The Daily Worker Newspaper, March 20, 1926, Page 11

2 e, ir, od he 1d ill it ns re n= = 1€ VS i- n Wn I~ o Le Le le id TRANReOO ~~ FLOP nenPahneprxaaeR at i LES o- “And you were together five months. What class is he from dear? You surely know everything about him.” “He said something about having been em- plqyed on our vessel. He seemed to be widely trqvelled.” Hilda’s blue eyes were fastened on a {beautiful copy of “The Dance of the Nymphs.” “You know, Hilda, Stockholm will go wild when we get word thru that you are alive. Why, dear, your father will be congratulated by a score of diplomats; and the streets around your house will be lined with the carriages of all our set. And when we get back—oh, won’t we celebrate!” In the owner’s room Ted was trying to ad- just his feet so as to secure the least discom- fort possible. His trousers, shirt, and coat tormented him with their heat; so that he was only prevented from plucking at the most an- noying places of his costume by keeping his hands deep in his pockets. That is, until his companion handed him a cigar (which had cost two hours’ stokers’ wages) and settled bark in an easy chair with the attitude of one aft to hear the remainder of an interesting stdry. ‘ DG “Well! Some’ adventure,: I'll say: Five months, I believe you said. Nice companion, ‘you Had,-very. -Did you know Miss Nordquist before?” Ted’s double wrinkle deepened. .- “No,” slowly. “Is that her name?” “Why, didn’t she tell you her name?” “I guess, maybe, she did. I had forgotten it.”’ “If you had known who her father is, you would not have forgotten.” “Perhaps.” Here was the news Ted had feared so long: so long, in fact, that it did not surprise him, only made him more tired and the mist nearer. Slingerland regarded closely this guest whc did not seem anxious to know about the great- ness of Hilda’s father. “What part of Sweden do you come from, } Mr. Rusten?” “Sweden? Oh, yes. Why, I—I have not made my home in Sweden since I was a child.” “Oh. Well, that accounts, perhaps, for your not:knowing who Mr. Nordquist is. He is re- puted to bd the wealthiest’ and midst influential man in the country.” “Yeat” On deck, two cigars glowed where Slinger- land’s companions of the morning stood en- gaged in conversation. “A most unusual coincidence. It is not often that the favorite beau rescues the object of his affections from an uninhabited jungle. The old man had a keen liking for Slingerland be- fore Hilda was lost; now, there is no question as to who will win. You and I, Ecklun, might as well retire in good grace.” fat other ficked some cigar ashes into the n t. ‘I agree that this rescue of Hilda has beer. most unusual, Maynot something equally un- | usual grow out of it? For instance, this Ruster ’.{‘o eliminate Slingerland from the lead. By Jove, Falk, if I were a young lady in distress, and a man of my age were to help me as |. Rusten must surely have aided her, I would think a long time before deciding to disregard iis attentions. Of course, if Rusten has not offered any attentions, then; as you say, Slin- gerland has the inside track.” “I had thought somewhat the same. But, on the other hand, Rusten, compared with Slingerland, or even with us, hasn’t the physi- que to command the admiration of Hilda. But, did you notice his dignity?” “Yes. I wonder what he is.” “So dol. Well, we can hardly discover that vptil we talk more with him. I say this, t}ough, His dignity is the result of one of t}'o conditions; either he is deficient and wants to hide his short-comings; or he is the genuine article. In either case, Slingerland will have an opponent, if that line between Rusten’s eyes means anything.” “We are to send the news from Aden?” “Yes, Man, that depresses me. When Nord- quist gets that message, signed, ‘Slingerland,’ Hilda will become unattainable to you and me. Perhaps it is jealousy which tempts me to wish Rusten good luck.” , “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Let the best man win, Hilda’s well-being and happiness come first. By the way, Falk, did you know that some of the hands are sick?” “They are! Which ones?” - lowed it. “Some of those down below, I understand. First thing we know we'll be down there firing the boilers.” Morning came. Ted dressed; hesitated a moment before opening his stateroom door, in order to still the wild beating of his heart; and strolled into the salon. “Good morning, Mr. Rusten!” This from Slingerland. - “Your hardships have not made you a late sleeper, have they?” “Good morning, Ted,” nodded Hilda, with a smile, as she playfully tried to release her arms from the clasp of Miss Slingerland and another companion. Ted immediately felt more at ease. They entered the dining room and seated themselves, Hilda facing her father’s favorite, Ted facing Miss Slingerland. His nervous- ness returned. Unaccustomed as he was to the labyrinthian gauntlet of table etiquette, his heart sank when he realized that. he was not to be under Hilda’s understanding eyes, but. under those of a woman alien to his ex- periences. «4... ©. : ' “Well, Mr. Rusten,” said Falk, on Ted’s left, as he unfolded his napkin, (Ted, following his example, began unfolding his own) “I imagine you find it very agreeable in civilized quarters, after your long privation.” “Yes. It is a change.” * “I don’t suppose you had much silverware; and, so far as I remember, you had other uses for any cloth which might answer the purpose of a napkin.” Falk smiled, as he handed Ted the sugar bowl. “But, Mr. Rusten,” beamed Miss Slinger- land, “what did you do for china-ware? I can’t imagine how you managed to eat with- out it.” Ted imitated Falk in the art of securing the proper spoon, and daintily placed it in his porridge dish. Then he looked up. “We used leaves.” “Leaves!” At the sound of Miss Slinger- land’s exclamation, Ted thought that Hilda’s blue eyes were turned upon him; but when he looked at her, he found her gazing over his head, possibly at some painting hanging on the wall, He returned to his eating, placed a spoonful of porridge in his mouth, and swal- It Was tastéless;~ Hi gone. “Mis