“The organization helps us considerable, and my wife, she sews. We manage to get along.”
I fancied that the Anarchist’s wife had laid aside her sewing and was getting supper, for she was moving up and down in the kitchen. I wondered if she were tired.
The Tailoress was rapt and silent, with a Jeanne D’Arc look upon her face. She was too much absorbed to hear the friendly remarks that the Anarchist was making.
“I’m glad you come to me,” he said. “I’ll do all I can to help on your enterprise. There’s nothin’ in the world I wouldn’t do for a woman.”
To check the thoughts that the busy footsteps in the kitchen suggested, I asked the Anarchist a question.
“Isn’t the idea of combining for any purpose contrary to your principles? I thought that the first article in your political creed was that each man should stand alone.”
“E-ventually,” answered the Anarchist, with deliberation. “That’s the eyedeal. This is only a perliminary step. We’ve got to combine first to break the bands of unlawful power. It’s jest the same thing I said the other night at the banquet. I reckon I scairt ye a little then?” he queried, with a broad smile. “I don’t know but what I ought to have said less, and yet I don’t know as I had. Those are only my temporary sentiments.”
“Yes?” I said, suggestively.
“I’m a man of peace,” said the Anarchist, slowly. “A man of peace. I want to see the day when we all stand side by side, free and equal, and no man the minion of any other. That’s anarchy, that is. There won’t be no injestice then, for there won’t be no gover’ment to meddle and mess things up. We’ll all work separate and harmonious, and every man will know that his interests and the interests of his neighbour are eyedentical.
“But I tell you,” he cried, starting up suddenly, and then subsiding for the sake of the child nestled on his arm, “we’ve got to fight to bring about this peace! The gover’ment’s on our shoulders, and it’s got to be got off. That’s somethin’ we can’t do without co-operation, and we’ll hev to fight together.