked if he could look out the window, and he asked me where the shooting was. I’d said the shooting was on the other side of the track, and you can’t see the street there because there’s a railroad tower in the way—and anyway—
SALTER. When you made this statement did you know you couldn’t see that part of the street from your window?
MRS. LUBIN. No, sir. I thought I could. I didn’t really see the shooting. I looked out after I heard the shot.
SALTER. Now get this straight, Mrs. Lubin. You’re not conducting this prosecution. I’ll take care of any little discrepancies between what you saw and what you couldn’t see. I want only one thing of you and that one thing I’m going to get. I want you to tell your story on the stand exactly as you told it before the magistrate.
MRS. LUBIN. I tell you I can’t.
SALTER. You’ll find you can. Tell me, Mrs. Lubin, why did you swear to this in the first place? Do you remember?
MRS. LUBIN. They told me I had to.
SALTER. Was there any special reason why you had to?
MRS. LUBIN. No.
SALTER. I have your record here, Mrs. Lubin. You have a grown son up-state, haven’t you?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, sir.
SALTER. Does your son know that in 1915 you conducted a certain type of house at 54 Charles Street?
MRS. LUBIN. Oh, God, are you going over that again?
SALTER. Not unless I have to. There are a good many things in this paper which have never come to the ears of your son. Shall I read it to you?
MRS. LUBIN [hopelessly]. No.
SALTER. Very well. We’ll forget that. I think you’ve failed to realize the extent to which the state is interested in this case, and also the extent to which the state is interested in you. You are a citizen of this country, Mrs. Lubin. Do you believe in the constitution?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes.
SALTER. Do you reverence the flag?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes.
SALTER. Then why do you change your testimony to shield anarchists? You’ll find that very hard to explain, Mrs. Lubin.
MRS. LUBIN. I don’t—I—
SALTER. Perhaps you are yourself an anarchist, Mrs. Lubin. Perhaps you have been bought off by the defense.
MRS. LUBIN. I’m not being paid—
SALTER. I don’t say you are. I’m just saying it might look that way. To a jury. The question is, would a jury believe you? It looks like perjury, and if it came to a perjury trial how much of your past would you be able to conceal from your son?
MRS. LUBIN [deciding]. Very well.
SALTER. I give you my word, Mrs. Lubin, it is your duty as a citizen to stick to your story.
MRS. LUBIN. Very well, I will.
SALTER. Exactly as in the affidavit?
MRS. LUBIN. Yes, sir. Is that all?
SALTER. That’s all.
[Mrs. Lubin goes out. The Attendant appears.]
ATTENDANT. Bartlet’s here, sir.
SALTER. Bartlet?
ATTENDANT. Yes, sir.
SALTER. Send him in. [The Attendant ushers in Bartlet, a youth of eighteen with a sodden face. He slumps in a chair.] Well, sir, what have you got to say to me?
BARTLET. Me? They said you wanted to see me.
SALTER. Stand up! When I want you to sit down I’ll tell you.
[Bartlet rises.]
BARTLET. All right.
SALTER. I’ve heard about you. You couldn’t wait to get to court to give your testimony. You had to spread yourself all over town. Tell me what you’ve been saying.
BARTLET. What I’ve been saying?
SALTER. You heard me.
BARTLET. I haven’t been saying much.
SALTER. Don’t lie to me! Sit down! [Bartlet sits.] Did you identify Capraro?
BARTLET. Well—I—
SALTER. Did you identify Capraro?
BARTLET. What if I did? I guess I was—I guess I was mistaken.
SALTER. Listen to me, Bartlet. When you start swearing to evidence there’s only one safe thing to do—and that’s tell one story and stick to it. Now you’ve told your story and if you stick to it you’ll be protected—
BARTLET. Yeah, but—
SALTER. But you start talking in court the way you’ve been talking down at the mill and you’re going to talk yourself into enough trouble to make you look sick the rest of your life. You said last spring that Capraro looked like the man you saw in the car—
BARTLET. Yeah, but I couldn’t say it was him—
SALTER. You don’t have to say it was him. I wouldn’t want you to. You’ll say it was the dead image of him. Can you remember that? The dead image of him.
BARTLET. Maybe that wouldn’t be right.
SALTER. It’s true, isn’t it? It looked like Capraro. All right, say that.
BARTLET. It looked like Capraro, all right.
SALTER. Certainly it did. It was the dead image of him. And mind you, that doesn’t mean it was Capraro. That means it looked like him. Can you remember that?
BARTLET. Yeah, I guess that’d be all right.
SALTER. Can you remember it?
BARTLET. The dead image of him, sure.
SALTER. And if you aren’t going to stay with it you’d better tell me now.
BARTLET. All right.
SALTER [changing tone]. You know, Bartlet, there’s a good many of us taking an interest in you around here. Some of us haven’t been quite sure whether you’d turn yellow or come through like a man. It isn’t as if these birds weren’t guilty, you know. We know they’re guilty. Why, damn it, they believe in murder. It’s part of their platform. Do you know why you thought Capraro looked like the man in the car?
