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THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NEW YORK STATE SCHOOL 
 
 OF 
 
 INDUSTRIAL AND LABOR 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 AT 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924002407892 
 
System's Hand 
 
 by 
 
 Mary Tapper Jones 
 
 - %mm^'^ 
 
 CHIOAGO, ILL., 1920 
 
 Mid-Wa«t Publishing & Producing Co.. 
 Inc. 
 
Copyrighted 1920 by 
 
 Mid-West Publishing and Producing Co* 
 Inc. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois. 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 Printed in the U. S. of America 
 
PREFACE 
 
 "The System's Hand" is a story pure and 
 simple, but a story founded on facts. No 
 attempt is made to mold public opinion. 
 Conditions are revealed as tbey existed and 
 as they still exist. 
 
 If I have told too much and laid bare 
 truths that have thus far been carefully con- 
 cealed and the reader is horrified, I am sorry, 
 but I would warn him that in this book we 
 are just starting out on a journey and in 
 the volumes following there are many miles 
 yet to go. I trust that he will courageously 
 go with me to the end. 
 
 The Author, 
 
This book is written by Mary 
 Tupper Jones in collaboration 
 with Stephen A. Doyle. Fiction 
 is used to present facts in an en- 
 tertaining form. 
 
 It is endorsed by John Fitz- 
 patrick, President of the Chicago 
 Federation of Labor, and by 
 Duncan McDonald, President of 
 the Illinois State Federation of 
 Laibor. It will be endorsed by all 
 honest employers of labor. 
 
 Many other endorsements and 
 the support and superviBion of 
 well known labor men are a 
 criterion that the purpose of this 
 book is absolutely honest, and 
 that it is produced as an educa- 
 tional effort 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 By 
 MARY TUPPER JONES 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "There are two things of which I am cer- 
 tain," wrote Kant, the philosopher, "the 
 starry heavens and the moral law." 
 
 Looking back over a life so filled with 
 tragedy as to make of me an old man before 
 my time, I seem to focus on a certain autumn 
 morning in the year 1878, when I, the boy, 
 Stephen Angus Doyle, just turned nine, and 
 whose head had always been up in the 
 clouds, came to a sudden and full realization 
 of the difference between right and wrong. 
 
 Driving the cows to and from pasture, I 
 had wondered at the mystery of the pale 
 grey dawn, and the marvel of the sunset 
 glow. The faint tinkle of a cow-bell to this 
 day brings back to my mental vision great 
 stretches of timothy land with the moon 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 shining on it, and a wistful-eyed boy leaning 
 against a bam door, dreaming. 
 
 On this particular autumn morning, my 
 Scotch mother turned to my Scotch-Irish 
 father and showed him some scraps of paper 
 in her hand, and they spoke to each other 
 in Gallic, while all the time I wept unre- 
 strainedly. 
 
 "Why are you crying, son?" asked my 
 father. 
 
 "Don't put them in jail," was all that I 
 could stammer. 
 
 Then my stem yet kindly father smiled 
 his slow, sweet smile and said. 
 
 "Suppose you quiet yourself and tell us 
 aU about it, Stephen." 
 
 I made an effort and began. 
 
 "You know father how you thought 
 sailors had robbed Graham's store. WeU, I 
 know it was some of our own town bovs, 
 for I found all these fresh tobacco tags and 
 candy wrappers, now in mother's hand, by 
 the creek, when I took the cows to water, 
 and sailors would never be crossing there. 
 It was — " but tears again choked me. 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Father nodded — ^he knew of whom I was 
 speaking, and then I weakly added, "Don't 
 arrest them, please." 
 
 This was the beginning of my life's work. 
 
 I became one of the most noted detectives 
 in America, but the heart of that little child 
 crying out in his Nova Scotia home grew 
 also, and the soul, reaching out beyond the 
 old harbor-town, refused to be crushed when 
 it later found itself confronted with the hor- 
 rors of "The System's Hand." 
 
 And today, when I see young people flung 
 into juvenile prisons, or so-eaUed reform 
 schools, thus started on the downward path, 
 I recall how my father, who was the con- 
 stable of the county, sought these two youth- 
 ful robbers, orphans both of them, and on 
 mischief bent, and how he talked to them, 
 and made them repair the damage done, and 
 how they grew up into useful citizens, and 
 I realize how hiunan-nature is the one thing 
 that has not changed with all the years. The 
 children of the late seventies up there in the 
 Canadian country are the same boys and 
 girls we see now, crowded almost to suffoca- 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 tion, on Chicago's great West Side, playing 
 and fighting in a dozen different tongues, 
 edging their way into picture-shows, push- 
 ing into grimy little candy-shops and often 
 sore put to it to find an extra penny. 
 
 Poor little things. The odds are all 
 against them. In most cases their mothers 
 had to stand in some shop or factory up till 
 the very moment of their birth. They have 
 scarcely ever known what it is to have a 
 square meal, or enough clothes on when the 
 snow comes drifting down; but the great 
 fact remains that they are here. They have 
 been buffeted about by meddlesome charity 
 officials, hustled through a few grades of 
 politically controlled public schools, where 
 they received a lot of mis-information and 
 all the diseases known to childhood, and 
 finally dumped back into the reservoir of 
 America's melting-pot, — ^the street. Yet, 
 looking into their old-world eyes, you catch 
 something of the vision that has sustained 
 the foreign people down through all the ages 
 — the endurance that has out-lasted pain, 
 the hope that no poverty has ever crushed. 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 My fourteenth year found me in the lum- 
 ber mills of Minnesota, at the head of Knife 
 Falls on the St. Louis river. I had always 
 been ambitious to make my own way in the 
 world, and was the first of a large family of 
 boys to leave home- My work in the mills 
 consisted of trimming lumber. At this 
 dangerous occupation I stood for twelve 
 hours at a time, catching the timber with 
 my hands as it came towards me on the end- 
 less chains, and at the same time stepping 
 quickly on the saw with my feet. 
 
 The bad water which we had to drink 
 brought on typhoid fever, and while slowly 
 convalescing from this illness, I had time 
 to overhear much of the talk of older em- 
 ployees. Many things that to them were 
 inexplicable, were, to me, owing to my early 
 environment, at least partially clear. It was 
 at this period that I got my first insight iato 
 the place a detective holds in a big corpora- 
 tion. 
 
 As a child I had often heard my father 
 speak of Scotland Yard, and I imbibed the 
 idea that to be a detective meant something 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 very fine. It appealed to me as a life of 
 service, that was the way the people re- 
 garded the caUiag in the colonies and in 
 England, but fate took me to the United 
 States to work out my destiny, and the day 
 came when I turned with such loathing from 
 the work that I had chosen that it was as if 
 I had crawled out of a nest of writhing 
 serpents. 
 
 At the Richmond Lumber Company where 
 I was employed, two men, by the names of 
 Clark and Wallace, were sent out by the 
 firm in the capacity of walking bosses. This 
 meant that they were to go about the woods 
 and locate valuable timber lands. The gov- 
 ernment had barred the monopoly of such 
 land by individual corporations and they set 
 about to overcome this obstacle. This was 
 accomplished by inducing aliens, mostly 
 from Canada, to pre-empt one hundred and 
 sixty acres each. The firm's representatives 
 knew, of course, that it was not possible for 
 any but full-fledged American citizens to 
 take up these homesteads, but the aliens 
 didn't know the law upon the subject. On a 
 
 10 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 certain day they found themselves, in a 
 darkened room, compelled to sign papers 
 which they could not see to read. At the 
 expiration of a few months, so-called secret 
 service men, saying they were representing 
 the government, were introduced into the 
 scene, and I think the first thing I realized 
 about a detective was that he must be a 
 pretty good actor. These fellows, playing 
 the part, told the hard-working mill-hands 
 that they were not legally entitled to the 
 land, that they had committed perjury in 
 taking it up, and that their documents were 
 worthless. Here the men sought Wallace, 
 who had gotten them to sign the papers, and 
 told him the situation. Wallace *s reply was, 
 * ' The secret-service men are right. You had 
 better strike for the tall timber at once." 
 He then conveyed to them the impression 
 that he was going to do them a favor by 
 letting them have the pay due them, without 
 the usual twenty-five per cent discount, 
 which was customary, when an employee 
 was forced to draw his earnings before the 
 logging season terminated. 
 
 11 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "What of our land?" cried the men. 
 
 Wallace laughed. "Why, you have no 
 land, and what's more, you stand in danger 
 of prosecution." 
 
 What was left for the men, frightened and 
 discouraged, but to strike indeed for the tall 
 timber. 
 
 On a dreary day, in early winter, I saw 
 about a hundred and fifty of my fellow- 
 wori^men, fine, up-standing lads, who had 
 thought they were laying the foundations 
 of little homes, turn from their work and 
 sadly disappear into the woods. I have seen 
 many instances, in the years that followed, 
 of masses of human-beings, driven like 
 dumb cattle, but nothing ever touched me 
 more deeply than the sight of these young 
 exploited mill-hands, a haunted look in their 
 eyes, going slowly into the heart of the 
 forest. They were branded by their associ- 
 ates, who were entirely ignorant of the state 
 of affairs, as fugitives from justice, when, as 
 a matter of fact, the signatures that they 
 trustingly put to those papers, in that dark- 
 ened room, were not affixed to final proofs 
 
 12 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and to pre-emption papers alone, but to 
 deeds and mortgages conveying the land to 
 the Richmond Lumber Company. 
 
 It was shortly after this that the boy Earl 
 came into my life. Such a little rough-neck 
 as he was. When I see him today, leading 
 thousands of men and women by the very 
 force of his indomitable personality and 
 making history in the New National Labor 
 Party. I remember the first time I ever saw 
 him. He was Ijdng in a ditch where he had 
 fallen from the top of a freight car, when 
 trying to beat his way to the coast. ' ' Going 
 West," he muttered, as I bent over him and 
 felt for broken bones. He must have been 
 about twelve at this time, but he had already 
 felt the pressure of the iron heel on his neck, 
 and was struggling to get out from under. 
 Literally a child of the people he had known 
 the sufferings of the oppressed. Often he 
 used to tell me of the days when he and his 
 little brothers and sisters begged in vain for 
 a crust of bread, and how his mother would 
 bow her head in her apron and sob bitterly 
 because she had nothing to give her starving 
 brood. 
 
 13 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Somehow or other, I got the cut and 
 bruised boy to my mill boarding house, 
 which was a structure of rough boards. The 
 small portion which I called my room con- 
 tained a narrow cot, bench and board shelf. 
 For several days Earl was delirious and 
 during that time I heard many strange 
 phrases concerning "grease-monkeys" and 
 * ' screw-boys. ' ' In the period that followed, 
 when he was able to sit up and talk ration- 
 ally, I got my first glimpse of that great 
 body of Labor which is organized, and I 
 began to sense something of the psychol- 
 ogy of the strike. 
 
 "We pulled one," Earl said to me once. 
 "That was when I was only ten, too." 
 
 With that flame in his voice and eyes that 
 one always notes in the born orator, he 
 curled up on the blankets and began: 
 
 * ' Steve, what show has a guy got in one of 
 them hellholes in the big steel-mills of the 
 East, if he and the rest of the fellows don't 
 stick together? Us boys was a- working 
 twelve-hour shifts, that's one for the day 
 and one for the night, and gee, but it's hard 
 
 14 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 keeping awake and working at night. Girls 
 have to do it too. Some of them are so little 
 that they have to stand on boxes to be tall 
 enough to brand tin plates. But there was 
 about sixty of us boys getting five cents an 
 hour for greasing the necks on the cold roUs, 
 and them straw-bosses never intending to 
 pay us a cent more, but we seen how the 
 skilled workers, over in the hot-mills depart- 
 ment, by joining together, and having com- 
 mittees to represent them, got big money, 
 compared to the rest of us poor guys, so I up 
 and told the feUows, when the boss wasn't 
 around, and when he was, we talked in hog- 
 latin, that we must get together somehow 
 and ask the superintendent for a raise. 
 
