II
Bunny came out into the sunshine with a fresh impulse of desperation. His father was half sick, but even so, his father must have this burden of pain dumped onto him! The last time they had discussed the matter, Dad had said to wait, Vernon Roscoe would “see what he could do.” But now Bunny would wait no longer; Dad must compel Verne to act, or Bunny would take up the job himself.
He drove his father back to Angel City, and learned that the radicals had organized a “defense committee,” and there was to be a mass-meeting of protest, at which funds would be raised for the approaching trial. Paul was to be the principal speaker—despite the fact that it might cause his bail privilege to be cancelled. When Bunny got that news, he served an ultimatum on his father; the meeting was to take place the following week, and unless Verne had acted in the meantime, Bunny was going to be one of the speakers, and say his full say about the case.
Dad of course protested. But it was one of those times when his son surprised him by failing to be “soft.” Bunny went farther than ever in his desperation. “Maybe you’ll feel I haven’t any right to behave like this while I’m living on your money, and perhaps I ought to quit college and go to work for myself.”
“Son, I’ve never said anything like that!”
“No, but I’m putting you in a hole with Verne, and it would be easier if you could say I’m not living on you.”
“Son, I don’t want to say any such thing. But I do think you ought to consider my position.”
“I’ve considered everything, Dad—considered till I’m sick at heart. I just can’t let my love for any one person in the world take the place of my sense of justice. We’re committing a crime to keep those men in jail, and I say Verne has got to let them out, and if he don’t, then I’m going to make it hot for him.”
Verne was on his way back from the east; and Bunny demanded that he should phone the district attorney his wishes; he might phone the judge, too, if he thought necessary—it wouldn’t be the first time, Bunny would wager. If he didn’t do it, then Bunny’s name would be announced as one of the speakers at that mass-meeting. Upon Dad flashed the memory of that terrible meeting of Harry Seager’s; he saw his beloved son publicly adopting that same ferocious mob, clasping that sea of angry faces and uplifted hands and lungs of leather!
Also Bunny renewed his threat about Annabelle. “You tell Verne with my compliments, I’m going to lay siege to his girl, and take her to that meeting. I’ll tell her he’s trying to keep her in a golden cage, and that’ll make her go; and if ever she hears the full story of those political prisoners, she’ll make Verne wish he’d known when to quit!” Dad could hardly keep from grinning. Poor old man, in his secret heart he was proud of the kid’s nerve!
Whether Dad used the argument about Annabelle, or what he said, this much is history—two days after Vernon Roscoe arrived from Washington in his private car, carrying in his own hands the precious documents with the big red seals of the department of the interior, the district attorney of San Elido County appeared before Superior Judge Patten, and entered a “nolle pros” in the eight criminal syndicalism cases. So Vee Tracy got back her ten thousand dollars, and the seven oil workers were turned out half-blinded into the sunshine, and Bunny postponed his premier appearance in the role of that ill bird—whatever may be the name of it—which is reputed to foul its own nest.