The day book. [volume], July 13, 1912, Image 13

About The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917

Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

                
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THE ANARCHIST
The sullen, hard-set face of the
anarchist turned toward the
ground at his feet and a look of
wonderment heightened the
.gleam of the midnight eyes.
Then he commanded gruffly,
with an impatient swing of his
gnarled hand:
"Go on away, girl."
But the limpid blue eyes of the
fair-haired little one gazed at him
radiantly, the red lips smiled in
sweet benevolence, and the voice
was tender and quaintly assert
ive: "But I want you to take these
flowers. Why, I gathered them
right here in the park; and 'they
are beautiful. Just see!"
And dimpled hands held the
fragrant bunch upward Older
and grosser mortals might not
have observed the quick flash of
pleasure and half amusement in
the somber eyes of tb,e anarchist ;
but the child saw, as he took the
posies in his clumsy clutch and
then passed on with a curt word
of thanks.
The little one walked away,
radiant; the anarchist stalked on
along the graveled path. A mo
ment later he crushed the flow.
ers to his face, as, though in a
passion of gratitude. Then with
a wild oath he cast them at his
feet and trudged on..
Half an hour later, he had, by
means of a spuriously worded
card, gained entrance to the steel
king's office, and stod before that
cold-faced mortal. -
"What can I do for you, my
friend?"
The gloomy eyes of the anarch
ist gleamed wickedly.
"I am not your friend," he
growled. The eyes of the two
men met men whose thoughts
and aspirations were apart as the
poles. In a second the man of
millions divined the import of the
visit. He reached for an electric
push-button, but his fingers did
not touch it. He was in the fierce
grip of the anarchist, and a long
bladed knife was in the air.
"You're done for now, damn
you! You've got to die, slave
driver, and die now!"
"You'll be caught and hung for
this, you cur," cried the magnate,
unflinchingly, as he grappled
with the anarchist, clutching the
upraised arm, and for an instant
stopping the descent of the blade.
"Hang! That's nothing to me,
so I wind you up at last."
But the steel king had been
once in his time a laborer, and
there were yet strong sinews in
his limbs and sturdiness in his
heart. He struggled terrifically,
calling for aid in the meanwhile;
but all the doors were closed and
no one heard. Again and again
that fearful blade lunged down
ward. Yet always the strong arm
of the millionaire was able to
avert the trust. But he was fast
weakening. Another moment, if
no help came, the knife would be
in his heart.
And now, indeed, it was coin
ing. Slowly again itwas push
ed downward past his cheek,
now over his heart.
"Why, here you are now, and
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