“I am wondering,” she said, turning partly toward Ilse, “what Jim Shotwell would think of me.”
“Fighting on the street!”––her laughter rang out uncontrolled. And Palla, too, was laughing rather 148 uncertainly, for, as her recollection of the affair became more vivid, her doubts concerning the entire procedure increased.
“Of course,” she said, “that red flag was outrageous, and you were quite right in destroying it. One could hardly buttonhole such a procession and try to educate it.”
Ilse said: “One can usually educate a wild animal, but never a rabid one. You’ll see, to-night.”
“Where are we going, dear?”
“We are going to a place just west of Seventh Avenue, called the Red Flag Club.”
“Is it a club?”
“No. The Reds hire it several times a week and try to fill it with people. There is the menace to this city and to the nation, Palla––for these cunning fomenters of disorder deluge the poorer quarters of the town with their literature. That’s where they get their audiences. And that is where are being born the seeds of murder and destruction.”
Palla, combing out her hair, gazed absently into the mirror.
“Why should not we do the same thing?” she asked.