FREE BEER! Frei! Gratis!
A few walked on—straight to the dining-hall.
But every one who walked into the free-beer room was told to go through a door on the left.
"That way!" a policeman told the thirsty.
The first man who went into the inner room found a policeman standing beside a table on which were a dozen full schooners.
"If you drink now you don't eat," courteously said the cop.
"Kismet!" said the starving man, and reached for a schooner.
"It's for after eating!" gently warned the policeman.
"Life is uncertain. I'll drink now and—"
"This way!" The policeman now spoke in his regular voice.
He led the thirsty out of the room by another door which led into still another room used for storing the heavy circus impedimenta.
"Do you see?" asked H. R., sweetly, to the reporters and the students of sociology from the magazines. "Do you?"
"Mr. Rutgers, Columbus and his egg had nothing on you," said the earnest young theorist from the Evening Post.
The others were busily turning out literature.
"It won't cheat 'em out of a meal," H. R. whispered to young Mr. Lubin from the Onward. "But they don't eat with the others."
That is how H. R. kept his promise to the business men of New York. He had circumvented fraud, which is the chief aim of modern charity. Also he had discouraged the formation of a professional pauper class—the one danger against which all commonwealths must guard.
"I'd like to know what you are going to do with the culls," the Sun man asked H. R. He had of late been trying to elevate the tone of the magazines with real fiction; which they refused to print.
"Those who fell through thirst will be fed later," H. R. answered.
"And those that wouldn't be searched? They looked mighty hungry to me." He was an expert in hunger. It drove him out of Literature.
"We'll sell the left-over meals to them at cost. We are intelligent philanthropists. We shall now have a beer, gentlemen, and let us pass on."
That beer had taken on a subtle quality of exclusiveness. All the reporters drank with gusto.
XXIII
At eight sharp the main entrance of the Garden was thrown open. The reporters promptly noted that the crowd of sight-seers exceeded the number of the hungry. It restored their belief in republican institutions.
As each ticket-holder presented his ticket he demanded the instant return of the ten-thousand-dollar coupon. Even the skeptics who knew they'd never get the ten thousand dollars did this.
The coupon-holder was then ushered into the superintendent's office, in which sat the Mayor of New York, the presidents of seven banks, the proprietors of six hotels, one United States Senator, H. R., and the reporters.
Behind them was a large frame inclosing stretched white oil-cloth. Printed thereon in large black letters was this:
YOU WILL BE ASKED ONE QUESTION. YOU WILL HAVE TEN SECONDS IN WHICH TO ANSWER. BRAIN-CAPACITY IS MEASURED BY THE QUICKNESS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION. IF YOU CAN'T ANSWER IN TEN SECONDS, YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE $10,000 IN CASH.
As the first coupon-holder entered H. R. rose and took from his pocket a huge roll of bills, all yellow-backs. He carelessly peeled off one of them and with a bow handed it to the Mayor.
Everybody sat up straight. His Honor looked at it. It was for ten thousand dollars. He nodded and then silently passed it to a bank president, who in turn examined it, nodded, and passed it on to a colleague. The reporters pressed forward.
"Experts in all kinds of small change," smiled H. R., pointing to the bankers.
The reporters' eyes followed the return of the ten-thousand-dollar bill to the Mayor. They also decided that H. R.'s roll was the most impressive demonstration of brute strength ever seen in New York.
Then H. R. asked his question, slowly, distinctly, enunciating carefully and smiling the while:
"What is it we have all heard about from earliest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins with A—the first letter of the alphabet, the first of the five vowels. There is another word, a synonym, which is now obsolescent, though it is at times used in poetry. But while either word will win the ten thousand dollars in cash now in the custody of the Mayor of New York, the word I particularly have in mind has five letters, of which the first is appropriately A, the Alpha of the Greeks, the Aleph of the Hebrews, and now the first of all the alphabets of European languages. It is logically the first letter because it is the first sound that man naturally makes—'A' or 'Ah!' The first letter! What is the word of five letters beginning with A that will give you ten thousand dollars? With 'A'! Now!"
Stop-watch in hand, H. R. began to move his left arm up and down like a referee at a prize-fight. He had astutely emphasized the fact that the word had five letters, of which the first was A. The mind of the coupon-holder was thus made to study the dictionary instead of thinking about the question itself.
It was inevitable as fate itself. The first man could not guess. Neither could the second nor any of the thousands. But before the applicant's indignation at the unfairness of the question and the shortness of the time could grow into fury H. R. exclaimed, "Time's up." Approaching the non-guesser, he whispered: "The name of the unsuccessful will not be given to the newspapers. Not by us! I thank you in the name of the poor starving people whose lives you have prolonged. That way to the seats. You can have your pick of the very best!"
In that simple way was bloodshed and the cry of fraud averted at one and the same time.
H. R. then delegated the task of propounding the aureate question to a dozen lieutenants. Without varying one word the lieutenants asked the men whose charity would feed the starving.
Not one won the ten thousand dollars.
One of the reporters with the air of a man whose life depends upon the bulletin-board asked H. R.:
"What's the answer?"
The others heard H. R. reply:
"Ten thousand dollars in cash!"
"It is worth ten thousand of my dollars. You can make them yours."
"I guess it's a fake."
"That begins with an 'F.' Mine begins with an 'A.' The Mayor has the cash."
The reporter looked at the Mayor. His Honor's lips were moving inaudibly. He was going over all the words of five letters that began with an "A."
Among them was Agony.
Lubin again looked at the ten-thousand-dollar yellow-back and at H. R. and suddenly rushed out. On the way he collected nine erudite friends. They went to the nearest branch of the public library. Each got a dictionary and divided all the definitions under "A" into nine parts.
