Scene VII

Nearly a month later. An I. W. W. local near the

waterfront, showing the interior of a front room on the ground

floor, and the street outside. Moonlight on the narrow street,

buildings massed in black shadow. The interior of the room, which

is general assembly room, office, and reading room, resembles some

dingy settlement boys club. A desk and high stool are in one

corner. A table with papers, stacks of pamphlets, chairs about it,

is at center. The whole is decidedly cheap, banal, commonplace and

unmysterious as a room could well be. The secretary is perched on

the stool making entries in a large ledger. An eye shade casts his

face into shadows. Eight or ten men, longshoremen, iron workers,

and the like, are grouped about the table. Two are playing

checkers. One is writing a letter. Most of them are smoking pipes.

A big signboard is on the wall at the rear, "Industrial Workers of

the World—Local No. 57."

YANK:

—[Comes down the street outside. He is dressed as in SceneFive. He moves cautiously, mysteriously. He comes to a pointopposite the door; tiptoes softly up to it, listens, is impressedby the silence within, knocks carefully, as if he were guessing atthe password to some secret rite. Listens. No answer. Knocks againa bit louder. No answer. Knocks impatiently, much louder.]

SECRETARY:

—[Turning around on his stool.]What the devil is that—

someone knocking?[Shouts:]Come in, why don't you?[All the menin the room look up. YANK opens the door slowly, gingerly, as ifafraid of an ambush. He looks around for secret doors, mystery, istaken aback by the commonplaceness of the room and the men in it,thinks he may have gotten in the wrong place, then sees thesignboard on the wall and is reassured.]

YANK:

—[Blurts out.]Hello.

MEN:

—[Reservedly.]Hello.

YANK:

—[More easily.]I tought I'd bumped into de wrong dump.

SECRETARY:

—[Scrutinizing him carefully.]Maybe you have. Are you a

member?

YANK:

—Naw, not yet. Dat's what I come for—to join.

SECRETARY:

—That's easy. What's your job—longshore?

YANK:

—Naw. Fireman—stoker on de liners.

SECRETARY:

—[With satisfaction.]Welcome to our city. Glad to know

you people are waking up at last. We haven't got many members in

your line.

YANK:

—Naw. Dey're all dead to de woild.

SECRETARY:

—Well, you can help to wake 'em. What's your name? I'll

make out your card.

YANK:

—[Confused.]Name? Lemme tink.

SECRETARY:

—[Sharply.]Don't you know your own name?

YANK:

—Sure; but I been just Yank for so long—Bob, dat's it—Bob

Smith.

SECRETARY:

—[Writing.]Robert Smith.[Fills out the rest of card.]

Here you are. Cost you half a dollar.

YANK:

—Is dat all—four bits? Dat's easy.[Gives the SECRETARY themoney.]

SECRETARY:

—[Throwing it in drawer.]Thanks. Well, make yourself at

home. No introductions needed. There's literature on the table.

Take some of those pamphlets with you to distribute aboard ship.

They may bring results. Sow the seed, only go about it right.

Don't get caught and fired. We got plenty out of work. What we

need is men who can hold their jobs—and work for us at the same

time.

YANK:

—Sure.[But he still stands, embarrassed and uneasy.]

SECRETARY:

—[Looking at him—curiously.]What did you knock for?

Think we had a coon in uniform to open doors?

YANK:

—Naw. I tought it was locked—and dat yuh'd wanter give me

the once-over trou a peep-hole or somep'n to see if I was right.

SECRETARY:

—[Alert and suspicious but with an easy laugh.]Think we

were running a crap game? That door is never locked. What put that

in your nut?

YANK:

—[With a knowing grin, convinced that this is all camouflage,a part of the secrecy.]Dis burg is full of bulls, ain't it?

SECRETARY:

—[Sharply.]What have the cops got to do with us? We're

breaking no laws.