 ** After talking things over, they chOse me 
 and Kelly Ryan and Bill Louis to go and 
 hand our little line of dope to the main gink. 
 We marched right up to the of&ce. Kelly 
 was kinda skeered, and Bill was a^shaking, 
 though he laughed sort of careless, but me? 
 I was having the time of my life. I knew 
 all we needed was a little spunk, and we'd 
 land the raise. Frightening the wits out of 
 
 15 - 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 you is the way them bosses figure they can 
 keep a guy what's working for them, always 
 down and out. When we got to the door of 
 the office I cut out knocking and walks right 
 in. Gee, you should a seen that gink's mug 
 when he seen us kids all covered with^ease, 
 just a-dropping it on his nice thick carpet. 
 I give him a chance to speak first, but he 
 couldn't, so I starts right in. 
 
 " *Mr. Laird,' says I, 'we come in to get 
 a raise in wages.' 
 
 "He smiled then, and says, 'Well, boys — ' 
 but he didn't finish up with 'have a seat,' 
 so I just naturally took one on the edge of 
 his desk. 
 
 "He smiled again, polite as you please, 
 and got out a big box of black cigars. We 
 didn't refuse 'em, we understood we was 
 being treated Uke a regular comnoittee. 
 
 " 'And now,' says he, 'what is the nature 
 of your grievance?' 
 
 "I answered, 'we are now getting sixty 
 cents a day for twelve hours' work, and we 
 think we are entitled to seventy. If we 
 don't get it, we have voted to strike tomor- 
 row evening at quitting time.' 
 
 16 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Mr. Laird looked kinda funny then, and 
 says he, /Boys, I don't think you are treat- 
 ing me quite fair. I have to take this matter 
 up with the National ofi&ce, and it would be 
 impossible to receive a reply under a week.' 
 
 " 'I've told you,' says I, 'What is laid 
 down by the bunch, and that's all I've got 
 to say.' 
 
 *'We bid him good-day and walked out. 
 Just as we was going down the steps, lead- 
 ing from the office. Laird called me back and 
 taking me aside, says, 'You are spokesman 
 for all these boys, and we are going to hold 
 you responsible to keep them working until 
 Saturday night, when I may be able to get 
 word from the National office.' Then he 
 patted me on the shoulder and says, 'Don't 
 forget I'm going to buy you a nice new suit 
 of clothes Saturday night.' 
 
 "I just looked him all over, and I says, 
 says I, 'Mr. Laird, you pay us boys seventy 
 cents a day, and we wUl buy our awa. 
 clothes,' and with that I turned and walked 
 away." 
 
 "Did you get it — did you get the raise?" 
 I interrupted. 
 
 17 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Did we?" answered Earl, "Well, you can 
 just bet your life we did. The next evening 
 we kept our word and pulled the strike. We 
 was only out two hours, when the boss come 
 around and offered us the ten cents raise." 
 Earl laughed at this point. "You see he 
 didn't have to send to the National office 
 after all," said he. 
 
 My Kttle room was very lonely after Earl 
 left. He had filled it so with life and laugh- 
 ter, even when wearing the grotesque band- 
 ages I had managed to wrap around his 
 arms and legs. I begged him to stay there 
 with me in the timber-land, but he had only 
 shaken his head and replied: 
 
 ' ' No, Stevy, I gotta see the world. You 're 
 different. You like books, and you always 
 seem to be studying something, but it's too 
 quiet here for me. I wanta go down to the 
 cities where there's lots of folks." 
 
 "I'm going to the city too, some day. Earl, 
 and maybe we'll meet again," said I. 
 
 But several years passed before our paths 
 again crossed, and then in a manner no man 
 could have foreseen. 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 "I want you to help me at the polls to- 
 day." It was Fred Hollis speaking, and I 
 looked up from my book and nodded. "All 
 right, old boy, I'm with you," 
 
 As we left Police Headquarters, and 
 strolled down the streets of Duluth, "Hand- 
 some Hollis," as he was called, explained to 
 me some of the details of my first assign- 
 ment as special officer. 
 
 I had now been in the employ of the city 
 about a week, during which time I had re- 
 ceived training as a detective, and I looked 
 forward with much eagerness to my initial 
 job. 
 
 "All you have to do is keep the peace and 
 be observant," said he. 
 
 "That sounds easy," I replied, and took 
 up my station at the booth which was in a 
 store on the corner of Seventh and Superior 
 streets. 
 
 I soon became impressed with the silence 
 of the men who came streaming up the 
 streets. They might have been the inmates 
 
 19 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 of a deaf and dumb asylum, stopping on 
 their way to work to east their ballot for 
 their president, for it was the presidential 
 election of the year 1888. 
 
 As the day wore on, and I passed in and 
 out of the voting place, I became curious 
 about the endless nimaber of blue and red, 
 especially red, tickets that were handed to 
 the clerks. The former read "I want to vote 
 the straight Democratic Ticket," and the 
 latter, "I want to vote the straight Republi- 
 can Ticket." I asked a man, who was col- 
 lecting the bits of pasteboard, and taking 
 down the men's names, ''What on earth is 
 aU this for?" 
 
 He gave me a pitying glance, but ap- 
 peared too busy to furnish any further in- 
 formation. Being in the habit of finding out 
 things for myself, and sensing that there 
 was something crooked, I engaged a fairly 
 inteUigent-looking laboring man in conver- 
 sation. 
 
 "Pal," said I, "This is a big industrial 
 center. Lots of hard-working men, aren't 
 there f 
 
 20 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Over two thousand will vote at this 
 poll," he answered. 
 
 "Queer way you have of doing it here in 
 Duluth," I remarked. 
 
 The man looked at me a moment, as if 
 hesitating, then said, "A poor man is never 
 given a chance to cast his ballot as he wants 
 — ^he has to cast it like he is told." 
 
 "Who dares to tell you how to vote?" I 
 questioned. 
 
 "Who?" he echoed, with that dumb look 
 of suffering on his face that we have grown 
 accustomed to seeing on the faces of the 
 toilers the world over. The men who fell 
 the forests and till the soil and build the 
 cities, but who can not vote as they see fit. 
 "Why, the bosses, of course," he added. 
 
 "Pal," said I, "Tell me all about it. I 
 don't even know your name, so no harm 
 shall come to you, but I'm new here, and I 
 like to understand things." The man 
 shifted his lunch-pail from one hand to the 
 other, glanced over at the heavy line of 
 smoke which marked the factory district, 
 and began. 
 
 21 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "For weeks now the 'ward heelers' have 
 been going around to all the shops, mills and 
 elevators, and talking with the foremen, and 
 the foremen have done their talking to us 
 workers, and we were told which ticket to 
 vote. The Republican machine is in power 
 here, so most of the men were given orders 
 by them. I guess they'll elect a Republican 
 president all right. That's the way I voted, 
 though I belong to the Democratic Party. 
 StUl they're just about the same, when you 
 <3ome down to it, — ^neither one cares what 
 becomes of the laboring man and the labor- 
 ing man has no party." 
 
 The man's voice trailed ofE as if he were 
 utterly spiritless. I watched him a little 
 while in silence. He was above the average; 
 he had education of a kind, and he had evi- 
 dently once had his ideals, yet he let himself 
 be driven like an animal. 
 
 "Did you have to do as they bid you?" I 
 asked, with a touch of scorn in my voice. 
 
 "I have a wife and five children to sup- 
 port," he answered quietly, "and there'll 
 be a sixth child soon. When the foremen 
 
 22 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 quit giving out the voting orders, they al- 
 ways say for the benefit of any new men who 
 may be present, 'remember, you open your 
 mouths, or let the voting clerks know that 
 you can speak English, or hand in any ticket 
 but the one we give you, and you'll be 
 thrown on the street, your jobs taken from 
 you, and your names placed on the 'black- 
 list,' which means we couldn't get another 
 job anywhere in this community." 
 
 A whistle blew, the man started, and 
 moved hurriedly down the street. I was 
 looking after him when Hollis came up and 
 slapped me on the back. 
 
 "Wake up, old chap," said he. "Are you 
 overcome with the number of full-fledged 
 American citizens we have here in Duluth?" 
 
 "There does seem to be a good many," I 
 answered absently, my mind on the man 
 who had sacrificed his one chance of having 
 a voice in the government of his country, 
 that his babies might have food. 
 
 Hollis laughed heartily. "Why, Steve, 
 don't you know that more than half of these 
 fellows who have voted are aliens? Every- 
 
 23 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 body has to hand in a ticket here. I guess 
 the reds have won all right. The Democrat 
 is like the fellow who fell out of the balloon 
 — ^he isn't in it." 
 
 This was in the days before the present 
 Australian ballot system was introduced, 
 compelling those entitled to a vote to reg- 
 ister. 
 
 But politics have not improved as the 
 years have gone by. They are, if anything, 
 more corrupt. The crudity of the miU-hand, 
 pretending ignorance of the English lan- 
 guage by handing in a colored card at the 
 poU, is done away with, but in its place we 
 find the people of the country, who are sup- 
 posed to be the very government itself, 
 dully, despairingly casting their ballot for 
 municipal, county, state, or National nom- 
 inees, as the "boss" has ordered them to do, 
 and big business is in absolute control of the 
 situation. 
 
 As late as 1916, in some of the states of the 
 Mid-west, I observed illustrations of the 
 truth of this statement in several small 
 towns through which I happened to be pass- 
 
 24 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ing. In one there is a great foundry com- 
 pany, which owns practically all the car- 
 manufacturing plants in the United States, 
 and whose stockholders have held diplo- 
 matic positions in European countries. 
 They so control the votes of the citizens of 
 this community that only those who belong 
 to the company "gang" are allowed to cast 
 a ballot at all. If a man on the outside 
 should vote, his vote is not counted. Prom 
 the prosecuting attorney down to the sheriff, 
 all needed protection is given to the cor- 
 poration. 
 
 In another place, where most of the voters 
 are struggling to make ends meet, and fail- 
 ing, by putting in long hours of service for 
 a great boot and shoe manufacturing con- 
 cern, they are ruled politically and indus- 
 trially by one man who, in addition to hold- 
 ing the office of mayor of the town, is pay- 
 master of the company, and the attorney for 
 the same. 
 
 In one good-sized town an enormous 
 enameling company, whose excess profits 
 during the first year of the world war were 
 
 25 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 something over eight million dollars, in- 
 formed their foremen, who are in charge of 
 large crews of workmen, that they must 
 pass slips of paper among the men on which 
 they should indicate their political prefer- 
 ence, and that unless it was the Republican 
 Party, the plant would shut down for a long 
 time and there would be no work. The mid- 
 dle-man who conveys instructions from 
 employer to employee is generally hired 
 from a private detective agency, and is put 
 into the plant in the capacity of foreman, 
 or understrapper, and is a double paid indi- 
 vidual, receiving the usual salary from the 
 company, and a wage from the agency to 
 which he belongs. 
 
 Not until the close of the year 1918 did I 
 find any solution of the problem which had 
 pained and perplexed the mill-hand on that 
 far away morning in Duluth, when he had 
 said, "and the laboring man has no party." 
 
 In December of that year, close around 
 Christmas time, was bom the hope, politic- 
 ally speaking, of the people of America. 
 
 After passing through numberless har- 
 
 26 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 rowing experiences, including the unearth- 
 ing of the murder of a child, the exposing of 
 the abduction of the girl Leta Dobey, who 
 had mysteriously disappeared, and who was 
 found brutally murdered, I found myself 
 rapidly acquiring the rudiments of my chos- 
 en calling. I had now progressed from 
 municipal emplojonent to the position of 
 operative for a vast corporation. This was 
 the Interstate Traction Company of Duluth. 
 As a detective for the city I had had to 
 swallow many things distasteful, but at least 
 I had felt that I was helping to bring about 
 a safer and saner state of affairs, when I 
 became a member of a private agency^ the 
 
 iron veritably entered into my soul. 
 * « » * 
 
 Soon after I went to work for this Trac- 
 tion Company, I saw that they were much 
 concerned over rumors of a coming strike. 
 The employees were all underpaid and over- 
 worked, and repeated efforts on their part to 
 get a slight raise in wages, a little shorten- 
 ing of the hours, and better working condi- 
 tions, by sending representatives of their 
 
 27 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 union to meet with the officials of the com- 
 pany, had availed them nothing, therefore 
 the men were driven to that last resort — ^the 
 strike. When the company realized this, 
 they did what big business has done and is 
 doing the world over today — they precipi- 
 tated the strike. While the workers were 
 still going quietly about their duty, hoping 
 against hope, that the employers would 
 show a spark of humanity and grant their 
 requests, the heads of the Traction Trust 
 sent for the famous, or more properly the 
 infamous, bimch of strike breakers known 
 as the Himcky-Dunk gang. They were in 
 the charge of a man named Henry Delden 
 of the Hart Detective Agency, with head- 
 quarters in St. Louis. J was detailed, as- 
 sisted by another operative named Wilton, 
 to find suitable housing for these men. 
 Duluth was so well organized by this time 
 that it would have been impossible to get a 
 bed or meal for them at any hotel or board- 
 ing-house. So we prepared the upper story 
 of the street-car bams at 28th Avenue West, 
 and filled it up with cots. There were about 
 
 28 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 a hundred and sixty men in all, the lowest 
 type of manhood it has ever been my misfor- 
 tune to meet. They began fighting among 
 themselves and robbing each other that very 
 first night. 
 
 With every thing against them, the em- 
 ployees were still sticking it out when the 
 company deliberately discharged three men 
 who had been in their service for fifteen 
 years. They had committed no offense and 
 their standing was very high. They were 
 efficient and trusted employees, so that this 
 sudden discrimination, on the part of the 
 employers, incensed the rest of the workers 
 to such an extent that they all walked out 
 and the strike was on. It was just what the 
 company desired. The private detectives 
 and the gang of strike breakers now began 
 operations. I witnessed them placing dyn- 
 amite on the tracks and blowing up the cars. 
 Delden seemed disappointed that no lives 
 were lost. 
 
 "Why, I've become so expert doing this 
 kind of thing," said he, "that I bet I could 
 blow the top of your ha;t off without moving 
 a hair of your head." 
 
 29 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The trust press was given the news that 
 the union men were causing the explosions, 
 and following instructions from the Trac- 
 tion corporation, and as usual giving no heed 
 to the plea of the working-man that he be 
 given a square deal in the paper, the head- 
 lines were all about how dangerous the 
 striker was becoming. 
 
 The next move was to frame the organiza- 
 tion. And here comes iu one of the most in- 
 sidious methods employed by Capital to de- 
 feat Labor and which caUs for the complete 
 co-operation of the "system's hand." 
 
 A man by the name of LeMoyne, at least 
 that was the name he went by in Duluth, had 
 long since been planted in the very heart of 
 the union itself. Corporations, telling the 
 private detective agencies, with whom they 
 are in constant communion, to go the limit 
 to keep them informed as to the movements 
 of the workers, are given much perverted 
 information by the agency, who in turn has 
 gotten a lot of twisted tales from the agents 
 who are sent into every town and hamlet to 
 worm their way into organized labor. 
 
 30 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 These Judas Iscariots are told to spend 
 money lavishly, there is plenty more where 
 the first came from (the toilers are produc- 
 ing it right along) and to pose as being 
 greatly interested in the cause of the labor- 
 ing man. They are told to follow some craft 
 long enough to be admitted into a union, and 
 then urged to strive after some office in the 
 organization. In such a capacity a private 
 detective can readily tell when the workers 
 are at the breaking point of endurance, and 
 when the actual pangs of hunger can no 
 longer be endured. But this is not the way 
 their reports read — ^they are concocted so as 
 to convey to the corporation the news that 
 the organized men are in a wild state of re- 
 volt against aU law and order and that the 
 very lives of the employers themselves are 
 in danger, but that they, the agency men, 
 may be able to defend them from the hand 
 of the assassins. This puts the middle-men, 
 the private detectives, in such complete con- 
 trol of the industrial situation that they 
 have even gotten to the point where they can 
 command armies. 
 
 31 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Sending this creature, LeMoyne, and a 
 woman whom he called his wife, to the thea- 
 ter one night, three of us received instruc- 
 tions to go to his house and place a large box 
 of dynamite in the bedroom closet. When 
 LeMoyne returned, we were waiting for 
 him, we exhibited the dynamite, caused a 
 scene in the neighborhood, and the follow- 
 ing morning the papers contained the start- 
 ling news that explosives, evidently intended 
 for the blowing up of the Interstate Traction 
 Company Offices, had been found in the 
 home of one of the union officials. 
 
 Public sentiment was now running pretty 
 high. The strikers were getting the worst 
 of it on every side, and we operatives no 
 sooner finished up one piece of iniquitous 
 work than we began on another. 
 
 Dynamite was continually being placed 
 by us on the street car tracks, and a car 
 manned by strike-breakers would be nearly 
 blown up and the frightened passengers 
 would hear the words, "There goes them 
 union devils again." Often I marveled at 
 the credulity of mankind that takes so much 
 
 32 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 for granted, and never undertakes to make 
 an investigation. Had one man started to 
 ferret out the truth, we could not have 
 worked with the ease and carelessness we 
 did. 
 
 I remember one night seeing a bunch of 
 the detective agency gang run a car out 
 from the bam and smash it all to pieces. 
 They dropped the word that they were union 
 men. People fled in terror from them, and 
 in a short while the city authorities had 
 what they termed the desperate element of 
 oganized labor safely behind the bars. Le- 
 Moyne soon had them all bailed out, and I 
 heard him make the remark: **It takes 
 money to keep this system going. It's a 
 good thing I have access to the union 
 -funds." Not content with casting black 
 suspicion on the innocent strikers, who had 
 merely asked a chance to live, and by this 
 asking, brought down the wrath of the com- 
 munity upon their heads, the detectives, 
 wanting to make a showing, decided to kill 
 a regular union man, and I was the one 
 selected to attend to this pleasant little job. 
 
 38 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 By this time I was working doggedly. I 
 didn't dare to stop to reason things out any 
 more. My very soul cried in revolt at the 
 life I was leading, but somehow I kept think- 
 ing that at the next turning, I would find a 
 way out. I realized I was caught in a laby- 
 rinth and I was miserable. The night that I 
 returned from planting sticks of dynamite 
 within the coal in the basement of the com- 
 pany's office, where they would be found by 
 another paid espoigner and taken to the 
 employers as evidence of how far the em- 
 ployees on the street cars had gone to bring 
 about a destructive condition of affairs, the 
 imion men were holding a massmeeting in 
 their hall, which was located on the third 
 floor of a downtown building. Horace Dur- 
 kin, my associate in the assignment, and I 
 climbed to a roof, across the street, by means 
 of a fire escape. The night was hot and the 
 windows of the hall were all open. We could 
 look right in and see and hear everything. 
 
 Two or three speakers had briefly ad- 
 dressed the workers when a tall and splen- 
 did looking young fellow mounted the plat- 
 form. 
 
 34 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ''That's our man," muttered Durkin, 
 nudging me suddenly. " He 's an agitator up 
 here from Frisco or somewhere, and he 
 thiaks he knows what he's talking about. 
 Let him sing his swan song — we'll show 
 who's running this here shooting match," 
 but I scarcely heard him. I was looking at 
 the man who was speaking. From what he 
 said, I gathered that he was an organizer 
 for the American Federation of Labor, and 
 something in his voice and manner carried 
 me back to the forest and old lumber mills 
 where I had worked. The man was saying: 
 
 "Brothers, just stick it out a little longer, 
 we are bound to win. You, who have tried 
 the economic battle alone know that, as in- 
 dividuals, you stand no more chance than 
 does a scrap of paper in a sandstorm. You'd 
 soon be whirled off your feet and into outer 
 darkness. Our one asset is our strength of 
 numbers, and even numbers, without organ- 
 ization, will avail you nothing. But where 
 you find a great mass of struggling human- 
 beings so intelligently and so harmoniously 
 welded together that ten thousand men may 
 
 35 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 speak with the voice of one, you see realized 
 the toiler's only hope of being allowed to 
 live at all — the Union. I'm finding out a lot 
 of things since I came on here. There's a 
 spotter ia your midst, but I think I know 
 who he is, and I'm going to prove who's 
 making all the trouble. Only be patient a 
 few days longer. Only keep your ranks in- 
 tact. Don't listen to the men the bosses send 
 around to your homes to try to persuade you 
 to come back to work. Neither use violence. 
 You don't have to. They'll do plenty of 
 that. You don't have to raise your hand. 
 You don't have to do a thing but stick. 
 Stick, and the fight is won." 
 
 Durkin, sitting beside me on the roof, let 
 out an oath. "Grod, we got to get him sure 
 — do you hear what he's saying*?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear," I answered absently. 
 
 I was watching the men who were clap- 
 ping their hands and cheering the speaker. 
 Such tired and weary-looking men. Their 
 shabby clothes and care-worn faces telling 
 the tale of want and worry, and yet in their 
 eyes the light that keeps forever burning, 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 so that from one generation to another the 
 truth is passed on and on, and from out the 
 ranks of the toilers of the world are sprung 
 the leaders of men. 
 
 The leader in the haU that night moved 
 on down the stairs and out into the street. 
 The crowd followed him. With the men who 
 formed the strike committee, he drew aside 
 a little and conferred quietly. 
 
 "What are you waiting fotV growled 
 Durkin, as we slipped to the ground and I 
 stood silent. Then he pushed me roughly. 
 ''You dam fool, are you asleep or just plain 
 drunk. I say, do you hear me?" 
 
 "O, yes, I hear you," I answered, and all 
 the time I was thinking of a little chap toss- 
 ing on a bed of pain and yet crying bravely 
 "Never mind, Stevey, we'll win yet, see if 
 we don't." And I was saying to myself, 
 this thing can't happen to the boy Earl. 
 That was his voice, his gestures, his smile. 
 I know him, and I'm supposed to Mil him. 
 
 "A feUow takes considerable risk doing 
 a job like this," I complained. I had to say 
 something, I was sparring for time. 
 
 87 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Durkin spat a mouthful of tobacco on to 
 the sidewalk, and gave an ugly laugh. 
 
 ''Risk nothing," he replied. "Why see 
 here, you greenhorn, the agency guarantees 
 us fellows absolute protection from any 
 penalty of the law. The corporation we're 
 working for has previously guaranteed it to 
 the agency. We're immune. Every city, 
 county, and state official either shuts up or 
 speaks out, just as they have been bought 
 to do. That's why the big companies and 
 trusts need so much money. How can they 
 afford to give the workers better wages? 
 They can't," and he spat another mouthful. 
 I hadn't moved and Durkin began to get 
 angry. 
 
 "Look here, if you're afraid, I'll do the 
 killing myself," he sneered. "I teU you, 
 Doyle, you make me sick." 
 
 He turned abruptly and moved on down 
 the street after the men who walked with 
 Earl. I moved too, but it seemed to me I 
 was moving in a nightmare, and was in- 
 hibited from saying or doing a thing. Mo- 
 ments passed that seemed like hours, and 
 
 38 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 we found ourselves watching the marked 
 group from the cover of Morton's popular 
 saloon. 
 
 Earl was standing out in front talking 
 softly to his men when Durkin suddenly 
 pushed open the door and was upon him. 
 His gun was even pointed before I was able 
 to shake off the terrible lethargy which had 
 enveloped me. Then I sprang forward and 
 threw his arm up. The firing attracted those 
 who were within hearing. A woman across 
 the street screamed, and two policemen 
 came running towards us. Durkin, cursing 
 me, had dropped the gun at Earl's feet and 
 fled. One of the officers thought he took in 
 the situation at a glance. He picked up the 
 gun and turned to Earl. 
 