Nothing doing!
"I knew it was a fraud!" yelled the Onward man. "It isn't in the dictionary."
He fairly flew back to the Garden.
H. R. was just about to go into the arena. Lubin yelled:
"There is no such word in the dictionary. I protest against this—"
"You talk like an old-school Republican," said H. R., coldly, to Lubin.
It killed speech in the young man.
The Mayor clenched his right fist tightly. The ten-thousand-dollar treasury note lay crumpled within.
"Sir," said H. R. to him, with real dignity, "you have my word that the word is in the dictionary."
The Mayor, naturally thinking of political consequences, spoke, "Of course, Mr. Rutgers, I expect you to prove it."
"Sir, I shall see to it that you are re-elected!" H. R. said this so positively that his Honor blushed guiltily. "I am not stupid enough to endeavor to perpetrate so transparent a fraud as this young man charges me with. But it would be even greater stupidity to be unfair to honest guessers by telling Mr. Lubin or anybody else what the word is. It is of five letters and begins with an 'A' and it is in the dictionary. But I will tell you, your Honor, and you, Mr. Lubin, what I will do. I shall ask the question and give the answer to a man who will say whether it is a fair question and whether the word is a fair answer. His decision will be final. He will not, I am sure, send for the ten thousand dollars after he hears the answer."
The Mayor shook his head dubiously.
"Who is the man?"
Mr. Lubin, being young, went much further.
"There is no man in New York whose word—"
"Silence, sir! I know the man. If he says that the word answers the question, everybody in New York will be convinced—Socialists, Democrats, Republicans, Progressives, Suffragists, newspaper editors, and all."
"There can't be such a man," said Lubin, decisively.
H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor.
"Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take it."
The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election.
"Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his Eminence."
Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our enemies, the capitalists. But we respect the only foes who are fighting us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. Of course, we think the Catholics—"
"Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery."
Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. Rutgers."
"Never!" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right hand. They shook warmly.
A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild.
Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly.
"Did you hear it?" he asked his chief. "Say, she is smiling to beat the band and the crowd is going crazy. Hear that?" And he began to dance a jig.
H. R. seized him by the arm and said:
"In exactly two minutes I shall enter."
Andrew Barrett rushed away to tip on the vox populi.
"Gentlemen," said H. R. to the reporters, "you had better go in."
They obeyed him. They were escorted to their table on the stage. They found there seven military bands that had volunteered their services and also their own weapons.
In the background of the stage was a huge placard:
FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE CAN BE SERVED, FED, AND FIRED IN 6¾ MINUTES BY OUR SYSTEM!
S. A. S. A., Dept. T.
O. K.
H. R.,
Sec.
At each reporter's place was a typewritten sheet containing intelligent statistics of this stupendous charity.
The reporters saw in the arena long strings of tables, each six hundred and eighteen feet long, and benches to match. Each guest was allowed nineteen and one-half inches. The dishes were of water-proofed paper stamped S. A. S. A. Above each table were aluminum-painted pipes with faucets every ten seats for soup, milk, tea, and coffee.
"By keeping the tea, coffee, and soup in circulation wholesome warm drinks are secured," read the official statement, "besides obviating the assistance of eight hundred and sixteen waiters, who would have had to walk an aggregate of six hundred and seventy-seven miles from tables to kitchen."
The solid food was brought to the scores of small serving-tables by means of overhead conveyors and traveling-cranes, a sort of gigantic cash-carrier system operated by electricity. The food came in individual covered dishes, also of water-proofed paper. Everything was automatic. The S. A. S. A. system prevented spilling, waste, delay, inefficient waiters, and the dissatisfaction of the guests.
"You will observe," went on the official statement, "that for the first time in history the beneficiaries of the bounty of their fellow-men are treated as honored cash guests and not compelled to wait. The bread of charity is hard, but not when served by the S. A. S. A."
Leaflets containing much the same information had been placed in each of the thousands of seats in the Garden in lieu of programs. As each man entered he saw the pipes and the traveling-cranes and the mechanical waiters, and read the placard on the stage.
"Ain't it great?" inquired every charitable ticket-buyer. "In six and three-quarter minutes! No regiments of waiters. Everything automatic. Say, that H. R. is a wonder!"
It naturally took some time before they remembered to look at the starving people who were sitting at the long tables waiting to be fed.
They saw haggard faces, sunken-eyed, pale-lipped men and women and children. They saw trembling hands that fidgeted with knives and forks that were obviously unnecessary. They saw women at the tables trying to still whining children. They saw gray-haired heads fallen on soup-plates utterly exhausted from inanition.
They saw starving and penniless human beings by the thousand.
And the spectators, hosts of these guests, ran over the faces and the forms of the men and women and children—all alike in that all were hungry and all were penniless. And the same thought struck them all, and they expressed it audibly, with gusto, as though they were original thinkers, with the modesty of professional epigrammatists. All the spectators said:
"Say, it will be great to see them eat!"
New York's great big heart had spoken in no uncertain accents!
"And the greatest of these is charity."
XXIV
Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which they had paid, begin a bugle blew.
H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena.
Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout, angrily:
"Sit down! Sit down!"
That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet.
Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same, and the other dignitaries.
The applause that came from the members of the Society of American Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure.
The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore also applauded, even more frenziedly.
No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political equality!
In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild.
She knew something was expected of her—something spectacular, thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R. agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and when?
"Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches.
Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs.
The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age, went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to them!
Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and bowed to H. R. with a queenly air.
H. R. bowed low to her and walked on.
When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national anthem almost together.
A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind New York what its nationality was.
When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign over the stage.
In huge letters of light the people read: