The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-08-14
By Alex dickinson

4
Standing nearby, Whitley observed
the rapidly forming mass with the
blank expression on his face changing
to a giant perplexity. A dry saliva of
malicious hate was gathering in the
membrane of his mouth This was not
his crowd; 'mockies" he called them.
Their frenzied talk brought back to
his ears the complaint of his woman.
He spat angrily on the sidewalk.
Money! that's what these guys are
after, damn 'em! They amt satisfied
with what they've got. A pack OF
goddamned bolsheViks wantin' to run
this country.
Look at 'em" he continued grumb-
lin. They're goin' to demonstrate.
and they're only supposed to picket.
III fix emf" Strings of deep root
ed aversion had suddenly burst in his
throat An image of a spiteful lust
reflected savagely in his thoughts and
without further ado, he tapped his
night stick several times upon the hard
asphalt, to the echo Of which police
from all sides responded. They're
goin' to march," he muttered to his
friends, his finger pointed at the ap-
preaching crowds. Come on boys,
let's break it up"
The police, eight Of them in num-
Der, all Of them stalwart broad-shoul-
dered men with REDEEMED faces and
Jaws grimly set stood shoulder to
shoulder, their clubs in their hands
primed for action One Of them cried.
Get the leaders!"
A s the strikers advanced. Whitley
yelled, God help 'em!" and with
this the octet charged madly into the
cr0wd-their clubs began beating a
rythmless tattoo over the heads of
the foremost strikers. The streets
grew suddenly long and empty as the
winding columns of strikers ,anWognd
themselves into a panic stricken mob.
Men and women broke ranks and
screamed. Their multitude of shriH
cries was dimmed by the shuffling of
retreating feet. Terror stricken, they
retreated at the onslaught, running in
all directions, as so many frightened
mice scattering before a hungry cat.
A score of the strikers, unable to
escape, some bruised and bleeding,
were corralled into group and placed
under arrest.
Cold drops of sweat were trickling
from under Whitey's cap. His blond
face now Redeemed, was animated by
a curious smile. He felt strangely at
peace, for a hong latent restlessness
was finding an outlet in a paroxysm
of fury. The complaint of his woman
faded from his thoughts as a dream
upon arising. He withdrew a hand
kerehief from his pocket and wiped
the perspiration from his throat.
Standing in the group of arrested,
was hatless, undersized man. His
abundant black hair wildly disheveI-
led. Blood was streaming from a
painful bruise on his forehead which
he did not feel. One of his sleeves
was almost torn out of his jacket. He
Istoon unere motlonless, only a slight
quivering OF his legs disturbed what
was almost living corpse. A multi
tude of reflections kept running madly
thru his head which focused his thots
upon an obscure vision of THAT
Day" He raised his eyelids, his
glance falling upon his hat lying in
the gutter. He stepped over to pick
1t up, when Whitley, installing his eff
forts for an attempt to escape.
reached his arm out and dubbed him
over the head with the butt Of re-
Volver clutched tightly in his grasp.
The knees Of the one struck sagged
unevenly under the weight of his body.
Ere he had time to fall, another blow
and then another following in rapid
succession sent him reeling around.
Groggily he sank to the sidewalk.