“Yes, and on other things.”
“He only likes Anarchists,” I interrupted.
“Yes, that is so.”
“What do you know about the Arbeiter-Zeitung?”
“Well, it is a very good paper, but it is too mild.”
“Do you mean to tell me that a paper which advises people to murder and kill is too mild?” I asked.
“They don’t put force enough into it. They don’t keep up things as they ought to. I know all who visit there. I am a friend of all the Spieses.”
After being “roasted” for three hours, Johannes was permitted to go back to his work, and he left under the impression that, after all, he had not said anything criminally implicating any of his comrades. He was not asked to report when wanted, as he was too noisy a fellow to have around the station, and the officers were as well pleased to see him go as they had been pleased to arrest him. He inaugurated no reform on his release. On the contrary, he was again as rabid as ever and ran around night and day trying to gather a mob to go to the jail and liberate the Anarchists. He made no secret of his work. He loved the red flag, he said, and he would die for it if necessary. One night he came to me in company with two other fellows and demanded the return of a large red flag which at one time belonged to International Carpenters’ Union No. 1. This flag had been taken by the police with many others some time before. Grueneberg said that he had marched behind it many times and he was proud of it. He wanted to see the “dear old flag” once more and secure possession of it. I had the flag at the station, but, knowing that Anarchists had an “undying love” for Inspector Bonfield, I remarked:
“If you want the flag, all you have to do is to see the Inspector, and I am quite sure he will give it to you.”
An expression of intense disgust came over the faces of the three Anarchists, and Grueneberg excitedly exclaimed: