The Daily Worker Newspaper, January 29, 1927, Page 9

¢ Spring Laughter The heavy gates adjoining the West 30th street police station swung’ wide open allowing Dutch to ride his brown stallion to the rear of the court, where a row of stables quar- tered the horses belonging to the mounted police, The arrival was in a nasty temper, that was visible from the way he dismounted, not smilingly as was his want, but dejectedly as tho he was angry at something. Well Dutch was angry, and there was no secret about it as far as he was concerned. It was a beautiful spring day, and he had just murdered a man. Fresh from a cold blooded killing was he. Dutch could almost feel the warm blood of his victim oozing through his thoughts. It was a man he had murdered altho in the station house they let it go by calling him a “Bol- shevik” but even Bolsheviks are human and, that is what troubled Dutch, not that he was sentimental or anything. Policemen aren’t brought up that way, but killing a fellow being is not exactly pleasant, even if it be sanctioned by law. In to- morrow’s paper he would read “One killed in ‘Red’ riot.” That’s the way it was always done, Little freshets of water running from the brook of memory flooded his thoughts with ghastly reflections. He kept thinking much against his will of that blood-smeared face of ‘his victim whose body was just sent for safekeeping to a black vault in the morgue. He couldn't help think about it. It was the first time his mistress Law and Order called upon him to kill anyone, and the mere recollection of it stung him like the bite of a wasp. There was something uncanny and unpleasant about killing that Duteh never took cognizance of before. After dismounting Dutch pushed open the door leading to the barn, into which his horse entered instant- ly burying its head into a bag of oats. “Whoa there,” escaped the policeman’s lips as the horse whinned softly as tho he too felt that ‘there was something wrong. Dutch grunted. A half crazed notion to shoot the animal darted thru his head. That would have satisfied his anger. For it was the horses iron shod hoofs that did the actual killing. It was only a notion, which he quickly dismissed, frcm his thoughts. His grunting gave way to a profane swearing as his steed pranced up and down. the hay littered floor. “His right arm reached out after stroking the mane of his horse. Dutch spat on the floor and walked. across the yard to the station house. After reciting the course of events to the desk sergeant Dutch lounged around the waiting room. He tried forgetfulness by inhaling mouthfuls of smoke which he later transmitted thru his nostrils. It didn’t work, that blood-smeared face kept circling around his thoughts. Frenzied cries of “murderer” still rang in his ears. “Jesus Christ” he soliloquized, “Am I never going to forget it.” It was duty he assured himself that was to blame. The word duty stood out in his thoughts, but even duty is no consolation for a man who just sent a fellow being to his grave. He lit another cigarette and continued mus- ing. “I‘m worse than an old woman —moonin’ over a lousy killin’ and a trouble maker at that. Those guys had nos permit to march anyhow.” It was a spiritless and futile effort to shake off a troubled uneasiness. Dutch rose and walked to the win- dow. It was the first of May and a bright cool wind, pregnant with the first approach of summer breezed gently thru tfe air. He leaned against the high sill, peering blank- ly into the street. A few minutes later he joined a fellow policeman in a game of dominoes. The white dotted oblongs slipped thru his fing- ers. His mind wasn’t on the game. Dutch kept:thinking not of dominoes but of the perplexities of life. Some two hours before Dutch was riding leisurely along a quite avenue, comfortably astride his well groomed horse. His brass‘ buttons shone con- spicuously against their blue setting and his lips whistled the gayety that was in the air. It was May the first and everywhere the streets were astrigenht with spring laughter. He rode block after block, leav- ing behind him columns pf movy- ing people. Horns honked and auto- mobiles drew carefully aside, giving him unmolested passage. Dutch was din fine spirits. It was his afternoon off that day and he had already made up his mind to take in a ball game later. His eyes shifted from sidewalk to sidewalk everywhere po- ple hurried on. Men and women shuffled up and down the streets in continuous procession. In the gutter he watched a street cleaner spray a fountain of water A Green Witch and Two Thinkers, A Story over the grey asphalt which covered the streets with a refreshing layer. Little streams formed at the ecurb- stones which flowed along, finally emptying into a corner sewer. Every- where people moved, people nodded to one another, and people loved. For it was spring. The ‘season when all life begins to animate anew. There is always a harmonious fe¢ling suf- fused in the air of a spring day which makes oneself radiate with a tangible joy. Dutch felt that way tco. His lips parted soong giving way to-a broad grin. It was the spring laughter which he was _ in- haling seeking an exit. From one of the side streets a long line of marchers suddenly swung up the avenue. Idle passers-by paused to look at them, wondering what it was all about. They were. workers from the needle trades who have answered the call of their unions to “down tools on May day.” And were now on their way to Union Square for a mass demonstration, having stopped work at ten o'clock that morning. Red flowers were prominently displayed in the -lapels of their coats. Dutch was some distance away when he discerned the advancing throng. The smile faded from_ his lips as he saw the crowds pressing steadily onward, like some giant foree rushing on to an unknown fate, He wondered vaguely what to do. For he had received orders previously in the day not to allow a “public demon- stration,” and Dutch knew what that meant. The police in turn were act- ing under silent orders from. the of- ficialdom of the A. F. of L., who were fearful lest the growing left wing movement in the needle trades spread to other localities. Dutch cogitated awhile. He dis- liked to interfere with the marchers. There was a time when he too was a worker. That was years ago,-be- fore he joined the force. He was a teamster then, and a union man, He recalled these days but only for an instant. A troublesome © dialogue kept running thru his head. “It’s orders I’ve got to carry out,” he kept repeating. “Orders. Orders. Damn the orders. I’m gonna let ’em pass.” He would have liked to, but the word “orders” swirled about his thoughts until he felt groggy. Over- whelmed him. With that a sudden hate gushed to his face. It was a blind hate aimed at: himself and the By ALEX JACKINSON —————$— system which makes unwilling pup- pets. of men. As the workers advanced Dutch jerked his night-stick out of a sheath in his- saddle and swinging it in the air cried: “Go ’wan, get out of here, the whole damn lot of you.” The impetuous marchers were not tc be easily cheated of their desire to celebrate their great holiday. Steadily they advanced, swarming all: about the infuriated Dutch, who kept bounc- ing in his leather saddle like a child prancing on a hobby horse. Stirrings of an innate violence suddenly burst in his throat. He deliberately tugged at the reins held in his hands. His trained mount thus lead, raised its forehoofs into the crowd. Men and women broke ranks and screamed. One of the workers, unable to es- cape, rolled under the horse, his chest crushed by the iron-shod hoofs, Dutch lifted the cap off his head and after wiping beads of perspiration from his brow, gulloped down the street. (Continued from. page 2) solidarity in the world labor move- ment, .The government fears it, and the moderate leaders in the general council dread it. The triumph of Anglo-Russian unity nieans that the British trade union leaders will be pledged to a struggle against capital- ism. For this reason it is assailed with great violence. And it has been attacked by another of lord Wim- borne’s guests—W. Citrine, general secretary of the T. U. C, Who instructed Mr. Citrine, the sec- retary of the Trades Union Congress, to send his attack on Anglo-Russian unity to the press? When was the document he quotes discussed by the members of the general council? Why did he decide to choose Friday as the day for launching his attack? Was it not because the question of Anglo- * Russian unity must be faced at Am- sterdam next Wednesday and Thurs- day by the International Federation of Trade Unions? Mr. Citrine does not analyze one "4 single principle regarding Anglo-Rus- sian unity, but uses a sharp critcism directed against the general council by Losovsky, of the Russian T. U. C., as a smoke screen for his attack. Thus the government and mine owners are helping the general coun- eil to fight and defeat the miners’ leaders at the conference of trade union executives on January 20. This united front shows where trade unionism in Britain is going. The power of the official bureaucracy is being strengthened, and the rank and file—who have not yet seen the re- port of the general council for call- ing off the general strike—is com pletely ignored. The minority movement conference that are being held in the district will enable trade unionists to voici their condemnation of the tactics o the general council and those wh attend secret banquets organized b the open enemies of the labor move Inent. Free - State Disclaims Responsibility for Great Britain’s Chinese Policy DUBLIN, Ireland, Jan. 28.—An official statement on the attitude of the Free State government to. , wards Britain’s preparations fot ‘war on China stated that the Iris] government accepted no responsi bility for the British action to wards China. It is well known tha‘ should the Free State governmeré assist: Downing Street in this wat it would jeopardize its own exis tence in view of the hostility of th: great majority of the Irish peopk; to giving any aid to British im perialicm ed