“I’ve considered everything, Dad—considered till I’m sick at heart. I just can’t let my love for any one person in the world take the place of my sense of justice. We’re committing a crime to keep those men in jail, and I say Verne has got to let them out, and if he don’t, then I’m going to make it hot for him.”
Verne was on his way back from the east; and Bunny demanded that he should phone the district attorney his wishes; he might phone the judge, too, if he thought necessary—it wouldn’t be the first time, Bunny would wager. If he didn’t do it, then Bunny’s name would be announced as one of the speakers at that mass-meeting. Upon Dad flashed the memory of that terrible meeting of Harry Seager’s; he saw his beloved son publicly adopting that same ferocious mob, clasping that sea of angry faces and uplifted hands and lungs of leather!
Also Bunny renewed his threat about Annabelle. “You tell Verne with my compliments, I’m going to lay siege to his girl, and take her to that meeting. I’ll tell her he’s trying to keep her in a golden cage, and that’ll make her go; and if ever she hears the full story of those political prisoners, she’ll make Verne wish he’d known when to quit!” Dad could hardly keep from grinning. Poor old man, in his secret heart he was proud of the kid’s nerve!
Whether Dad used the argument about Annabelle, or what he said, this much is history—two days after Vernon Roscoe arrived from Washington in his private car, carrying in his own hands the precious documents with the big red seals of the department of the interior, the district attorney of San Elido County appeared before Superior Judge Patten, and entered a “nolle pros” in the eight criminal syndicalism cases. So Vee Tracy got back her ten thousand dollars, and the seven oil workers were turned out half-blinded into the sunshine, and Bunny postponed his premier appearance in the role of that ill bird—whatever may be the name of it—which is reputed to foul its own nest.
III
Bunny got the news before it was in the papers, and he hastened to take it to Paul and Ruth. Paul had got work as a carpenter, and they had rented a little cottage on the rear of a lot. Ruth had started her nurse’s course in one of the big hospitals, and Paul had got some books, and there was a little of Paradise transported to a working-class part of Angel City. And oh, the happiness that shone in Ruth’s face when Bunny came in with the news! And then the strange mixture of anguish and pride, as Paul spoke: “It’s good of you, son, to have taken so much trouble, and I do appreciate it; but I’m afraid you won’t think me very grateful when you hear what I’m going to do with my freedom.”
“What is it, Paul?”
“I’ve decided to join the Workers’ party.”
“Oh, Paul!” Bunny’s face showed dismay. “But why?”
“Because I believe in their tactics. I always have, ever since my time in Siberia. I waited, because I didn’t want to hurt the strike; and after I got arrested, I couldn’t do anything without compromising the other fellows. But now it won’t hurt anyone but myself, so I’m going to say what I know.”