The Daily Worker Newspaper, February 13, 1926, Page 10

THE SCAB jt had been like that for days, Rosie and him- self on the outs about what appeared to him. his simple duty, but what Rosie persisted in regarding as a sort of shirking on his part. “Lot you care if your wife and kid starve to death,” she said bitterly. : “But, honey, you don’t understand. All the boys walked out. [I couldn’t stay and. scab, could I? You wouldn’t want me to do that.” “That darn,union again! Don’t talk to me about it. What has it ever done for you men but get you in trouble? Twice before you’ve gone out, and loafed weeks, and me sewing my fingers off to keep the house going. You never won before. You won’t this time neither, I’m tired of. pinching and scraping and going about looking like a scare-crow. I tell you straight, if I have to make the living I’ll do it without supporting a lazy, good-for-nothing husband. There!” eee. : She paused breathless, a little afraid. ‘It was the first time she had ever said so much. Al- ready she began to repent her words, and would have liked to recall them, because Joe looked so funny and white, and didn’t retort as was his wont, but sat down without a word. Little Bobbie crawled into his lap and prattled and Joe absent-mindedly petted him. For the first time in his quarrels withf Rosie he felt a bitter antagonism leap to life in his heart, mak- ing speech an impossibility. He was think- ing: “She knew I was a union man when she married me. . she knows I work hard when I can work.” He was thinking: “So I’m a lazy, good-for-nothing husband, am I.” The phrase kept running thru his head. He ate little of the fried potatoes that formed the staple food for supper, and barely tasted his coffee. By the time the meal was over Rosie was wishing that he would speak to her. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for what she had said; that she had been only tired, cross, and didn’t mean it; that if he would kiss her and love her the same she wouldn’t care how many dresses she didn’t have, or parties she missed, or how hard she worked, or anything; that she understood how he felt about the union and was sure he was right about it, and so forth. She waited expectantly for him to say something; but when he took his hat and went out the door without a word, her resentment flared up anew. So he was going down to the union hall again, was he, instead of Staying homé and keeping her company? Well, she wouldn’t stay home by herself for anyone. She didn’t have to. UP until that moment she had entertained not the slightest idea of going to the show with Browning. Now she decided she would. She’d show Joe. She’d show him there were other men willing, yes, and eager, to take her out. The next time he invited her. ... At that psychological instant the telephone rang. Browning’s deep voice came over the wire. He said he had been presented by a friend with two complimentary tickets to a play at the “Fulton,” a really good comedy, he. believed, but he could think of no one to invite; and un- less Mrs. Smith would take pity on him— F Without giving herself time for second thought, Rosie accepted. In the same reckless mood she put Bobbie to sleep. Mrs. Jones who lived across the hall would keep an eye out for him while she was absent. She dressed her- self in her best. Her “best” was pitiably mod- est; but at that she made a pleasant enough picture for any man to look at. At least, so thought Mel Browning when he met her twenty minutes later. Browning, to place him properly, was a real estate man in the early thirties, and the agent for the house in which she and Joe rented an apartment. Not any worse than the average man of his type about town, rather happily married, he none-the-less had, as he would have phrased it, “an eye for the chickens.” — Rosie had intrigued his interest from the} first. too good for that roughneck husband of hers who probably never took her any place. Look how her eyes glistened when he described plays he had seen, told her of the road-houses where he had dined and danced. Boy, she was hungry for them! And where a person was so eager— So he had showered Rosie with invitations, invitations she had not mentioned to her hus- band, invitations she had, until tonight, re- fused. But tonight she had accepted. Surely “A nifty skirt,” he had meditated, and} it paid to be persistent, he thought. To him- self he visualized the beginning of a delightful affair. There would be the show; and after that a tete a tete lunch, dancing; then, then. j It was with a pleasant feeling of anti- cipation that he handed Rosie into his smart little coupe and swung the car away from the poorer quarter of town. MEANTIME, as Rosie had surmised, Joe had gone to the union hall, but after listening to a general discussion for a while he drifted restlessly out into the street. iu wis ucau wus beating monotonously his wife’s words, ‘Lazy good-for-nothing, lazy good-for-nothing.” The injustice of the charge rankled keenly. It made him think, “I’ve got to find work.” It was while in this frame of mind that he met Casey. Casey was head stevedore boss for Mickner and Mack’s, and, of course, looking for men, : “More damn fool you, Joe, for going out,” he argued. “You’re bound to lose, way things are, and meantime your wife and kid are up against it, too. Don’t forget that, Joe, the women get it in the neck when yeu men let the union pull you.” Instead of cursing him as he would have done earlier in the day, Joe only thought: “Maybe Rosie ain’t so wrong to baw! me out. After all, a married man has to think of his family. ig The voice of the tempter went on: “Looka here, Joe, we need a good man like you. Right now. Tonight. Come in while the coming’s good, because, believe me, they’ll be stampeding back in another fortnight, and then where’ll you be? The company’ll remember them that stood by now. Better take me up, Joe.” Still Joe hesitated. To be a scab. God, he had. always hated a scab! The words were forming on his lips. In another moment he would have said, ‘Go to hell, Casey,” when a smart coupe swung around the corner. He recognized Mel Browning, his landlord, at the wheel, and the woman at his side looked so much like his, Joe's; wife that-he-gaye a vio- ent start. Of Course it couldn’t be Rosié; but the resemblance the woman bore to her start- ed an unpleasant train of thought in his mind. After all Rosie was young and pretty, fond of nice clothes and a good time. What if she should be tempted to let some of them gay blades, like young Mel was, take her around? Of course Rosie wouldn’t! Still if she did, wouldn’t it be his fault? She was asking him for those things, wasn’t she? and if he didn’t give them, why— He felt his hands clench at the bare thought. “Say, Casey,” he muttered thickly, “how much is in that job?” ‘BROWNING had taken Rosie to one of the best shows in town, which she had un- feignedly enjoyed. It had been so long since she had been anywhere that she felt as if she were living in a dream. Afterwards he dd not find it hard to persuade her to run out to a gay little place he knew of for a bite to eat. “Tt is twelve now,” he replied to her half- hearted objections, “and your husband home probably an hour ago. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.” She laughed at this. After all, why not? Joe always came home by ten-thirty; so Bobbie wouldn’t be alone after Mrs. Jones retired. It might be a good thing to give Joe a jolt. Be- sides there was absolutely no danger with Browning. Her escort was proving himself a perfect gentleman, with just enough attention in his manner to make her realize that she was a.woman, and young, and pretty, and desir- able. Why not drain the cup of pleasure to the dregs for one night, since she could do so with- out harming anyone? Of course she would never go with him again; so— GHE had never been to a roadhouse like this before. The main dining-room was a bow- er of shaded lights, rose, green, purple. An orchestra played jazz that made the feet want to dance, dance. There was the tinkle of glass, the laughter of women. *She felt in- toxicated by the mere sight and sound. A def- erential waiter took her shabby cloak, and made her feel altogether important and at home by his deft attention. Soon she and Browning were seated’ at a secluded table. Viands of a richness and a variety she had never dreamed existed, appeared and disap- peared. Wines, that she at first hesitated to ES les StS By Henry drink, but. which after a cup or two seemed to caress the throat with a touch of smooth vel- | « vet and to run through the veins with a warm glow of liquid fire, were drunk. She lost count of time. The vague feeling that she was doing what was not altogether right left her, 1YO It had been long since she danced last, but | under Browning’s guidance all her. old. grace | and lightness revived. She seemed to sway | through the mazes_of the two-step like a/.. feather blown. Her companion was holding |" her closer and closer with each succeeding |- or dance but it didn’t seem to matter. When in “ sho | sha Lot the languorous glide of a moonlight waltz his | lips brushed her cheeks, she only laughed; and | thi when his hot mouth suddenly sought and found | you # her own, crushing her lips almost to the point of hurt with the ardor of his kiss, she felt her- self responding to the caress with- primitive abandonment. The end of the waltz found them by their table. Instead of releasing her, Browning sat |," down and drew her on his lap. For a moment some subconscious inhibition made her strug- |« gle, resist; then his lips had again claimed her own; one of his hands had found the round firmness of her breasts; sensuously she yielded | to his embrace, All around them the dim lights flickered, music sobbed. Mirth, madness— love. Through the lashes that veiled her heavy, languorous eyes, she could feel the fire of his glances. Beneath his palm her heart beat faster and faster. Her body thrilled, tin yearned to his. His straining clasp, his throb- ry bing pulse, his uneven breathing, became a ris- lin ing harmony with which her whole being blend- | ed, merged. His will became her will; his de- Ww sire, her desire. Suddenly he had stood up, bef was carrying her—where? It did not matter. ms Through an open door into a dim, scented wit room. They were sinking, sinking. She clung to him, closer, closer. DOWN in number three hold Joe sweated and cursed. Casey had made him foreman over as inefficient a bunch of scab-stevedores |§ as it was possible to concéivé of: “He found ‘it necessary to pitch in atid ‘démonstrate how |’ cargo should be broken out. God, they were rats! The scourings of the city, for the most part. His soul sickened every time he thought of how the boys on the picket line had looked at him when he passed into the dock with Casey. They had not even], booed. Probably they had been too stunned to} , realize at once what his presence meant. At}_ any rate, they knew by now. Knew that he, Joe Smith, was a scab, a rat, a traitor. “Damn you!” he screamed at an unsavory looking member of his gang, “how many times have you to be told to fix that sling right?” He sprang forward, but was too late to stop the hoisting of the load ag the signal had al- ready been given the winchman on deck. Up, up went the load, tilting crazily. “Hey, you!” he cried to the hatch-tender, leaping out to where he could be seen, and waving violently. ‘Lower that load again— down!” But the tender was a green man, easily con- fused and couldn’t understand what was meant. “Down! damn you! down” screamed Joe. And at his second command, the load came down. Ros4 stirred and sat up. She pushed the tousled hair from her eyes and looked about confusedly. Her head ached and there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She did not at once realize where she was. The large wel furnished bedroom was utterly strange to her Then she became conscious of the tumbled be in which she sat and of her own naked body, and of the fact that som one who—. . . Horrified, she | until she was looking down into Mel ! ing’s face. He was sleeping with his mouth open and did not make a pleasant picture. In- stantly memory came back. Memory of the roadhouse, the supper party, the— A wave of loathing swept oyer her. Surely it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be! No, no! it couldn’t be possible that she had spent the night here, in this room, with Mel Browning; that the things she dimly remembered, had taken place. She was mad, dreaming. proximity, Browning | COL strained to him. He held her | pet " Vs } At her recoil from his woke up.