 ' ' Oh, it 's you, is it ?" he snarled. ' ' Shoot- 
 ing up the town. A fine bunch this union is. 
 Well, you just come along with me." 
 
 "This man didn't do the shooting," I said, 
 stepping up. "1 did, but I did it for a pur- 
 pose, right into the sky." I smiled and 
 showed him my badge. He looked at me 
 curiously a moment, then handed over the 
 
 39 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 gun. Durkin was right, I would have been 
 safe no matter what I had done. Baffled and 
 perhaps peeved, the policeman turned and 
 began ordering the crowd that had gathered 
 to move along and quit their noise, or he'd 
 "sap somebody over the bean." 
 
 Through all these tense moments Earl 
 had never taken his eyes of£ of me, and when 
 I started to go, he moved ia my dire,ction. 
 One of his committee called out, "Don't fol- 
 low him, Earl, that's one of them dicks." 
 
 "I. know," Earl answered, "but I think 
 I knew him before he was one. Just wait for 
 me a minute, I'll be back. " Then raising his 
 voice, "Stevey." I turned and our hands 
 clasped. 
 
 "My God, old boy," he ahnost sobbed, 
 "how did you ever come to faU so low?" 
 
 "I think I told you once. Earl, that I in- 
 tended to be a detective." 
 
 "Detective," he echoed. "Your work is 
 that of a thug and gunman." 
 
 "It's pretty rotten here in the employ of 
 this company," I admitted. "But I am go- 
 ing to make a change." 
 
 40 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Earl put his hands on my shoulders, 
 "Stevey, old boy," he said quietly. "You 
 will find it the same wherever you work for 
 a private corporation. You are getting to be 
 a part of the system's hand, the black factor 
 which permeates every form of human en- 
 deavor." 
 
 He was very convincing and very win- 
 ningi My affection for the plucky little 
 wage-slave from the steel-mills was revived, 
 and somehow I realized that here was a man 
 aU other men would have to respect. 
 
 "Earl," said I, "I don't wonder that you 
 feel this way about my calling, but I don't 
 want to let one awful experience make me 
 bitter or prejudice me, when I'm only just 
 beginning. I was born and raised to be a 
 detective. Surely there is a place for me to 
 do honest work somewhere." Earl looked 
 at me for a moment, and an expression of 
 keen disappointment crossed his face. 
 
 "All right, old boy," he said crisply, 
 "You always liked to find out things for 
 yourself, I remember, but you are a bit of a 
 dreamer, you know, and it takes you longer 
 
 41 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 than it does me to see through people. When 
 you do come to your senses, let me hear from 
 you. Here's my card," and he turned on his 
 heel and left me standing there. 
 
 How often in after years I've looked back 
 on that night and wondered why I stood 
 there dumbly watching Earl join his com- 
 panions and disappear into the distance, and 
 while I was turning over in my mind what 
 he had said, someone touched me on the 
 arm, and the foreman, or straw boss, as he 
 was called, who was in the employ of the 
 company, and to whom most of us reported 
 any progress we had made, demanded an- 
 grily, "What in heU's the matter with 
 everything tonight, anyhow?" 
 
 "We've gone the limit," I answered. 
 "We've got to give in — the men are on to 
 us. Killing a dozen of them wouldn 't do any 
 good now. Public sentiment wiU turn in 
 less than twenty-four hours. TeU the Presi- 
 dent of the Traction Company that he had 
 better settle at once. That fellow LeMoyne 
 has bungled the job." Then I turned and 
 walked away, and the next morning as I was 
 
 42 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 packing my grip in preparation to leave 
 Duluth, I heard the newsboys calling out, 
 ''Extry paper here, all about the big strike 
 ending, Street car company grants demands 
 of union men. Extry paper here." 
 
 43 
 
CHAPTER m. 
 
 Like many another heartsick fellow 1 
 turned my face towards the West with no 
 definite plans for the future. 
 
 I felt that there must be a need for me 
 somewhere, and that Earl's opinion of my 
 calling was biased. The experience with the 
 street car company in Duluth had been 
 enough to revolt me with the very thought 
 of being a detective, but I recalled certain 
 words of my father, which had implanted 
 in my mind, the importance of the position 
 such a man holds in human society. I re- 
 membered a story he used to tell of the rob- 
 bing of a railroad station in Quebec, where 
 several respectable families had been held 
 under suspicion, until such time as my 
 father, acting in the capacity of a detective, 
 cleared their names and fixed the felony on 
 the real offender. 
 
 I went over in my mind the details of the 
 famous Amherst mystery in New Bruns- 
 wick, where he also saved an innocent per- 
 son from punishment and brought to justice 
 
 45 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the real criminal, who, in this instance, was 
 a maniac escaped from a nearby asylum. 
 Surely, to preserve law and order, a detec- 
 tive was needed and by nature I was fitted 
 to do the work of one — ^what then was the 
 matter? The matter was that I was still 
 influenced by the traditions of my Scotch- 
 Irish ancestors, who had grown up in the 
 environment of Scotland Yard, where the 
 duties performed were, and to this day are, 
 comparatively legitimate, and I was living, 
 not in England, but America, where money 
 rules, and where the enormous detective 
 trusts have reached out and appropriated 
 every individual who would give himself to 
 this calling, and made it impossible for him 
 to transact a clean piece of business if he 
 would. But Earl was right — I must find 
 out things for myself. 
 
 It must have been that some vague hope 
 of bettering conditions, rather than ignor- 
 ance of them, prompted my decision to stay 
 on, and I recall how I pictured myself 
 bringing the attention of government offi- 
 cials to the deplorable state existing in such 
 
 46 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 companies as the one whose employ I had 
 just left. The day came, however, when I 
 realized the utter futUity of being able to 
 get back of the moneyed interests, the pow- 
 erful corporations, the vast trusts, which 
 are, in the last analysis, the final courts from 
 
 which we have no appeal. 
 * * * * 
 
 Standing on a pine-clad mountain top I 
 looked down on the Couer-de-Alene mining 
 districts of Shoshone County, Idaho, known, 
 locally, as The Bitter Root. In a vaUey, 
 made beautiful by nature and cruelly dis- 
 figured by man, I traced the outlines of the 
 Davis-Inslow mine, one of the largest silver- 
 leaf shippers in the world. 
 
 I had been directed here two or three 
 years after coming West and was now in 
 the employ of a so-called high-class private 
 agency. My work consisted in prowling 
 around among the employees and reporting 
 the general sentiment which prevailed. 
 About three thousand "hands" were toiling 
 under-ground and over. The wages were 
 pitifully low, the hours long, and the con- 
 
 47 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ditions unspeakable. The naines were very 
 wet. The air was foul, and much of the work 
 of the miners had to be accomplished lying 
 on the side or bent double. Those working 
 on the day-shift never saw the sunlight, 
 and among those, to whom it fell to load the 
 ore on the cars, one seldom found a man who 
 was not half sick. A large number of them 
 became what is known as "leaded", a fatal 
 malady brought on by the length of time 
 passed tLuder-ground in such an atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 From the concentrators the mine aver- 
 aged a daily shipment of twenty-seven 
 thousand tons of ore which was conveyed to 
 the various smelters of the country. Here 
 the silver is separated and sent to the mines, 
 and the pig-lead is bought chiefly by the 
 manufacturers of bullets. 
 
 The miners' little homes, clustered all 
 about the mountain, were rudely construct- 
 ed of logs, tar-paper and rocks. Babies and 
 domestic animals huddled together in the 
 dooryards. Conditions had vastly improved, 
 I was told, since the men had become 100 
 
 48 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 per cent organized but, with the introduc- 
 tion of the union, had come the introduction 
 of the paid espoigners. They were making 
 all the trouble possible, but they had not 
 been able as yet to make trouble enough to 
 call forth the Kational Guards. 
 
 Governor Samuels was a far-seeing man 
 and a friend of the working people. We find 
 them occasionally, these rare spirits, even 
 in the so-called higher walks of Ufe — ^men 
 &,nd 'women who are treading the path fear- 
 lessly, holding the torch up so that those 
 who follow may see the light and know 
 which way to turn; but like all reformers 
 and revolutionists, who have the courage of 
 their convictions, they pay the price with 
 their lives. 
 
 This Governor argued that the imion men 
 had not done anything to warrant the send- 
 ing into the state of Federal Troops and he 
 refused to call upon the chief executive of 
 the country When the company requested 
 him to do so. This pujt the company to the 
 necessity of forcing one of the agencies' 
 operatives into the miners' organization. 
 
 49 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The President of the Miners' Federation, 
 believing this detective to be on the square, 
 extended to him the right hand of fellowship 
 and the betrayer immediately blew up a 
 one-half million doUar concentrator and 
 threw the stigma on the union. So great a 
 catastrophe was this dynamiting that the 
 wreckage furnished eight thousand cords of 
 wood. Still the Governor refused to call for 
 troops, and the company went over his head 
 in the matter and appealed to the President 
 of the United States. The chief executive 
 was made to believe that the miners' organ- 
 ization was composed of a very dangerous 
 set of men and he ordered into Idaho the 
 first Nebraska regiment consisting of over 
 eight hundred men. 
 
 Then came the erection of the "bull-pen". 
 We who have seen these inelosures in the 
 steel districts, as late as the year 1919, dur- 
 ing the great strike era, know how they look 
 and know also that the brutal and inhuman 
 treatment to which organized labor was sub- 
 jected several years ago has not diminished 
 one iota. Into a corral of fourteen feet high 
 
 50 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 posts and closely woven barbed wire, the 
 union men were thrust. They had com- 
 mitted no offense. They were victims of 
 the "system's hand" that's all. 
 
 I saw mere boys and I saw old men pushed 
 up against the sides of the pen where the 
 barbed wire pierced their flesh and caused 
 the blood to flow, put through the third de- 
 gree and tortured to make them confess to 
 the blowing up of the concentrator. When 
 they refused to perjure themselves they 
 were kept in the pens for weeks at a time. 
 I have only to close my eyes now, to see 
 them standing or lying about the straw, the 
 rain often beating down upon them — ^hard- 
 working husbands and fathers, corraled 
 like cattle, and treated worse. The red-iron 
 stains made a dull patch of color on their 
 overalls, and they would hold their hands 
 above their straining eyes the better to see 
 some familiar little shack where a fright- 
 ened wife and hungry babies waited and 
 waited and no one ever came. The fearful 
 stench of the pen rose up and permeated all 
 the mountain air. 
 
 51 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 After awhile another regiment from 
 Kansas was sent to join the Nebraska 
 Guards, and then before the elapse of many 
 days, a negro regiment from the State of 
 Washington was sent, at the instigation of 
 the company, into Idaho and camped around 
 the Davis-Inslow mine. 
 
 A sergeant named Phillips, an old man 
 who beneath his uniform still carried a 
 heart, and under his soldier cap a bit of 
 brain that could not be bought, was doing 
 guard duty around the pen one night when 
 the toilers began to tunnel their way out, 
 and Phillips, seeing them, kept on guarding 
 until the tunnel was finished. Later he was 
 court-martialed and his pension taken from 
 him, but he only remarked, "I would rather 
 lose a hundred pensions than go on witness- 
 ing the barbaric treatment accorded those 
 poor miners." 
 
 Spies were stationed over the little homes 
 of the men who were imprisoned and when- 
 ever the women went to the creek to get 
 water with which to do their washing, they 
 were subjected to coarse insult. When per- 
 
 52 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 secution was about at its height, "Death- 
 on-the-trail" Syd Barker, impersonatiag a 
 United States Marshal and wearing a star, 
 shot down seven men in cold blood. He 
 thought they were all strikers, for by this 
 time a strike had been precipitated, but it 
 transpired that five of the victims were dis- 
 guised gunmen in the employ of the com- 
 pany. The two others were regular union 
 men, two splendid fellows named Darring- 
 ton and O'Shay, whose wives were teaching 
 school in the shack where the children of 
 the miners went for a few months before 
 they were swallowed into the bowels of the 
 earth. These men were miarmed, but as 
 soon as he had killed them. Barker pulled 
 two half-loaded thirty-eight calibre re- 
 volvers from his pocket and placed one each 
 in the pockets of the dead men who were 
 lying on the street in a pool of their own 
 blood. When the officers found them, they 
 decided that the.men's wives should not be 
 allowed to even see them, and they were 
 buried while still warm, in a burying-ground 
 called Aceldama, which is a Hebrew word 
 
 53 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HANB 
 
 meaning "The Field of Blood" or "The 
 Sepulchre of Forgotten Things". 
 
 I couldn't stand it all any longer, I went 
 to Boise, and asked for an interview with 
 the chief executive of the state, I had not 
 long to wait at the capital before I was ush- 
 ered into G-ovemor Samuels' private office. 
 There I confided to him the secrets that 
 were burdening my conscience. I could talk 
 to him freely, for there was so much re- 
 sponse in his grave kindly face. When I 
 told him of the frame-ups, of the persecu- 
 tions, and the murders, he grasped me by 
 the hand and said: 
 
 "Doyle, I knew it. I have felt that there 
 was something crooked going on all the 
 time, but I couldn't seem to unravel the 
 mystery, and no one could without the help 
 of one of you who have been a part of the 
 awful system itself. I can understand how 
 you have been led into this Ufe, and I think 
 you are a very remarkable man indeed to 
 take this risk, and lay bare the hideous 
 truths connected with it. I will do every- 
 thing in my power to break its hold." 
 
 54 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 I thanked him, and as I looked into his 
 face, and read there his consecration to 
 duty, I seemed to sense that I would never 
 see him again. Standing there silent for a 
 moment, our hands clasped — ^it was as if we 
 both saw the long line of exploited workers, 
 thousands upon thousands of them march- 
 ing past with drooping heads and dragging 
 feet, going the round of inexorable toil, pro- 
 ducing, always producing, and I realized 
 that this man was willing to make the 
 supreme sacrifice for them. Slowly I raised 
 my head and looked him squarely in the 
 eyes. I had gotten my perspective. I knew 
 now why I was a part of the "system's 
 hand". I was there that I might bring to 
 light the hidden things that struck men 
 down. Henceforth I would serve my feUow- 
 men as I had wanted to serve. I would be a 
 detective among detectives, an operative 
 with a mission. Earl might caU it sinking 
 low, but somebody had to do the work, and 
 I would do it to the end of the chapter. 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A short while later, I was sent by my 
 agency up into British Columbia where a 
 strike had been in progress for nine 
 months. After six weeks of watchful wait- 
 ing, I was able to study out the secret work 
 being done there. 
 
 The companies in Canada differ from the 
 ones in the States in this respect — that up 
 there, they are sought by the agencies, and 
 here in the States, the agencies are sought 
 by the companies. 
 
 Captain Bell of the Hart branch of the 
 system had gotten the job for himself, and 
 his men, by telling the heads of the corpora- 
 tion that owned and directed the operation 
 of the mines, that a lot of desperate men 
 from the States were mingling among the 
 workers, and endangering the employers' 
 rights and property, and that only by secur- 
 ing the aid of his crew, could they escape 
 disaster. The officials took in aU they were 
 told, thanked the chief for his information, 
 
 57 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and promptly engaged the whole outfit to 
 protect them. 
 
 Shortly after my arrival in the town of 
 Kaslo, I met Edmond Montford, president 
 of the Bank of British Columbia. I walked 
 into the bank one morning and handed him 
 my card. He read the words "Stephen A. 
 Doyle" and then looked at me a little 
 quizzically. "It seems to me," he said, with 
 a smile, "that you are the man who blacked 
 my boots for me at the Lakeview Hotel last 
 night." 
 
 "The same," I answered. "I am a detec- 
 tive, and I find I can get quicker results 
 when working 'under cover', though I can't 
 say I particularly enjoy the job of cleaning 
 cuspidors, scrubbing floors, and blacking 
 boots. However, I hear many things this 
 way, for people never stop to consider that 
 a poor porter might have ears, and if ears, a 
 brain." 
 
 Mr. Montford regarded me questioningly. 
 "But why do you come to me?" he said, evi- 
 dently interested, but mystified. "And 
 whom do you represent?" 
 
 58 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ''Just a detective," said I. 
 
 We were both leaning on the high ma- 
 hogany counter. He asked me to sit down. 
 We did so, and I began: 
 
 "Mr. Montford, you, as financial head of 
 the big mining interests in this Sloean dis- 
 trict, are employing about four hundred 
 operatives of the Hart Detective Agency. 
 Some are operating in the miners' union by 
 number, an arrangement which makes it im- 
 possible for anyone to identify them. Now 
 in your vault you have thousands of reports 
 given you by Captain Bell. These reports 
 are supposed to be accurate statements con- 
 cerning the sentiment which prevails among 
 the miuers, whereas they are ridiculous mis- 
 statements written by the agents for the 
 purpose of terrifying you and the other 
 owners of the mines, thus making you feel 
 dependent upon the agency for protection. 
 In these reports are mentioned the names 
 of such men as Dave Scott, Archy Williams, 
 and James Delvine, fine substantial union 
 men and efficient miners, but they have been 
 described to you as dangerous, threatening 
 
 59 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to destroy life and property. I have positive 
 proof that, during the nine months and more 
 that this district has been in the throes of a 
 strike, you and the rest of the company have 
 paid the detectives no less than one and one- 
 half million dollars, and perhaps you know 
 how far that exceeds the amount paid in 
 wages to the workers." 
 
 "You have gone far enough," said he. 
 "But will you refer me to some man of 
 prominence who will endorse you?" 
 
 "Do you use the Bedford McNeil code?" 
 
 "Why, yes, with a few modifications for 
 our own private use." 
 
 "Very well, send a wire to James Or. 
 Hood, president of the Great Western Rail- 
 way, worded to suit yourself, and ask him 
 if Stephen A. Doyle is to be trusted." 
 
 I left the bank, and returned to the Lake- 
 view Hotel, where in my basement room I 
 changed the clothes I had worn for the dirty 
 overalls of the porter, and was soon engaged 
 in shining a pair of shoes. 
 
 The next evening Edmond Montford 
 slipped into the high chair where the men 
 
 60 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 sat to have their boots blackened, and pick- 
 ing up a newspaper, remarked carelessly, 
 "I guess you are about the best bootblack I 
 know. Come over to see me tonight, any 
 time after nine o'clock, and I will have 
 something for you." 
 
 When I again found myself in Mr. Mont- 
 ford's private office, he took me warmly by 
 the hand and exclaimed, "Hood says you 
 are all right. Now tell me how we can best 
 bring about an end to this strike." 
 
 "Fire Bell and his crew." said I. 
 
 "WiU that be safe?" 
 
 ''They will threaten you and the other 
 employes, of course, but they wiU not put 
 into execution any threats. They are all 
 cowards at heart." 
 
 Montford remained in deep thought for 
 quite a while, his head resting on his hand. 
 I could see by the troubled look in his eyes 
 how great a hold the system had upon him. 
 Finally he called in the other managers of 
 the mines who were in an adjoining room, 
 and introducing me, explained my errand. 
 
 The men were dumbfounded. I tried to 
 
 61 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 make clear to them how I had come into 
 possession of so much knowledge concern- 
 ing their affairs. 
 
 "Why, this Bell," said I, "came to town 
 disguised as a peddler. He has had the de- 
 tectives reporting to him constantly, and I 
 have heard practically everything they have 
 been. saying to each other. You remember 
 two men, named Fuller and Schultz, who 
 recently threatened the lives of some of you 
 men, and whom you were led to believe were 
 members of the miners' organization? Well, 
 they are both a part of the Hart crew." 
 
 After a long conversation, and with evi- 
 dent trepidation, they decided to take my 
 advice. In a few days, it became known that 
 Bell had been told to take his men and go. 
 The owners would deal directly with the 
 employes in the mines through the miners' 
 union representatives. This so angered the 
 chief of, the detective squad that he re- 
 doubled his efforts to bring suspicion upon 
 the organization. 
 
 One night, as I stood in Mr. Montford's 
 office talking with him, the back door was 
 
 62 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 suddenly burst open, and a giant of a fel- 
 low, Wade Young, by name, sprang into the 
 room, and cursing Montf ord, raised his hand 
 as if to deal a blow. The owners had always 
 thought this man a violent member of the 
 miners' union, but I knew him for what he 
 was. Stepping forward, and in front of 
 Montf ord, who had turned white as death, I 
 said, "Captain Bell sent you to make- this 
 threat — get out!" 
 
 The man simply crumpled and slunk 
 away. 
 
 Turning to Montford, I smiled and said, 
 "You see." 
 
 When I left the bank a little later. Young 
 was lying in wait for me. After consider- 
 able of a tussle, in which I was losing, pass- 
 ersby puUed the man off, and I swore out 
 a warrant for his arrest. When taken before 
 the justice of the peace, and questioned as to 
 why he had attacked me, he broke down and 
 confessed everything. The judge gave him 
 two hours to leave town. 
 
 The Provincial Constabulary of Canada 
 then took every measure to rid their coun- 
 
 63 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 try of these agents. The result was that in 
 a short while, the whole Hart crew had crept 
 back across the border and into their native 
 land again. 
 
 The big strike came to a satisfactory close 
 for both employers and employees, and 
 there has never been any further labor 
 trouble in that section of the mining dis- 
 trict to the present day; however, it was 
 only a matter of years untU another branch 
 of the system made a successful entry into 
 the city of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and brought 
 about a condition of affairs that finds no 
 counterpart in modem history. 
 
 Bell now sent for me to come to Nelson, 
 B. C, and talk over a business proposition. 
 I felt that for the present, the best thing for 
 me to do was to keep track of him and his 
 dealings and the way to do that most effec- 
 tively was to appear to play into his hands. 
 
 BeU realized that I knew entirely too 
 much about the secret workings of the sys- 
 tem, and was too thoroughly antagonistic to 
 that system for it to be safe for me to be at 
 
 64 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 large, therefore he wanted to get me back 
 under his control. 
 
 I shall never forget that trip from one 
 mining district to another. Leaving Kaslo 
 of an early morning, I traveled by narrow- 
 gauge railway through a very deep canyon. 
 The road wound and climbed up-hill all the 
 way along the sides of the lofty Toad and 
 Caribou Mountains. The scenery here is 
 magnificent. I arrived at the little town of 
 Sandon in time for the noon-day meal, and 
 continued by narrow-gauge to a place called 
 New Denver, where I transferred to a boat 
 and traveled by way of the Arrow-Head 
 Lakes to my destination. 
 
 Bell met me. I saw by his first glance 
 that he feared me, and I longed inexpress- 
 ibly to turn aside from all the human suffer- 
 ing which I was probably going to witness, 
 and go on drifting down the mountain side, 
 where infinite peace and the majesty of 
 silence reigned. But there was to be no 
 turning back, only a going forward, though 
 it led me through all that was ghastly. 
 
 Bell had gotten another mining company 
 
 65 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 under his control. His opening remarks to 
 me were "Don't be a fool, Doyle, and make 
 sacrifices for the workers, much less the cor- 
 porations — they have no mercy on anyone. 
 You have ability. Stick to me, and I'll make 
 you rich and famous. This year alone I can 
 promise you a clear profit of thirty thou- 
 sand." Then he handed me two books, in 
 which to keep accounts, and said: "In one 
 of these record the real amount of your ex- 
 penses, and in the other, a much larger 
 amount. The latter will be sent to the com- 
 pany, and they, afraid to do without our 
 protection, will pay it, never fear." He 
 laughed as at a great joke, and my heart 
 grew sick at the contemplation of so much 
 deception. 
 
