The street lights were fewer now. A line of locust trees grew along the road, for the town was beginning to thin and the country took control. Along the unpaved road there were a few little houses with ill-kept gardens.
“Jesus! It’s dark,” Root said again. “I wonder if there’ll be any trouble. It’s a good night to get away if anything happens.”
Dick snorted into the collar of his peajacket. They walked along in silence for a while.
“Do you think you’d try to get away, Dick?” Root asked.
“No, by God! It’s against orders. If anything happens we got to stick. You’re just a kid. I guess you’d run if I let you!”
Root blustered: “You think you’re hell on wheels just because you been out a few times. You’d think you was a hundred to hear you talk.”
“I’m dry behind the ears, anyway,” said Dick.
Root walked with his head down. He said softly, “Dick, are you sure you wouldn’t run? Are you sure you could just stand there and take it?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve done it before. It’s the orders, ain’t it? Why, it’s good publicity.” He peered through the darkness at Root. “What makes you ask, kid? You scared you’ll run? If you’re scared you got no business here.”
Root shivered. “Listen, Dick, you’re a good guy. You won’t tell nobody what I say, will you? I never been tried. How do I know what I’ll do if somebody smacks me in the face with a club? How can anybody tell what he’d do? I don’t think I’d run. I’d try not to run.”
“All right, kid. Let it go at that. But you try running, and I’ll turn your name in. We got no place for yellow bastards. You remember that, kid.”
“Oh, lay off that kid stuff. You’re running that in the ground.”
The locust trees grew closer together as they went. The wind rustled gently in the leaves. A dog growled in one of the yards as the men went by. A light fog began to drift down through the air, and the stars were swallowed in it. “You sure you got everything ready?” Dick asked. “Got the lamps? Got the lit’ature? I left all that to you.”
“I did it all this afternoon,” said Root. “I didn’t put the posters up yet, but I got them in a box out there.”
“Got oil in the lamps?”
“They had plenty in. Say, Dick, I guess some bastard has squealed, don’t you?”
“Sure. Somebody always squeals.”
“Well, you didn’t hear nothing about no raid, did you?”
“How the hell would I hear. You think they’d come and tell me they was going to knock my can off? Get hold of yourself, Root. You got the pants scared off you. You’re going to make me nervous if you don’t cut it out.”
II
They approached a low, square building, black and heavy in the darkness. Their feet pounded on a wooden sidewalk. “Nobody here, yet,” said Dick. “Let’s open her up and get some light.” They had come to a deserted store. The old show-windows were opaque with dirt. A Lucky Strike poster was stuck to the glass on one side while a big cardboard Coca-Cola lady stood like a ghost in the other. Dick threw open the double doors and walked in. He struck a match and lighted a kerosene lamp, got the chimney back in place, and set the lamp on an up-ended apple box. “Come on, Root, we got to get things ready.”
The walls of the building were scabrous with streaked whitewash. A pile of dusty newspapers had been kicked into a comer. The two back windows were laced with cobwebs. Except for three apple boxes, there was nothing at all in the store.
Root walked to one of the boxes and took out a large poster bearing a portrait of a man done in harsh reds and blacks. He tacked the portrait to the whitewashed wall behind the lamp. Then he tacked another poster beside it, a large red symbol on a white background. Last he up-ended another apple box and piled leaflets and little paper-bound books on it. His footsteps were loud on the bare wooden floor. “Light the other lamp, Dick! It’s too damned dark in here.”
“Scared of the dark, too, kid?”
“No. The men will be here pretty soon. We want to have more light when they come. What time is it?”
Dick looked at his watch. “Quarter to eight. Some of the guys ought to be here pretty soon now.” He put his hands in the breast pockets of his peajacket and stood loosely by the box of pamphlets. There was nothing to sit on. The black and red portrait stared harshly out at the room. Root leaned against the wall.
The light from one of the lamps yellowed, and the flame slowly sank down. Dick stepped over to it. “I thought you said there was plenty of oil. This one’s dry.”
“I thought there was plenty. Look! The other one’s nearly full. We can pour some of that oil in this lamp.”
