“How can you be sure that Paul hasn’t broken any law?”
“Because I know him. I know all his ideas. I’ve talked the thing out with him from A to Z—all about this strike, and how it’s to be handled, the importance of getting the men to stand as a unit, how everything else must be subordinated to that. That’s what he’s been doing, and that’s why Verne has thrown him into jail.”
“You’re quite sure Verne has done it?”
“Of course—he and the rest of the operators’ committee. What are those officials in San Elido, but office-boys for the oil men? Before Verne came in there, Dad ran that county; I’ve seen him pay the money with my own eyes, and more times than one.”
“And you don’t think they may have evidence that Paul has been conniving at violence?”
“I don’t know what evidence they’ve got. Verne as good as told me he had spies on that bunch, and I don’t know what those spies may have planted—and neither does Verne know, for that matter. That’s one of the damnable things about it. Another is—you see that charge, ‘suspicion of criminal syndicalism’! What they call ‘criminal syndicalism’ means that you advocate overthrowing the government, or changing the social system by force; but you notice they don’t arrest you for that—they arrest you for ‘suspicion’ of it! In other words, you advocate some idea that some ignorant cop or some crook in office chooses to think may be dangerous, and then they throw you into jail, and there you stay—the courts are crowded, and they can keep you a year without a trial or any chance at all.”
“Oh, surely they can’t do that, Bunny!”
“They’re doing it right along. I know fellows it’s been done to. They put the bail high on purpose, so that workingmen can’t get it. And they think they’re going to do it to Paul Watkins, the best boy-friend I ever had, the straightest fellow I ever knew—yes, by God, and he went to Siberia and served in that war, and came out sick—that boy was as tough as a hickory nut before that, a country fellow, simple and straight, and with no vices. And this is the reward he gets for his services to his country—by Jesus, I’d like to see them get me to fight for a country like that!”
Bunny had to dash a tear out of his eyes, and he began to pace the floor again, and stumbled against a chair. Vee put her arms about him and whispered, “Listen, dear, I know some people that have got money, and I may be able to help you. Leave it to me for a few hours, and don’t say anything to Dad about it—what’s the use of worrying him to no purpose? If I can arrange it, he’ll be able to tell Verne that he knew nothing about it, and that’ll be so much better all round.”
She went off, and a couple of hours later came back. Bunny was to wire Ruth that neither he nor his father could do anything, but a friend had taken an interest in the case, and the money had been deposited with the American Bonding Company, and their office in Angel City would obtain Paul’s release. Bunny said, “How did you do it?” and she answered, “The less you know about it the better. I know somebody that owns some real estate in Angel City, and has a salary coming to them, and employers that are anxious to keep them happy and contented.” Bunny said it must have cost a good deal, and he ought to pay it back, and Vee said, “Yes, it cost a pile, and you’re going to pay in love and affection, and you can start right now.” She flew to his arms, and he covered her with kisses, and it was like an orchestra that went surging up in their hearts. It is an extremely unsettling thing to have a whole orchestra inside you!