it was fun to tell Gerald Leslie about his adventures with the Holy Rollers, into whose church he had drifted during his search for a job. Peter had taken up with this sect, and learned the art of “talking in tongues,” and how to fall over the back of your chair in convulsions of celestial glory. Peter had gained the confidence of the Rev. Gamaliel Lunk, and had been secretly employed by him to carry on a propaganda among the congregation to obtain a raise in salary for the underpaid convulsionist. But certain things which Peter had learned had caused him to go over to the faction of Shoemaker Smithers, who was trying to persuade the congregation that he could roll harder and faster than the Rev. Gamaliel. Peter had only held this latter job a few days before he had been fired for stealing the fried doughnut.
Section 10
All these things and more Peter told; thinking that he was safe now, under the protection of authority. But after he had spent about two months in the hospital, he was summoned one day into the office, and there stood Guffey, glowering at him in a black fury. “You damned fool!” were Guffey’s first words.
Peter’s knees went weak and his teeth began to chatter again. “Wh-wh-what?” he cried.
“Didn’t I tell you to hold your mouth?” And Guffey looked as if he were going to twist Peter’s wrist again.
“Mr. Guffey, I ain’t told a soul! I ain’t said one word about the Goober case, not one word!”
Peter rushed on, pouring out protests. But Guffey cut him short. “Shut up, you nut! Maybe you didn’t talk about the Goober case, but you talked about yourself. Didn’t you tell somebody you’d worked with that fellow Kalandra?”
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“And you knew the police were after him, and after you, too?”
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“And you said you’d been arrested selling fake patent medicines?”
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“Christ almighty!” cried Guffey. “And what kind of a witness do you think you’ll make?”
“But,” cried Peter in despair, “I didn’t tell anybody that would matter. I only—”
“What do you know what would matter?” roared the detective, adding a stream of furious oaths. “The Goober people have got spies on us; they’ve got somebody right here in this jail. Anyhow, they’ve found out about you and your record. You’ve gone and ruined us with your blabbing mouth!”
“My Lord!” whispered Peter, his voice dying away.
“Look at yourself on a witness-stand! Look at what they’ll do to you before a jury! Traveling over the country, swindling people with patent medicines—and getting in jail for it! Working for that hell-blasted scoundrel Kalandra—” and Guffey added some dreadful words, descriptive of the loathsome vices of which the Chief Magistrian had been accused. “And you mixed up in that kind of thing!”
“I never done anything like that!” cried Peter wildly. “I didn’t even know for sure.”
“Tell that to the jury!” sneered Guffey. “Why, they’ve even been to that Shoemaker Smithers, and they’ll put his wife on the stand to prove you a sneak thief, and tell how she kicked you out. And all because you couldn’t hold your mouth as I told you to!”
Peter burst into tears. He fell down on his knees, pleading that he hadn’t meant any harm; he hadn’t had any idea that he was not supposed to talk about his past life; he hadn’t realized what a witness was, or what he was supposed to do. All he had been told was to keep quiet about the Goober case, and he had kept quiet. So Peter sobbed and pleaded—but in vain. Guffey ordered him back to the hole, declaring his intention to prove that Peter was the one who had thrown the bomb, and that Peter, instead of Jim Goober, had been the head and front of the conspiracy. Hadn’t Peter signed a confession that he had helped to make the bomb?
Section 11
Again Peter did not know how long he lay shivering in the black dungeon. He only knew that they brought him bread and water three times, before Guffey came again and summoned him forth. Peter now sat huddled into a chair, twisting his trembling hands together, while the chief detective of the Traction Trust explained to him his new program. Peter was permanently ruined as a witness in the case. The labor conspirators had raised huge sums for their defense; they had all the labor unions of the city, and in fact of the entire country behind them, and they were hiring spies and informers, and trying to find out all they could about the prosecution, the evidence it had collected and the moves it was preparing. Guffey did not say that he had been afraid to kick Peter out because of the possibility that Peter might go over to the Goober side and tell all he knew; but Peter guessed this while he sat listening to Guffey’s explanation, and realized with a thrill of excitement that at last he had really got a hold upon the ladder of prosperity. Not in vain had his finger been almost broken and his wrist almost dislocated!
“Now,” said Guffey, “here’s my idea: As a witness you’re on the bum, but as a spy, you’re it. They know that you blabbed, and that I know it; they know I’ve had you in the hole. So now what I want to do is to make a martyr of you. D’you see?”
Peter nodded; yes, he saw. It was his specialty, seeing things like that.
“You’re an honest witness, you understand? I tried to get you to lie, and you wouldn’t, so now you go over to the other side, and they take you in, and you find out all you can, and from time to time you meet somebody as I’ll arrange it, and send me word what you’ve learned. You get me?”
“I get you,” said Peter, eagerly. No words could portray his relief. He had a real job now! He was going to be a sleuth, like Guffey himself.
“Now,” said Guffey, “the first thing I want to know is, who’s blabbing in this jail; we can’t do anything but they get tipped off. I’ve got witnesses that I want kept hidden, and I don’t dare put them here for fear of the Goober crowd. I want to know who are the traitors. I want to know a lot of things that I’ll tell you from time to time. I want you to get next to these Reds, and learn about their ideas, so you can talk their lingo.
“Sure,” said Peter. He could not help smiling a little. He was supposed to be a “Red” already, to have been one of their leading conspirators. But Guffey had abandoned that pretence—or perhaps had forgotten about it!
It was really an easy job that Peter had set before him. He did not have to pretend to be anything different from what he was. He would call himself a victim of circumstances, and would be honestly indignant against those who had sought to use him in a frame-up against Jim Goober. The rest would follow naturally. He would get the confidence of the labor people, and Guffey would tell him what to do next.
“We’ll put you in one of the cells of this jail,” said the chief detective, “and we’ll pretend to give you a ‘third degree.’