“How we going to do that? We got to put them both out to pour the oil. You got any matches?”
Root felt through his pockets. “Only two.”
“Now, you see? We got to hold this meeting with only one lamp. I should’ve looked things over this afternoon. I was busy in town, though. I thought I could leave it to you.”
“Maybe we could quick pour some of this oil in a can and then pour it into the other lamp.”
“Yeah, and then set the joint on fire. You’re a hell of a helper.”
Root leaned back against the wall again. “I wish they’d come. What time is it, Dick?”
“Five after eight.”
“Well, what’s keeping them? What are they waiting for? Did you tell them eight o’clock?”
“Oh! Shut up, kid. You’ll get my goat pretty soon. I don’t know what’s keeping them. Maybe they got cold feet. Now shut up for a little while.” He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket again. “Got a cigarette, Root?”
“No.”
It was very still. Nearer the center of the town, automobiles were moving; the mutter of their engines and an occasional horn sounded. A dog barked unexcitedly at one of the houses nearby. The wind ruffled the locust trees in whishing gusts.
“Listen, Dick! Do you hear voices? I think they’re coming.” They turned their heads and strained to listen.
“I don’t hear nothing. You just thought you heard it.”
Root walked to one of the dirty windows and looked out. Coming back, he paused at the pile of pamphlets and straightened them neatly. “What time is it now, Dick?”
“Keep still, will you? You’ll drive me nuts. You got to have guts for this job. For God’s sake show some guts.”
“Well, I never been out before, Dick.”
“Do you think anybody couldn’t tell that? You sure make it plain enough.”
The wind gusted sharply in the locust trees. The front doors clicked and one of them opened slowly, squeaking a little at the hinges. The breeze came in, ruffled the pile of dusty newspapers in the comer and sailed the posters out from the wall like curtains.
“Shut that door, Root.... No, leave it open. Then we can hear them coming better.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly half-past eight.”
“Do you think they’ll come? How long we going to wait, if they don’t show up?”
The older man stared at the open door. “We ain’t going to leave here before nine-thirty at the earliest. We got orders to hold this meeting.”
The night sounds came in more clearly through the open door—the dance of dry locust leaves on the road, the slow steady barking of the dog. On the wall the red and black portrait was menacing in the dim light. It floated out at the bottom again. Dick looked around at it. “Listen, kid,” he said quietly. “I know you’re scared. When you’re scared, just take a look at him.” He indicated the picture with his thumb. “He wasn’t scared. Just remember about what he did.”
The boy considered the portrait. “You suppose he wasn’t ever scared?”
Dick reprimanded him sharply. “If he was, nobody ever found out about it. You take that for a lesson and don’t go opening up for everybody to show them how you feel.”
“You’re a good guy, Dick. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get sent out alone.”
“You’ll be all right kid. You got stuff in you. I can tell that. You just never been under fire.”
Root glanced quickly at the door. “Listen! You hear somebody coming?”
“Lay off that stuff! When they get here, they’ll get here.”
“Well—let’s close the door. It’s kind of cold in here. Listen! There
is
somebody coming.”
Quick footsteps sounded on the road, broke into a run and crossed the wooden sidewalk. A man in overalls and a painter’s cap ran into the room. He was panting and winded. “You guys better scram,” he said. “There’s a raiding party coming. None of the boys is coming to the meeting. They was going to let you take it, but I wouldn’t do that. Come on! Get your stuff together and get out. That party’s on the way.”
Root’s face was pale and tight. He looked nervously at Dick. The older man shivered. He thrust his hands into his breast pockets and slumped his shoulders. “Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for telling us. You run along. We’ll be all right.”
“The others was just going to leave you take it,” the man said.
Dick nodded. “Sure, they can’t see the future. They can’t see beyond their nose. Run along now before you get caught.”
“Well, ain’t you guys coming? I’ll help carry some of your stuff.”
“We’re going to stay,” Dick said woodenly. “We got orders to stay. We got to take it.”
The man was moving toward the door. He turned back. “Want me to stay with you?”
“No, you’re a good guy. No need for you to stay. We could maybe use you some other time.”