 Bell then urged me to join a lodge of 
 which he was a member, as he said it would 
 be a bond between us, and as he expressed it, 
 "give us a common ground to stand on." I 
 was further instructed to choose my own 
 "under cover disguise", and proceed to 
 work as he directed. 
 
 I thought it all over. I realized that I 
 
 66 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 must gain still deeper insight into the meth- 
 ods employed by the "System's Hand" 
 to defeat every effort made by the producers 
 of wealth to gain a bare livelihood, let alone 
 any participation of the joys of life, and to 
 enable me to speak with authority on the 
 subject, I knew I would have to appear to 
 practice the very evils that later, when the 
 time should come, I could reveal to all the 
 world. 
 
 I decided to open an employment agency, 
 and, I called it the "Western Canadian." 
 Bell told me to procure him all the miners 
 and other workers possible, even women to 
 run eating houses, and then he said to me, 
 "Grive to every employee that you send to 
 the company instructions that their main 
 job is to sow seeds of dissension. They are 
 to create a feeling of distrust between em- 
 ployer and employee, between race and race, 
 always to see to it that labor is divided 
 against itself. Tell them that we will be 
 watching, and the man or woman who stirs 
 up the most trouble will be rewarded ac- 
 cordingly." 
 
 67 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Bell left, and I started to operate the 
 agency. A man by the name of Daniels had 
 been elected to the Dominion Parliament on 
 the Union Ticket, and he had done a great 
 deal to alleviate the sufferings of the miners 
 by establishing the eight-hour law. 
 
 An employer who worked a man under 
 ground, beyond this specified time was fined 
 a thousand dollars, and a point that the pri- 
 vate operatives had been told to stress was 
 the undesirability of such a law. 
 
 One morning, soon after I began opera- 
 tions, a stolid-looking Swede walked into 
 the office and said he wanted work. I told 
 him I could get him a job, but that he must 
 undertake to do certain things besides mere- 
 ly working for the company who owned the 
 mines, and that he would be well paid. I 
 then outlined a course of action he was to 
 pursue, and the man agreed to follow in- 
 structions. 
 
 ''If the miners are all right, how do I re- 
 port them bad?" he asked, in a puzzled 
 voice. 
 
 "You will be working with them on an 
 
 68 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 eight-hour shift," said I. "You can turn in 
 a report showing that the men associated 
 with you are loafing on the job ever since 
 this eight-hour law went into effect. You 
 can then show how much better they worked 
 when they toiled ten or twelve hours." He 
 smiled comprehensively. 
 "Just He like hell all the time?" 
 "That's the dope, now go on." 
 "But who do I make reports to?" he con- 
 tinued, with characteristic persistence. 
 
 "iPut them all in writing," I answered. 
 "Sign number nine at the bottom of each 
 page, and address the papers to Harry An- 
 drews, Box 55, Rosland, B. C." 
 
 It was not necessary to explain to this 
 fellow that Bell was the man who always 
 opened Box 55, and in the days that fol- 
 lowed, one of the few bits of humor in the 
 whole situation were the reports that num- 
 ber nine sent in. I have one still preserved, 
 which reads : 
 
 "Box 55, Dear Sir: All day the miners sit 
 down and smoke pipes and talk of blowing 
 up the mines. That eight-hour business is 
 
 69 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 very bad since it makes them awful restless 
 for the old days when they could sit in the 
 mines for about eleven hours and play cards 
 and drink whiskey. A fellow asked me if I 
 carried a card, I told him *no, I carried a 
 gun.' (Did you want me to let that part 
 out?) This union man was awful nice to 
 me, and I think I'd like to join, but I'U re- 
 port him no good, and wait instructions 
 about the joining. What in heU is all this 
 lying leading to anyway, and when do I get 
 my pay for the damn job? Please answer, 
 and say what you want in the next letter. 
 It's not easy making it up. 
 
 "Respectfully, 
 "HANS CHRISTIAN, No. 9. 
 
 "P. S. — Don't forget about the pay." 
 * * * * 
 
 On a certain sunny morning, when tjie 
 beauty of the mountains seemed to pervade 
 even the dingy detective-employment 
 agency, and while I stood looking out of an 
 unclean window on the towering cliffs, with 
 the fir trees growing thick upon them, a 
 stranger entered the of&ce, and spoke to me 
 
 70 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 in the unmistakable London accent, with 
 which I had been familiar as a child. Just 
 why, I don't know, but I felt intuitively 
 that he was endeavoring to conceal this very 
 accent, and I came forward and regarded 
 him closely. A gentleman in the true sense 
 of the word, I said to myself, and aloud I 
 asked, **Can I do anything for you, sir." 
 
 The stranger smiled, "These mountains," 
 he said softly, "I am carried away with the 
 grandeur of them. I have been listening to 
 those water-falls out there, and I think I 
 never heard such music." 
 
 I nodded. "They help me, too," said I, 
 and it seemed to me as if here were a man 
 who would understand whatever I might 
 wish to express, without the need of put- 
 ting the thought into words. We stood in 
 silence for a moment, that silence which is 
 the height of companionship, then I pulled 
 myself out of the dream-world, into which 
 I so often strayed, and regarded the 
 stranger with the keen eyes of a trained de- 
 tective. Why was he here? What kind of a 
 trap was being laid for me? Was Bell 
 
 71 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 hoping to catch me napping? And all the 
 while I knew that the man, leaning care- 
 lessly against the counter, was reading the 
 questions passing through my mind. 
 
 Past-master of my art that I was, I real- 
 ized that in this man, with his casual re- 
 marks about the beauty of the mountain 
 scenery, I had met my match. I decided to 
 be very much on guard, and for a while the 
 conversation between us was a pretty piece 
 of fencing. I parried every delicate thrust 
 he made, and at last he gave up with a little 
 sigh and moved towards the door. 
 
 "Do you know," said he, looking back 
 over his shoulder, "that you appear to me 
 to be more of a detective than the kind of a 
 man one usually finds in charge of an em- 
 ployment agency?" 
 
 "Indeed," said I. "Perhaps one who 
 might have come from Scotland Yard?" 
 
 He wheeled around quickly. "Yes, you 
 might." 
 
 "If there were a man like you to open the 
 door of Opportunity, who laiows?" 
 
 "Listen," said he, "I trust you. I don't 
 
 72 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 know why, but I do. This is my card." I 
 took the bit of pasteboard, and read, ' AKred 
 M. Greer, Scotland Yard'. Scotland Yard — 
 how that name always thrilled me, and 
 brought back to my mind the very earliest 
 impressions of my childhood. I held out my 
 hand. "Mr. Greer, my name is Doyle. I 
 can't even begtu to tell you how glad I am 
 that you have come. It has been so hard, at 
 times, working all alone." Then I told him 
 something of myself and my surroundings. 
 
 "I am representing my government," 
 said Greer, "in an investigation against a 
 man named Wilfred Storms, who organized 
 the Western Canadian Mining Company. 
 The London Universal Insurance Company 
 has advanced about twenty million dollars, 
 and, to use plaitt language, they feel that 
 they have been robbed of their money. 
 However, I am here to investigate and re- 
 port, and I want you to aid me, if you will." 
 
 Then I knew why I had been led to do 
 this work for Bell and why I had stayed on 
 when I couldn't see that I was accomplish- 
 ing anything. "It's often been like this," 
 
 73 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 said I, as if he would understand what I was 
 talking about. Greer nodded. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "a, bom detective is a 
 psychic also." 
 
 "Mr. Grreer, I'm going to have to tell you 
 something that will shock you, but the 
 sooner you get to the bottom of this affair, 
 the better. The thefts that you have come 
 over here to find out about are being done 
 by members of our profession." He looked 
 at me a moment, as if stupified, then ex- 
 claimed, "Why, impossible. How could de- 
 tectives do that? They are to protect prop- 
 erty, not to steal it." It took a long while 
 to make things plain to this man, who, with 
 aU his experience, had never stumbled on to 
 any parallel. Many times he shook his head, 
 as if utterly bewildered, and once he asked 
 abruptly, "But who gives them authority r' 
 
 "In this mine the operatives are under 
 the control of a Captain Bell of the Hart 
 Service Company, Incorporated." 
 
 "The Hart Service Company, Incorpor- 
 ated?" he echoed, "Operating on British 
 territory — I don't understand," 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HANl) 
 
 "It is an American concern," I replied, 
 "that has wormed its way across the lines." 
 
 "America," he cried, more astonished 
 than ever, "and do they allow such atroci- 
 ties there?" 
 
 "Mr. Greer," said I, "have you not ob- 
 served that every country has a ruler? In 
 America, just at present, the subjects are 
 compelled to do homage to a king called 
 Gold." 
 
 "Gold," he repeated, "but detectives, we 
 were talking of them — ^I don't get the point 
 of contact." 
 
 "No," I said, "I see you don't. I think I 
 shall have to show it to you in a concrete' 
 form. Come with me." 
 
 Without a word he followed as I led the 
 way out of the ofi&ce, down the road for half 
 a mile, and then up a steep trail for another 
 half. Here I branched off into the under^ 
 brush and a few minutes later, after some 
 steady digging on my part, Greer was look- 
 ing down upon the buried treasure of the 
 agency. In a rude sort of casket, which I 
 had managed to pry open, lay great chunks 
 of yellow gold. 
 
 75 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "The company put some of the operatives 
 to doing the work of furnace men about the 
 mine," I explained, "and they allowed the 
 smelter to become chilled, and when the 
 gold, instead of running off into the sands, 
 settled at the bottom, they cut it out with 
 cold chisels, in large pieces, like you see. 
 For many weeks now they have been drop- 
 ping small bits into the pockets of the imion 
 miners, so as to throw suspicion upon them, 
 and a number of innocent fellows are 
 serving prison sentences in consequence." 
 
 Grreer had grown very pale. "It is unbe- 
 lievable," was all he could murmur. After 
 a while he asked, "But the company here 
 in this district — do none of them try to get 
 to the root of a felony such as this?" 
 
 "They are accessories to it," I repUed. 
 "The superintendent and general manager 
 of the mine is the ring-leader of them aU." 
 
 Another silence, which I did not inter- 
 rupt, and while watching me put the earth 
 carefuUy back over the stolen gold, Q-reer 
 asked, "How did they ever get this box up 
 here^we are a long way from the mine?" 
 
 76 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 **They shipped it in a coffin-shaped re- 
 ceptacle, so that the railroad officials would 
 think it was a body for burial, but as the 
 gold is much heavier than a corpse would 
 be, some of the detectives traveled with it 
 and did all the handling themselvesi" 
 
 Grreer stood gazing down upon the place 
 when I had finished my task, as if he were 
 looking upon a newly made grave. When he 
 raised his eyes I saw that he had at last 
 unraveled the tangle. 
 
 "The agents' operatives are in collusion 
 with the company here in Canada to rob the 
 English Syndicate — am I right?" he asked, 
 speaking slowly, as if he wanted to progress 
 step by step. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "And the English Syndicate," he con- 
 tinued, "is robbing the Insurance Company 
 who advanced the twenty million?" 
 
 "Correct" 
 
 "Then that brings it all up to the point 
 that the man who first conceived the big idea 
 of opening and operating these mines, Wil- 
 
 77 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 fred Storms, is the man I am after. I need 
 
 never have left London." 
 
 "No," I said, "it was necessary that you 
 
 come, or you would never have found him, 
 
 even in London, for it was not in London 
 
 that he worked, but here, with the aid of 
 
 the 'system's hand', which is an exclusive 
 
 American product and indispensable to all 
 
 swindles." 
 
 * * » « 
 
 The following year found us both engaged 
 in some very intricate investigation work 
 in the State of Idaho where I had first come 
 after leaving Duluth. 
 