YANK:

—[With a knowing wink.]Sure. Youse wouldn't for woilds.

Sure. I'm wise to dat.

SECRETARY:

—You seem to be wise to a lot of stuff none of us knows

about.

YANK:

—[With another wink.]Aw, dat's aw right, see.[Then made abit resentful by the suspicious glances from all sides.]Aw, can

it! Youse needn't put me trou de toid degree. Can't youse see I

belong? Sure! I'm reg'lar. I'll stick, get me? I'll shoot de woiks

for youse. Dat's why I wanted to join in.

SECRETARY:

—[Breezily, feeling him out.]That's the right spirit.

Only are you sure you understand what you've joined? It's all

plain and above board; still, some guys get a wrong slant on us.

[Sharply.] What's your notion of the purpose of the I. W. W.?

YANK:

—Aw, I know all about it.

SECRETARY:

—[Sarcastically.]Well, give us some of your valuable

information.

YANK:

—[Cunningly.]I know enough not to speak outa my toin.[Thenresentfully again.]Aw, say! I'm reg'lar. I'm wise to de game. I

know yuh got to watch your step wit a stranger. For all youse

know, I might be a plain-clothes dick, or somep'n, dat's what

yuh're tinkin', huh? Aw, forget it! I belong, see? Ask any guy

down to de docks if I don't.

SECRETARY:

—Who said you didn't?

YANK:

—After I'm 'nitiated, I'll show yuh.

SECRETARY:

—[Astounded.]Initiated? There's no initiation.

YANK:

—[Disappointed.]Ain't there no password—no grip nor

nothin'?

SECRETARY:

—What'd you think this is—the Elks—or the Black Hand?

YANK:

—De Elks, hell! De Black Hand, dey're a lot of yellow

backstickin' Ginees. Naw. Dis is a man's gang, ain't it?

SECRETARY:

—You said it! That's why we stand on our two feet in the

open. We got no secrets.

YANK:

—[Surprised but admiringly.]Yuh mean to say yuh always run

wide open—like dis?

SECRETARY:

—Exactly.

YANK:

—Den yuh sure got your noive wit youse!

SECRETARY:

—[Sharply.]Just what was it made you want to join us?

Come out with that straight.

YANK:

—Yuh call me? Well, I got noive, too! Here's my hand. Yuh

wanter blow tings up, don't yuh? Well, dat's me! I belong!

SECRETARY:

—[With pretended carelessness.]You mean change the

unequal conditions of society by legitimate direct action—or with

dynamite?

YANK:

—Dynamite! Blow it offen de oith—steel—all de cages—all de

factories, steamers, buildings, jails—de Steel Trust and all dat

makes it go.

SECRETARY:

—So—that's your idea, eh? And did you have any special

job in that line you wanted to propose to us.[He makes a sign tothe men, who get up cautiously one by one and group behind YANK.]

YANK:

—[Boldly.]Sure, I'll come out wit it. I'll show youse I'm

one of de gang. Dere's dat millionaire guy, Douglas—

SECRETARY:

—President of the Steel Trust, you mean? Do you want to

assassinate him?

YANK:

—Naw, dat don't get yuh nothin'. I mean blow up de factory,

de woiks, where he makes de steel. Dat's what I'm after—to blow

up de steel, knock all de steel in de woild up to de moon. Dat'll

fix tings![Eagerly, with a touch of bravado.]I'll do it by me

lonesome! I'll show yuh! Tell me where his woiks is, how to git

there, all de dope. Gimme de stuff, de old butter—and watch me do

de rest! Watch de smoke and see it move! I don't give a damn if

dey nab me—long as it's done! I'll soive life for it—and give

'em de laugh![Half to himself.]And I'll write her a letter and

tell her de hairy ape done it. Dat'll square tings.