Nordquist will find herself a national celebrity, when she returns to Stockholm. Eh, folks?” demanded Slingerland. “She most assuredly will,” agreed Falk. “And the man who saved her also will be in the public eye.” He glanced at Ted, who was fingering the handle of his useless spoon. “Well, for that matter,” returned Slinger- - land modestly, “we all three met Mr. Rusten at one and the same tithe. By the way, Mr. Rusten, you said you had not lived in Sweden since childhood; and so probably you have in mind some other place to which you wish to return. If you will let me know where you desire to go, I can fit my plans accordingly. You will also wish to send a message or two from Aden.” Ted felt the eyes of the company upon him, —some questioning, some suspicious, some haughty. To be gazed at intently by men was not a new experience to him; he had always —eeeeeneniininoensnsipbinspseensheneeesens atone aie snares care appetite’ was ~ been able to face them with that cynical scowl which warned. But Ted had never encounter- ed minute critical inspection by feminine eyes; his ability as a dissembler did not extend to that division of humanity which strikes, not at the intellectual, but at the emotional nature of man. The primitive male (and Ted, un- cultured and unlearned, was essentially that) finds his customary defenses of no avail before | refined and beautiful women. So, when Ted found four such beings scanning his features, all with queries in their gaze, and one with a touch of sympathy, his own glance fell to his plate and a slow flush spread upward over his neck and face. Miss Slingerland was the first to recover the power of speech. “My, won’t your people be delighted to hear from.you! Where do they live, Mr. Rusten?” “T have no people.” “What! No one at all?” “No one so close to me that I should wish to notify him I was alive,” : “But, surely,” broke in Slingerland, “your business friends are worried about your dis- appearance. You should notify them, I believe, merely as a matter of courtesy.” The man’s overbearing tone touched Ted's memory of all the years of his life—years when he had cringed before his superiors; repressed « his native Viking spirit of equality and indes pendence; suffered indignity upon abuse with- out an opportunity of reacting as a normal man should. The months spent in the wilder- ness, when he had been under no man’s will and had acquired a respect for his own in- dividuality, had prepared him for a different role than that of the underdog. Something within him snapped under the strain of years of repression, and the smouldering coals of re- bellion burst into an angry blaze. “Business friends!” he demanded, his hard hands gripping the edge of the table. “Business friends!!” he repeated, louder, in a steady, metallic, tone. His lean, muscular face had turned so that it faced Slingerland squarely, much to that gentleman’s consternation. “My dear sir!” Ted’s voice crackled like powder in the silence of the room. “MY BUSI- NESS FRIENDS are at the BOTTOM OF THE SEA, ALONG WITH THE COAL THEY His chair scraped back, and he’ stood up, his scowling face commanding the room. “These,” he said tensely, holding out both his wiry arms, “These arms are my capital— and I invest them in the STOKER INDUSTRY. Now what have you to say, Mr. Slingerland?” The yacht-owner sat in silence, looking straight across the room to the wall. Ted’s steel-blue eyes swept across the blank faces and the half-opened mouths of the other men, across the equally dumbfounded counten- ances. of the women, and finally to Hilda— Hilda, his life and existence. , - “Hilda! Hilda! My darling,—my beautiful one—my life!” was his unuttered exclamation. But she sat looking away into the corner, in her consternation holding her right hand over her mouth. , The hand was still bandaged. (To be concluded in next Saturday’s edition of the New Magazine Supplement of the Daily Worker.) “The Derelict” By E. Hyman. NSWERING a knock at the back door, I found standing on the porch an elderly and ragged old man. “Can you kindly give a man some- thing to eat, lady?” he begged. I invited him inside, had him wash up, and hastily prepared a meal. While he was eating I struck up a conversa- tion, “How long is it since you have been without food?” I asked. “This nmiorning, lady. I had a cup of coffee.” “Can’t you find work?” “No, ma’m. I ain’t strong enough. And besides it’s the way I'm dressed.” (He had on a very shabby coat and hat and torn shoes.) “How long have you been out of work?” “It's a mighty long time, ma’m, I ain't been able to hold down a steady job for a long time—since about the war, I guess.” “What kind of work did you used to do, when you worked steady? What was your trade?” “Building work. Used to be a lather Yes’m, I nailed lathes for close ta forty years. I worked on hundreds of the old buildings right here in this city.” “How do you happen to be floating around like this, Where’s your fam- ily?” “The kids are all over—I had seven of ’em. Some of ‘ems pretty well off, too.” : “Well, don’t they want to—” I started to ask him, but he forestalled my question with the answer: “No, ma’m; they make it too hot for me to stay with ’em, They don’t even want to know me.” (The beauty of family relations under capitalism, I thought.) I didn’t question him any further, but let him finish the meal alone, However, as he was about to leave, I stopped him with the question: “Have you got a place to sleep?” A gleam of hope lighted up his face, “No, ma’m; I wish I did,” he replied. I gave him some change, which he accepted with grateful astonishment and profuse thanks. As he left I ne ticed that he did not go out to the front sidewalk, but instead made his way across the yard and into the alley. A true human derelict, it was his wont to traverse alleys in order to avoid people and the molestation of the police. For forty years the capi- talist system had sucked the labor power out of his body. Then it had cast him aside—an unusable by- product, an outcast from the soojety to which ie had contributed two-score years of constructive labor, a