This was the night of the weekly meeting of the Friends of Freedom, Barbarossa's circle, of which Jack was now a full member. On his way to the meeting-place he stopped in at Harmon Evers' place according to custom, to be metamorphosed from Jack Robinson into Henry Cassels, the wild-haired young anarchist.
Jack enjoyed these visits to the wig-maker. Evers was an original. His philosophy never failed him—nor his common-sense. He was so conspicuous for the latter quality that Jack more than once had been tempted to confide in him fully, with the idea of profiting by his advice. It was only the general rule he had laid down for himself, not to tell a soul of his affairs, that had restrained him. As it was, he and Evers had talked over the situation in hypothetical terms. Evers never allowed himself to betray a vulgar curiosity.
Evers' wit and wisdom were usually expressed in terms of hair. His special knowledge was astonishing. He could tell you offhand the style of hairdressing favored by a great man at any stage of his career, and drew ingenious parallels between his hair and his policy. Napoleon's downfall he ascribed to the atrophy of his follicles.
As it was after shop-hours the work was done in Evers' apartment up-stairs, a model of neatness and comfort. Clearly Mrs. Evers' past triumphs on the boards had not unfitted her for the soberer business of housekeeping. Though they showed every evidence of being well-to-do they kept no servant.
"So to-night is lodge-night," said Evers facetiously, as he worked over Jack's hair. "Odd isn't it, how grown men love to club together and surround themselves with all manner of solemn nonsense. The original lodges were in the African jungle. The high officers in secret societies are nearly always bald. Yet hair plays a large part in many rituals. Consider the goat!"
"This is not exactly a lodge that I belong to," said Jack.
"I understand," said Evers. "That was just my little joke. I guess the risks you take, my young friend, and I admire your courage. You have the hair of a brave man. I am always delighted when you return to me in safety to have the make-up removed. It is a valuable work you are engaged on, too. These people are the weeds of our fertile soil; they should be rooted up."
"As to rooting them up I leave that to the police," said Jack carelessly. "I have a special object in view. There are worse things in the world than a lot of spouting anarchists."
"What could be worse?"
"Well, murder as a business proposition."
"Good Heavens! Can such things be possible!"
The meeting-place of the Friends of Freedom was very ingeniously contrived. You entered by the front door of a big double-decker tenement on Orchard street. So many people came and went by this door, that the arrival of the Reds singly and in couples was entirely unnoticed. You passed through the hall of the double-decker into a narrow paved court where a smaller rear tenement faced you.
Entering the latter building, you gave the password at a door on the left of the hall, and assembled with your fellow-members in a large bare room. But this was not the meeting-place. When all were present, and the scrutineers were satisfied, that all had a right to be present, the hall door was locked, a trap in the floor was lifted, and all present silently descended into the cellar. The last man let the trap fall behind him.
Though damp and moldy-smelling, the place was otherwise admirably fitted for its purpose. The walls were of thick rough stone without any openings. A special ceiling had been constructed to keep sounds from rising. In such a vault the speakers could shout themselves hoarse without any danger of giving anything away to the outside world. It is no easy task to find a safe meeting-place for anarchists. In this case the landlord was a member of the circle.
There was another stairway at the rear by which Barbarossa alone was privileged to enter. Jack understood that this stair led to a room in an adjoining house, whence you could gain the next street. It provided a means of escape in case of a surprise from the police.
It was a wild-looking crowd that gathered in the cellar. They specialized in original hirsute effects. Evers the wig-maker could have obtained many new ideas there. But Jack had not attended many meetings before he began to suspect that their wildness did not extend much further than hair. They were noisy, but not particularly dangerous. They seemed to Jack like a parcel of children making believe to be enemies of society. Some of the younger men spoke with a genuine fire, but they were generally squelched by their elders. These elders stood as pat on their formulas as an old guard Republican on his.
This was particularly true of Barbarossa their leader. Anarchy was Barbarossa's meal-ticket, and he worked it for all there was in it. Barbarossa's superb red beard and flaming aureole of hair were his principal stock in trade. He made a magnificent passionate figure on the rostrum. Every word he uttered was received as gospel, for loyalty to him had become a tradition. But to Jack who came to the meetings with a cool brain, Barbarossa's eloquence seemed a pumped-up affair.
To-night the proceedings were held up for ten minutes by the tardy arrival of a member Jack had not seen before, who had sent word in advance of his coming. This was an important man, Jack was told, too busy to attend every meeting. He proved to be a man in his forties, somewhat corpulent, with smooth jetty black hair and small moustache and the clear, pallid skin that goes with such hair. Unlike the others he affected the neat style of a business man. He was addressed as Comrade Wilde.
Jack apprehended a new quality in this man, a more dangerous quality than in any of the others. He watched him closely. Unfortunately the place was none too well lighted. Comrade Wilde held whispered conferences with different members, but took no part in the speechmaking.
Barbarossa harangued the gathering in fiery style on the subject of the iniquities of the Federal Reserve Banking system. Comrade Rado then arose and proposed that the New York branch be blown up as a protest. Barbarossa rebuked him for making such a suggestion in open meeting. It appeared there was a committee to act on such matters. Somebody said something about a "Star Chamber" and a violent dispute was engendered. It was thus at every meeting. Jack suspected Barbarossa of purposely throwing the meeting into disorder. Acts of violence threatened his livelihood. Comrade Wilde listened to the uproar with an ill-disguised sneer.
It was stilled by the speech of Comrade Berg, a mere slip of a youth whom Jack had not noticed before. He rose with trembling hands and ecstatic eyes, and spoke in a voice of soft intensity. His subject was the necessity of purifying themselves for the great sacrifice. The words were not extraordinary; it was the self-forgetfulness, the strange half-insane passion of the speaker that quieted the noisy, ordinary crowd.
"Hello!" thought Jack. "This is the real thing! This will bear watching." Out of the corner of his eyes he observed that Comrade Wilde was likewise attending sharply to the youth.
His speech bore no relation to what had gone before. He had reached such a state of exaltation as to be unaware of what was going on around him.
"We must give up father, mother, dear ones, friends; we must learn to do without love and affection; we must cast out all that makes life sweet to live, so that when the time comes to leave it there may be no unmanly hanging back. We must eat and drink no more than enough to keep life in the body. The world will never be saved by guzzlers. Gross eating obscures the finer spirit of man. In abstemiousness and solitude the true inspiration comes.
"I am young. I have no right to tell men older in the Cause what to do. I am speaking for myself only. I lived alone until the message came to me. I am ready now to give all. When you want an instrument I ask you to use me first."
Barbarossa had been growing more and more uneasy. He now interrupted the youth. "One moment, Comrade. You are out of order. There is some unfinished business from the last meeting. Afterwards we will be glad to hear you. The question that was held over to be put to the vote at this meeting is: Shall we take political action at the next election."
This was a favorite subject of controversy, and the meeting was instantly convulsed again. Berg sat down dazed. He was not allowed to speak again.
"Poor young devil!" thought Jack. "Looks half starved. I'll ask him out to supper."
When they were completely talked out the meeting broke up. The comrades mounted the stairs in amity all controversies forgotten. With their bosoms relieved of much perilous stuff, they yawned comfortably, and began to think of supper.
Jack attached himself to young Berg as they gained the street. "Say, that was a great speech," he said by way of ingratiating himself.
The youth pushed the lank hair out of his eyes and looked at Jack wildly. The light of incipient madness was in his eyes.
"Poor devil! Poor devil!" thought Jack. The sight hurt him. Aloud he said: "Let's go and have a bite of supper."
Berg shook his head.
"Oh, come on!" said Jack thrusting his arm through the other youth's.
The tone of genuine friendliness must have reached the cold breast. Berg gave in without further objection.
They entered one of the big bakery-restaurants on Grand street, and ordered coffee and hamburgers. The smell of cooking brought a faint color into Berg's livid cheeks, and his nostrils dilated.
But the hamburgers were not destined to be eaten by them. When he had given the order Jack went into a booth to telephone Evers not to wait up for him, as he could lodge outside in his disguise and come in to change in the morning. Mrs. Evers took the message. When he came out of the booth Berg had left their table.
"Where did my friend go?" Jack asked the waiter.
"I dunno. Guy come in and spoke to him private, and he took his hat and went with him."
"What kind of looking guy?"
"Fat. Real black hair, black moustache, pale face. Dressed neat. Derby and black Melton overcoat."
This was a good description of Comrade Wilde.
"Oh, Damn!" muttered Jade.
He put down the money for what he had ordered and left the place. He spent three hours wandering about the East Side, looking into such places as were still open, on the bare chance of running into his man. All in vain of course. Finally he sought out a cheap lodging and threw himself down exhausted. He was tormented by the sense of an impending disaster.