 I had persuaded Greer to stay on and 
 study conditions as I knew them to be. 
 
 "It is necessary that you should do so," 
 said I, "for you have already seen how this 
 menace, with which we are contending, has 
 crept across seas and into other lands." 
 
 I kept thinking of G-ovemor Samuels, and 
 I heard and saw evidence everywhere of 
 how well he was fulfilling his promise to me 
 to befriend the worker. He had made inves- 
 tigations and had succeeded in driving out 
 
 78 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the nest of private detectives operating in 
 the Coeur-de-Alene mining district. But he 
 had not been able to root them out of the 
 state, nor even out of the little town where 
 the Governor's mansion stood. They were 
 closing in on him, but with that fine fearless- 
 ness which characterized him, Samuels 
 chose to ignore all threats that he received 
 from the detectives, telling him that the 
 union men were after him. He had been on 
 my mind particularly for several days, when 
 one evening Greer and I sat in my room at 
 the hotel, and smoked and watched the 
 wreaths curl upward from our pipes. At 
 intervals we spoke, discussing our coming 
 separation. He was now ready to return to 
 London, and I had decided to journey fur- 
 ther Southwest and see something of Cali- 
 fornia. 
 
 "You will have a mighty poor opinion of 
 the profession to carry back with you, 
 Greer," said I. He smiled a little sadly. 
 "Nevertheless, I have known you," he re- 
 plied. "But Doyle, tell me, are the mem- 
 bers of the department of justice of the 
 
 79 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 States as vile as these private agents who 
 operate in such vast numbers everywhere r' 
 
 "No," I answered, ''they are not. Many 
 of them are only too anxious to bring about 
 a better condition, but they are so utterly 
 helpless, being dupes themselves of the 'sys- 
 tem's hand'." 
 
 "But how? I really cannot quite compre- 
 hend." 
 
 "It is owing to capital's control," I an- 
 swered. "The profiteers who have made mil- 
 lions out of labor are so drunk with the lust 
 of power and the greed for gold that they 
 stop at nothing, even murder itself. How- 
 ever, they do not actually perform the act 
 themselves, that kind of work is left to the 
 highly-paid private detective, who, in addi- 
 tion to such crimes, is instructed to puU the 
 wool over the eyes of all government offi- 
 cials and, at all times, feed their minds with 
 lies." 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and a bell- 
 boy handed me an extra edition of the daily 
 paper. "Samuels has been killed," he 
 gasped. 
 
 80 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 I read the words confirming his state- 
 ment, and saw how the bought press had im- 
 mediately linked the murder with the name 
 of the miners' union. I turned to G-reer. 
 
 "He gave his life that others might be 
 saved," said I. "More than that, no man 
 could do." 
 
 Inside of a few days the whole country 
 was in possession of the details of this 
 brutal murder. Governor John Samuels had 
 left his house on the morning of the 20th of 
 December, and walked as far as the fence, 
 inclosing the grounds, when a time bomb 
 placed under the gate blew him to the four 
 winds of heaven. 
 
 Letters, purporting to come from the offi- 
 cers of the miners' organization, but written 
 by the operatives of the big detective 
 agency, were found, in which he Governor 
 had been frequently threatened with assas- 
 sination, and the result was that the presi- 
 dent, vice-president, and secretary of the 
 union, as innocent men as ever lived, were 
 charged with the kilUng, and thrown into 
 prison. Protesting their absolute ignorance 
 
 81 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 of the whole affair did no good. The net in 
 which they were caught was woven of too 
 fine a mesh, and to securely tied. Like the 
 victim of the frame-up who languishes in 
 San Quentiu today, they were not even 
 given the benefit of the doubt, which in law 
 is accorded to every creature until he is 
 proved guilty. And word came from Wash- 
 ington that the chief executive had said 
 about them: "They are undesirable citizens, 
 and should be hung." 
 
 It was at this time that a great man was 
 running for the presidency on the Socialist 
 ticket, and he made this public declaration: 
 "If these men hang, then they hang me too." 
 
 Greer and I, owing to the nature of the 
 investigation work we had been doing, knew 
 very well who the real criminal was, and as 
 soon as it was possible for us to get a hear- 
 ing, we laid bare the facts of the case before 
 the new G-ovemor of the state. 
 
 I told him that the man to question was 
 the private detective whom we knew had 
 sent the letters, and who had blown up the 
 concentrator, and who had wormed his way 
 
 82 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 into the miners' organization for the pur- 
 pose of bringing disgrace upon the union 
 men. Finally this was done, and when put 
 on the stand, the man admitted he was 
 guilty. 
 
 The trust press that had sent the news of 
 the arrest of the miners in glaring head- 
 lines, flashing from coast to coast, now sup- 
 pressed all word of their release, and the 
 conviction of the operative who was sen- 
 tenced to life-imprisonment. The inevitable 
 exposure of Bell and his crew, who had 
 fled to another state, was likewise hushed 
 up, for the newspapers of the country are 
 the most obedient servants the capitalists 
 have ever trained to work for them. They 
 have scarcely ever made a mistake and 
 given out the truth.. 
 
 The President of the United States, who 
 had previously condemned the union 
 miners, had, at least, the fairness of mind 
 to say, when the whole plot was revealed to 
 him: "These private agencies should be 
 abolished by law, and it should be made a 
 felony for any of them to operate within the 
 
 83 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 limits of our land. The only ones having 
 any jurisdiction at all should be placed un- 
 der the care and control of the department 
 of justice, which is clean, and the others 
 should be run out of the country, as one 
 would run a horde of sewer-rats. They are 
 a more terrible menace than the Bubonic 
 plague." 
 
 But alas, the President of the United 
 States is not the one who has the determin- 
 ing voice. The handful of men who have suc- 
 ceeded in acquiring the bulk of the blood- 
 money of this wonderful and resourceful re- 
 public are the real rulers of America, and 
 they could not maintain their autocratic 
 sway in the face of a people crying out for 
 democracy, did they not employ the various 
 branches of the "system's hand" to crush 
 and crucify, while they themselves sit safely 
 and securely behind the protecting folds of 
 the Red, White and Blue, the flag the toil- 
 ers of the nation love. 
 
 84 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A typical San Francisco fog was drifting 
 in from the G-olden G-ate. The boys selling 
 huge bunches of violets on Kearney Street 
 had cheeks the color of roses. The air that 
 so exhilarates one that you feel more like 
 skipping than walking, had taken posses- 
 sion of me on this March afternoon, and I 
 drew in deep breaths and thanked the Fates 
 that had sent me to California. 
 
 For a little while I forgot the sordid life 
 I lived. Everywhere there were radiant 
 flowers. Everybody seemed to move grace- 
 fully, and I fancied, happily. School chil- 
 dren flocked by in laughing groups. The 
 women all appeared to be dressed stylishly. 
 The men seemed to be in a great hurry. 
 Automobiles dashed noisily yet merrily by. 
 
 It is that first impression one always gets 
 on entering beautiful San Francisco. The 
 city that has never grown up. The city that 
 holds so much promise to the newcomer, but 
 the city that, in spite of its vivid coloring, 
 
 85 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 its perfume, and its exquisite loveliness, has 
 been defiled and made a place of loathing. 
 
 Strolling up Market Street, I noticed the 
 closed doors of a large department store, 
 and out on the sidewalk a half dozen girl- 
 pickets keeping quiet guard. Up and down 
 they walked, looking neither to the right 
 nor to the left and speaking to no one. Of 
 their number I was especially attracted to 
 a very pretty but a very tired appearhig 
 little girl. She moved wearily in her shabby 
 gray suit, yet her head was held high, and 
 that head was the color of the California 
 poppy? the dainty little gold-red flower 
 which grows on the plains of the San Joa- 
 quin. I purposely passed close to her, and I 
 noticed that her eyes were the blue-green 
 eyes of the Golden West; eyes that seemed 
 to have caught their coloring from the 
 ocean which is ever surging up against the 
 CUff House rocks. 
 
 I suppose that to every man it is given, 
 at some time in his life, to recognize the one 
 woman, his woman, from out the rest of all 
 the world. He does not always marry her, 
 
 86 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 indeed he very seldom does. He may not 
 have the opportunity of sharing many ex- 
 periences with her, but to the day they 
 screw the casket lid down over his face, she 
 is to him what the French would call his 
 "raison d'etre", and much of life that he 
 has only apprehended is comprehended 
 after that. 
 
 I don't know how long I stood on the 
 comer watching this girl, but presently I 
 became aware of a familiar figure passing to 
 and fro. It was a woman elegantly gowned 
 and deeply veiled, but a detective has 
 tucked away in the pigeon-holes of his mind 
 a picture of every person whom he has ever 
 met, and I knew I had seen and talked with 
 this woman somewhere, though just for the 
 moment I was unable to recall the time and 
 place. 
 
 After a careful scrutiny of the street, she 
 approached the girl-picket with the red- 
 gold hair and said something to her. The 
 girl did not reply. Pickets early learn the 
 necessity for silence. A word spoken, a 
 pause of half a second in the dreary and 
 
 87 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 monotonous march, and an injunction is ob- 
 tained prohibiting them from "blocking 
 traffic". 
 
 The woman persisted, however, and final- 
 ly the girl took off her badge and walked 
 with her to the next block. I followed — de- 
 tectives learn to follow — and they were 
 neither Of them aware of my presence, when 
 I heard the woman say, ''Yes, I am a social 
 welfare worker. Our club has noticed how 
 brave you pickets are, how much you need 
 a bit of encouragement and cheer, and espe- 
 cially how much you need a place in which 
 to rest, and get a good warm meal. Here is 
 my card, with the address of our clubrooms 
 on it. Go there now and tell the lady in 
 charge I sent you." She smiled sweetly, and 
 the girl looked up at her in a trusting man- 
 ner, as much as to say, "You offer me 
 friendship, and I am sore in need of it. I 
 will accept your invitation." 
 
 They separated, and I continued to follow 
 the girl. When she turned into Mission 
 Street, I stepped up to her and spoke. 
 
 "Pardon me. Miss, but will you let me see 
 
 88 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the card that woman gave you*?" She start- 
 ed and drew back, but I persisted, "Well, 
 even without the card, I know who she is, 
 and you simply must not go to this house 
 where she has sent you." 
 
 The girl still regarded me silently, and I 
 could see, suspiciously, but I went on, "I 
 happened to overhear this woman's invita- 
 tion to you, and I also happen to know that 
 she is one of the most dangerous of her type. 
 I had dealings with her up in Oregon some 
 years ago. You will believe me when I tell 
 you that I am a detective." 
 
 Then the girl spoke for the first time, and 
 though her voice was soft and low, it was 
 tinged with a bitter sarcasm. 
 
 '*I would rather listen to that strange 
 woman than to a detective. One of them in 
 the employ of the store came up to me this 
 morning, and ordered me off the sidewalk. 
 When I refused to go, he took me by the 
 arm as if to push me off, but he twisted my 
 wrist so that I have been in pain ever since. 
 A lot of good advice a detective is likely to 
 
 89 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 give a union girl," and with that she turned 
 qmckly and walked away. 
 
 I couldn't blame her for her opinion of my 
 calling. It was only too true, and she 
 couldn't know that I was different. Some- 
 how or other, I had to save her, as I had 
 saved Earl that night he was to have been 
 killed, but how it was to be accomplished, I 
 failed to see. I would simply follow her, and 
 it would come to me what I should do. 
 
 When we reached the address the woman 
 had given her, the girl paused for an in- 
 stant at the foot of the steps; glancing back, 
 she saw me near, and that seemed to decide 
 matters for her. She ran up and rang the 
 bell. A moment later and the door had 
 closed upon her. 
 
