Have you ever had the experience of seeing some person you know and love shut behind bars like a wild beast? It was something that hit Bunny in the pit of his stomach, and made him weak and faint. Here were seven fellows, all but two of them young as himself, crowding together like so many friendly and affectionate deer, nuzzling through the bars and expecting lumps of sugar or bits of bread. Their pitiful clamor of welcome, the grateful light on their faces—just for a visit, a few minutes of a rich young man’s time!
These were all ranch-fellows, outdoor men, that had worked in the sun and rain all their lives, and grown big and bronzed and sturdy; but now they were bleached white or yellow, dirty and unshaven, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Jick Duggan was coughing, just as his wife had said, and there was not one healthy-looking man in the bunch. If Bunny had been able to say to himself that these men had done some vile deed, and this was their atonement, he might have justified it, even while he questioned what good it would do; but they were there because they had dared to dream of justice for their fellows, and to talk about it, in defiance of the “open shop” crowd of big business men!
Bunny had sent them some books—they were allowed to have books that didn’t look radical to very ignorant jailers, and provided the books came direct from the publishers, so that they would not have to be searched too carefully for concealed objects such as saws and dope. Now they wanted to tell him how much these books had helped, and to ask for more. And what did Bunny know about their prospects of getting a trial? Had he seen Paul, and what did Paul think? And what about the union—was there anything left of it? They were not allowed any sort of “radical” paper, so they were six or seven months behind the news of their own world.
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.”