“Well, I did what I could.”
III
Dick and Root heard him cross the wooden sidewalk and trot off into the darkness. The night resumed its sounds. The dead leaves scraped along the ground. The motors hummed from the center of the town.
Root looked at Dick. He could see that the man’s fists were doubled up in his breast pockets. The face muscles were stiff, but he smiled at the boy. The posters drifted out from the wall and settled back again.
“Scared, kid?”
Root bristled to deny it, and then gave
it
up. “Yes, I’m scared. Maybe I won’t be no good at this.”
“Take hold, kid!” Dick said fiercely. “You take hold!”
Dick quoted to him, “ ‘The men of little spirit must have an example of stead—steadfastness. The people at large must have an example of injustice.’ There it is, Root. That’s orders.” He relapsed into silence. The barking dog increased his tempo.
“I guess that’s them,” said Root. “Will they kill us, do you think?”
“No, they don’t very often kill anybody.”
“But they’ll hit us and kick us, won’t they? They’ll hit us in the face with sticks and break our nose. Big Mike, they broke his jaw in three places.”
“Take hold, kid! You take hold! And listen to me; if some one busts you, it isn’t him that’s doing it, it’s the System. And it isn’t you he’s busting. He’s taking a crack at the Principle. Can you remember that?”
“I don’t want to run, Dick. Honest to God I don’t. If I start to run, you hold me, will you?”
Dick walked near and touched him on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right. I can tell a guy that will stick.”
“Well, hadn’t we better hide the lit’ature so it won’t all get burned?”
“No—somebody might put a book in his pocket and read it later. Then it would be doing some good. Leave the books there. And shut up now! Talking only makes it worse.”
The dog had gone back to his slow, spiritless barking. A rush of wind brought a scurry of dead leaves in the open door. The portrait poster blew out and came loose at one corner. Root walked over and pinned it back. Somewhere in the town, an automobile squealed its brakes.
“Hear anything, Dick? Hear them coming yet?”
“No.”
“Listen, Dick. Big Mike lay two days with his jaw broke before anybody’d help him.”
The older man turned angrily on him. One doubled fist came out of his peajacket pocket. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the boy. He walked close and put an arm about his shoulders. “Listen to me close, kid,” he said. “I don’t know much, but I been through this mill before. I can tell you this for sure. When it comes—it won’t hurt. I don’t know why, but it won’t. Even if they kill you it won’t hurt.” He dropped his arm and moved toward the front door. He looked out and listened in two directions before he came back into the room.
“Hear anything?”
“No. Not a thing.”
“What—do you think is keeping them?”
“How do you suppose I’d know?”
Root swallowed thickly. “Maybe they won’t come. Maybe it was all a lie that fella told us, just a joke.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, are—we going to wait all night to get our cans knocked off?”
Dick mimicked him. “Yes, we’re going to wait all night to get our cans knocked off.”
The wind sounded in one big fierce gust and then dropped away completely. The dog stopped barking. A train screamed for the crossing and went crashing by, leaving the night more silent than before. In a house nearby, an alarm clock went off. Dick said, “Somebody goes to work early. Night watchman, maybe.” His voice was too loud in the stillness. The front door squeaked slowly shut.
“What time is it now, Dick?”
“Quarter-past nine.”
“Jesus! Only that? I thought it was about morning.... Don’t you wish they’d come and get it over, Dick? Listen, Dick!—I thought I heard voices.”
They stood stiffly, listening. Their heads were bent forward. “You hear voices, Dick?”
“I think so. Like they’re talking low.”
The dog barked again, fiercely this time. A little quiet murmur of voices could be heard. “Look, Dick! I thought I saw somebody out the back window.”
The older man chuckled uneasily. “That’s so we can’t get away. They got the place surrounded. Take hold, kid! They’re coming now. Remember about it’s not them, it’s the System.”
There came a rushing clatter of footsteps. The doors burst open. A crowd of men thronged in, roughly dressed men, wearing black hats. They carried clubs and sticks in their hands. Dick and Root stood erect, their chins out, their eyes dropped and nearly closed.