SECRETARY:

—[Stepping away from YANK.]Very interesting.[He givesa signal. The men, huskies all, throw themselves on YANK andbefore he knows it they have his legs and arms pinioned. But he istoo flabbergasted to make a struggle, anyway. They feel him overfor weapons.]

MAN:

—No gat, no knife. Shall we give him what's what and put the

boots to him?

SECRETARY:

—No. He isn't worth the trouble we'd get into. He's too

stupid.[He comes closer and laughs mockingly in YANK'S face.]Ho-

ho! By God, this is the biggest joke they've put up on us yet.

Hey, you Joke! Who sent you—Burns or Pinkerton? No, by God,

you're such a bonehead I'll bet you're in the Secret Service!

Well, you dirty spy, you rotten agent provocator, you can go back

and tell whatever skunk is paying you blood-money for betraying

your brothers that he's wasting his coin. You couldn't catch a

cold. And tell him that all he'll ever get on us, or ever has got,

is just his own sneaking plots that he's framed up to put us in

jail. We are what our manifesto says we are, neither more or less—

and we'll give him a copy of that any time he calls. And as for

you—[He glares scornfully at YANK, who is sunk in an obliviousstupor.]Oh, hell, what's the use of talking? You're a brainless

ape.

YANK:

—[Aroused by the word to fierce but futile struggles.]What's

dat, yuh Sheeny bum, yuh!

SECRETARY:

—Throw him out, boys.[In spite of his struggles, thisis done with gusto and eclat. Propelled by several parting kicks,YANK lands sprawling in the middle of the narrow cobbled street.With a growl he starts to get up and storm the closed door, butstops bewildered by the confusion in his brain, patheticallyimpotent. He sits there, brooding, in as near to the attitude ofRodin's "Thinker" as he can get in his position.]

YANK:

—[Bitterly.]So dem boids don't tink I belong, neider. Aw, to

hell wit 'em! Dey're in de wrong pew—de same old bull—soapboxes

and Salvation Army—no guts! Cut out an hour offen de job a day

and make me happy! Gimme a dollar more a day and make me happy!

Tree square a day, and cauliflowers in de front yard—ekal rights—

a woman and kids—a lousey vote—and I'm all fixed for Jesus,

huh? Aw, hell! What does dat get yuh? Dis ting's in your inside,

but it ain't your belly. Feedin' your face—sinkers and coffee—

dat don't touch it. It's way down—at de bottom. Yuh can't grab

it, and yuh can't stop it. It moves, and everyting moves. It stops

and de whole woild stops. Dat's me now—I don't tick, see?—I'm a

busted Ingersoll, dat's what. Steel was me, and I owned de woild.

Now I ain't steel, and de woild owns me. Aw, hell! I can't see—

it's all dark, get me? It's all wrong![He turns a bitter mockingface up like an ape gibbering at the moon.]Say, youse up dere,

Man in de Moon, yuh look so wise, gimme de answer, huh? Slip me de

inside dope, de information right from de stable—where do I get

off at, huh?

A POLICEMAN:

—[Who has come up the street in time to hear thislast—with grim humor.]You'll get off at the station, you boob,

if you don't get up out of that and keep movin'.

YANK:

—[Looking up at him—with a hard, bitter laugh.]Sure! Lock

me up! Put me in a cage! Dat's de on'y answer yuh know. G'wan,

lock me up!

POLICEMAN:

—What you been doin'?

YANK:

—Enuf to gimme life for! I was born, see? Sure, dat's de

charge. Write it in de blotter. I was born, get me!

POLICEMAN:

—[Jocosely.]God pity your old woman![Then matter-of-fact.]But I've no time for kidding. You're soused. I'd run you in

but it's too long a walk to the station. Come on now, get up, or

I'll fan your ears with this club. Beat it now![He hauls YANK tohis feet.]

YANK:

—[In a vague mocking tone.]Say, where do I go from here?

POLICEMAN:

—[Giving him a push—with a grin, indifferently.]Go to

hell.

[Curtain]