BARTLET. No.
SALTER. Well, I’ll tell you. Because he was the man in the car. Talk about the dead image of him! It was Capraro!
BARTLET. Yes, sir, it was the dead image of him.
SALTER [under his breath]. Jesus Christ! [He goes back to his desk.] All right, Bartlet. You’ll be called this afternoon. And we’re depending on you.
BARTLET. Yes, sir. [He goes out.]
[There is a knock at the door.]
SALTER. Come in. [Gluckstein enters.] Why, hello, Gluckie. How’s the Soviet today?
GLUCKSTEIN. Pretty well, thanks. How’s the White Guard?
SALTER. A bit shaky, but game.
GLUCKSTEIN. Listen, Salter—just man to man, now—you know my boys aren’t guilty, don’t you?
SALTER. You’re a man of high principles, Gluckie, if they weren’t innocent you wouldn’t defend ’em—not for a minute.
GLUCKSTEIN. But seriously now, Salter. I don’t mind telling you I’m worried. I know you haven’t any case. I know you haven’t any evidence. I know the boys aren’t guilty. I know the case looks as if it was going against you. But if you keep on playing up the Bolshevik business to that jury—why, it’s plain murder. You tell that jury a man’s a radical and the whole twelve will vote to hang him. And do you think they’re guilty?
SALTER. That’s what we’re here to find out, friend. That’s what the jury’s for.
GLUCKSTEIN. Well—maybe it’s too much to ask.
SALTER. I guess it is.
GLUCKSTEIN. You wouldn’t consider playing the game fair?
SALTER. Old man, I’m a District Attorney. I’m paid to play the game. I’m supposed to win if I can.
GLUCKSTEIN. Well, but, for God’s sake, have a little decency about it. That bomb last night, for instance.—That’s dirty, you know.
SALTER. Your clients have amusing little friends.
GLUCKSTEIN. My clients!
SALTER. You don’t think we’d do that—?
GLUCKSTEIN. Well—
SALTER. Well, God knows I don’t know. Why the foreman of a jury should hitch a bomb under his front porch. It’s just my good luck, that’s all.
GLUCKSTEIN. And why are my witnesses shadowed, Salter? And why am I shadowed?
SALTER. I don’t know about the witnesses.
GLUCKSTEIN. Then how about me? Is it fair to put plain-clothes men on my trail?
SALTER. You mean you’ve been followed?
GLUCKSTEIN. You know I have.
SALTER. Gluckie, you’ve been followed by nothing but your own bad conscience. You mean you’ve had detectives following my detectives? Gluckie, that isn’t right!
GLUCKSTEIN. I know the men and I know who pays them.
SALTER. It’s none of my doing, Gluckie. I’ll tell you the truth about that, though. Somebody was tipped off by somebody that there was a woman somewhere in your spotless young life. That’s all.
GLUCKSTEIN. But that’s—that’s contemptible.
SALTER. Certainly it is. I wouldn’t use anything of the sort. But as a matter of fact I’d advise you to watch your step, Gluckie. Not all the members of my club are men of conscience, like me.
GLUCKSTEIN. I see.
SALTER. Then there’s something in it?
GLUCKSTEIN. No.
SALTER. No? Well—it might be better on the whole if you didn’t win the case, you see? That is, as far as you’re concerned personally.
GLUCKSTEIN. That’s blackmail, isn’t it?
SALTER. Well, not legally. And you have nothing to worry about, anyway. Because I don’t think you can win, Gluckie. I don’t think you’ve got a chance in the world. I almost wish you had. That’s straight.
GLUCKSTEIN. Well—we’ll see.
SALTER. Sure, we’ll see.
[Gluckstein goes out. Salter goes wearily to the telephone, takes it up, thinks a minute, then takes the receiver off the hook.] Get me Spiker, will you? Hello, hello! Hello, Spiker—say, listen, Spiker, this is Salter. Wait a minute, listen to me. You’re a low-down crook and I hate your guts and I could win this case without you, do you get that? All right, many of them—but if you want that guy Henry in court when the old man testifies you’d better bring him along this afternoon, just to make sure. Yeah? Well, now listen to me some more. I think you’re all set to queer this case with your under-cover stuff. If this is Department of Justice information it’s probably crooked and it’s probably dirty, because I’ve played with them before. [A silence.] Well, damn it, when do I get my data? I’ve got to talk, you know. I’m no moving picture. All right. Have him up near the stand. Well, you can explain it to him, can’t you? If he used to be a sheriff he ought to know that much. [The Attendant enters.] I haven’t got time. The session starts at one.
ATTENDANT. Are you ready, Mr. Salter?
SALTER [in the phone]. Yeah, I think they will. I don’t know whether he knows it or not. Oh, it’s a pleasure, a pleasure! [He hangs up.] No brains, that’s all, no brains. [He picks up his manuscript and makes for the door.]