 I stood there waiting for what seemed to 
 me to be a long, long time. I realized that 
 this so-called clubhouse was the first decoy. 
 It would even bear inspection. Books and 
 magazines and tea-things and easy lounging 
 chairs would be about aU there was to see, 
 but a quiet-looking woman with a tragedy 
 in her eyes, seated at a desk, over which 
 
 90 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 hung a picture of a Biblical character, would 
 be taking down the names, and chiefly the 
 appearances, of the wistful-faced and hun- 
 gry working-girls, who drifted in, one at a 
 time, and shyly accepted the hospitality ex- 
 tended them. 
 
 There is more method on the part of cap- 
 ital in keeping wages down than even labor 
 dreams of. A poor man has no time to be- 
 come educated, and so he cannot develop 
 into anything the rich man fears. A poor 
 woman has one last resort, when the under- 
 nourished body cries aloud for food. 
 
 After a while, the girl came out of the 
 door-way and hurried down the street in a 
 direction that I knew, as a detective must 
 know many hidden things, even about a city 
 with which he is not familiar, led to the 
 white slave, or as it is popularly called, the 
 "red-Ught district". 
 
 There was now no time to be lost. I had to 
 think rapidly, and act accordingly. Step- 
 ping up to her side, T said firmly, "Just 
 give me one chance to prove to you that I 
 know what I am talking about. Let me take 
 
 91 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 this next address, which you got in that 
 house you entered, and I wiU bring your 
 new friend out to you, and she will tell you 
 herself that what I say is true." 
 
 I did not wait for her to reply, but snatch- 
 ing the slip of paper from her hand, I dashed 
 on ahead and left her, this time, to follow me. 
 A few moments later, and I found myself in 
 a luxuriously furnished room. The carpet 
 and curtains and upholstery were of the 
 richest fabrics. I sent the maid, who had 
 admitted me, for the woman in charge, and 
 she came at once. Her bfearing was very 
 gracious. To the casual observer she was a 
 poised woman of the world, beautiful and 
 refined. To a detective, she was a procuress 
 of the under-world, desperate and defiant. 
 
 "Miss Beryl," I said, usiug the first name 
 only, as the custom is, "I have come here 
 to identify you as the woman I saw in the 
 company of the white-slaver. Alma Burke, 
 in Portland, Oregon, some years ago." I 
 showed her my card, and continued, "I saw 
 you both in the Sacred Heart Hospital at 
 the bedside of Chester Hurd, a man respect- 
 
 92 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ed as an able labor leader, who had been shot 
 by the city operative, Dale Yarrow, and I 
 heard you offer the dying man fifty dollars 
 as a bribe not to prosecute Yarrow, the lat- 
 ter having sent you as his messenger. You 
 represented yourself as his sister, and the 
 nun in charge of that ward heard you also, 
 and returned the money to you, saying the 
 patient would have no need for it while un- 
 der their care. " 
 
 The woman, Beryl, hung her head and 
 studied my card, then she looked me 
 straight in the eyes, and replied, "Even ad- 
 mitting the truth of your accusations, I fail 
 to see just how they have any bearing on 
 your visit here now." 
 
 "There is a young girl waiting outside," 
 said I. "You will come with me, and tell her 
 that they have made a mistake in the ad- 
 dress they gave her at the girls' club." 
 
 She hesitated for a moment. "Very well, 
 Mr. Doyle, but let us be about it as quickly 
 as possible. I have other things to attend 
 to. I will get my hat and coat." 
 
 93 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "You will come as you are," said I, and 
 I held the door open for her to pass. 
 
 With an impatient gesture, she ran down 
 the flight of steps to where the girl stood 
 on the sidewalk. Her self-possession was re- 
 markable. She smiled coolly at the little 
 figure in the shabby gray suit, and said in- 
 differently, but with a touch of emotion in 
 her voice, "I think, my dear, you would bet- 
 ter go back to the picket line. This gentle- 
 man has convinced me that you would not 
 appreciate our efforts in your behalf." 
 
 With that, she turned, and walked scorn- 
 fully away, and the girl stared after her un- 
 til she disappeared in the doorway of the 
 house again. 
 
 "I am sorry. Miss," I said, a little awk- 
 wardly, "that all this had to happen, but 
 perhaps it is just as well. You will know 
 how to take care of yourself next time." 
 
 The girl looked at me questioningly. "I 
 don't understand," said she, "this woman 
 was so, well, so lovely and kind, — ^will you 
 tell me just what kind of a place this house 
 is?" 
 
 94 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 *'It is where they send the youngest and 
 the prettiest girls," I answered, slowly, 
 choosing my words carefully, "to become 
 white slaves. Don't you know what that 
 means?" 
 
 The girl nodded. *'Yes, I think I know 
 what that means, but I didn't know that this 
 was a way they went about it. I'll never 
 trust anyone again." 
 
 There were tears in her eyes, and I saw 
 how very tired she was. Poor little girl, not 
 much more than a child, but having to learn 
 already that for such as she, the death-trap 
 had been set, and she must be on the alert 
 always, lest she fall into it unawares. 
 
 "I had a friend once," she said sadly. 
 ''Her name was Evelyn Vaughn. She 
 worked with me in the store. She was very 
 pretty. One day she failed to report for 
 work. Nothing has ever been heard of her 
 since she disappeared. I was just wonder- 
 ing " 
 
 "I know about that ease," said I. "She 
 was found choked to death in this very dis- 
 trict. She had been lured in, just as they 
 
 95 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 were attempting to lure you. The man who 
 killed her was aided by city officials to make 
 his escape." 
 
 The girl turned very pale. 
 
 "But why," she asked, in. a horrified tone, 
 "does the law not stop such infamous prac- 
 tices?" 
 
 What could I say to enlighten the girl's 
 ignorance? 
 
 "The law," said I; "there is no law for 
 the poor man or woman. Were you to go to 
 the first policeman whom you met, with 
 your tale of near-abduction, you would be 
 talking to a man who has received instruc- 
 tions to collect tribute from such women as 
 the one who talked to you, but remember 
 she too was innocent like you, once, and the 
 mayor of the city who receives the tribute, 
 gives permission and police protection to 
 those who carry on the white slave traffic. 
 For girls like you and Evelyn "Vaughn, 
 there is no one who cares." 
 
 "I think I understand," said she, and I 
 saw that her mind was traveling from the 
 
 96 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 known to the unknown. "It is another form 
 of employer and employe." 
 
 ''Exactly," I answered, "and perhaps 
 you realize, from your own experiences, 
 that in aU dealings between capital and 
 labor the law is made for capital." 
 
 "The law IS capital," she added quietly. 
 "I see it all now." 
 
 There was a changed expression on her 
 face. The baffled look of the child had gone 
 forever, and in its place had come the dawn- 
 ing light of womanhood, that womanhood 
 which carries a double burden, and which 
 must ever struggle to attain a double vic- 
 tory. 
 
 I held out my hand. "Good-bye," I said, 
 trying to smile to make her smile, "I want 
 you to watch tomorrow's papers, and now 
 will you tell me your name?" 
 
 The girl took my hand, and she did smile 
 and tried to thank me in a pathetic little 
 way. 
 
 "My name is Poppy, Poppy Grant. My 
 mother died when I was bom, and they say 
 the last thing she said was, 'Call her for the 
 
 97 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 California wildflower that I have always 
 loved'. My father was a Socialist, and 
 taught me many things before he, too, 
 passed away." 
 
 I stood there imtil the little figure dis- 
 appeared from view, and then I turned and 
 entered Beryl's house again. 
 
 For two hours the woman and I talked. 
 ''The only reason I believe in you," she 
 said to me finally, "is because you are the 
 man who restored to Marguerite Lane the 
 six thousand dollars worth of diamonds 
 which the police took from her when she 
 languished in the Portland jail. They 
 warned us against you long ago, those 
 policemen and detectives who teach us to 
 trust them and then betray us when it suits 
 their whim to do so. We have always 
 worked for them and done what we were 
 told, but they are not on the square with 
 anyone." 
 
 ''No," said I, "they're not." 
 
 "Yet you are one of them," said Beryl. 
 "That I can not understand." 
 
 "I am with them, but not of them," said 
 
 98 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 I, "neither are you one of these women, 
 though found among them and doing their 
 work." 
 
 She looked at me strangely for a moment. 
 "How do you know thati" she asked, quiet- 
 
 "I know it in the same way that I know 
 many things, I am a detective by nature 
 rather than from choice. Beryl, tell me how 
 did you come to choose this life?" 
 
 "Women don't choose this life, she an- 
 swered, gravely. "Economic conditions 
 force them into it." She glanced out of the 
 window at the long row of houses opposite. 
 
 The clang of a street-car and the whistle 
 of a boat out on the bay came to us as noises 
 from a great distance. Beryl sighed deeply. 
 
 "Did you never stop to consider that fact, 
 Mr. Doyle ? I myself am the daughter of a 
 clergyman. The first thing that I can re- 
 member is sitting in a high old-fashioned 
 pew, with the music of the organ filling the 
 air, and watching my father up in the pulpit, 
 preaching. I think I must have fairly wor- 
 shiped my father. He was a very hand- 
 
 99 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 some man, and an orator. I can see him now, 
 bending over towards his congregation, 
 pleading with them to lead pure and honest 
 lives, and Mr, Doyle, I was not yet out of 
 my teens when I saw my mother's heart 
 break the day they brought my father home 
 to her from the house of one of his parish- 
 ioners. He had been suspected, and caught 
 by the husband of a woman with whom he 
 had been living for many months, and she 
 was not the only one whom he had wronged. 
 I never went to church again. Young as I 
 was, I started out in the world to make my 
 own way. My father's disgrace broke up 
 our home, and I was forced to seek work. I 
 sought a place tri a big department store, 
 and there I stood for long hours and sold 
 laces for five dollars a week. When I went 
 to the superintendent and told him I could 
 not live on that wage, he laughed and said, 
 *0f course you can't, but hasn't a pretty 
 girl like you, a friend?' I was too ignorant 
 to realize that I had been insulted, and I 
 went for a while longer walking blocks upon 
 blocks to save car-fare, standmg all day in 
 
 100 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 broken, and sometimes sopping shoes, and 
 making the food of one scant meal stretch 
 out to cover three. I used to wash my 
 clothes at night, and iron them in the gray 
 dawn of morning. One day I was selling 
 some expensive lace to a fashionable woman. 
 She was very arrogant and hard to please. 
 My head was aching and I made a slight 
 mistake in the price. She reported me to the 
 floor-man and I was fired. The next morn- 
 ing when I started out to look for a new job, 
 a woman, beautifully dressed, stopped me 
 and spoke the first kind words I had heard 
 in months. She sent me to a girls' club to 
 get warm and rested, and above aU else, to 
 get a square meal. There was no Detective 
 Doyle to intervene that day, and I feU into 
 the trap." 
 
 She gave a bitter laugh and got up and 
 walked to the window. 
 
 "And have you never seen any opportu- 
 nity to make a change?" I asked. 
 
 Beryl laughed harshly. "Do the dead 
 come back?" she replied. "As well for us 
 as for them be said 'That bourne from whose 
 
 101 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 shores no traveler returns'. Human society, 
 as represented in the church, in all forms 
 of social-welfare work, in business, and in 
 the state, has created us and made us what 
 we are, and now that we are too filthy for 
 them to touch, they use the 'system's hand' 
 to push us back in hell whenever they see 
 climbing out a sneering, sorrowing soul." 
 
 There was sUence in the sumptuous room 
 for many minutes before I could bring my- 
 self to speak. The vibrant tones of Beryl 
 seemed to be the voices of ten thousand 
 women crying out the tragedy of their Uves. 
 
 "I am in a position to know," said I, final- 
 ly, "that there is a raid planned — ^I believe 
 it is to take place tonight." 
 
 Beryl turned quickly. "A raid on our 
 houses'?" she questioned. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "it has been brought about 
 by the activity of the Ministerial Associa- 
 tion." 
 
 The irony of the situation struck us both 
 and we smiled. I rose. 
 
 "I am going now, but wiU see you in the 
 morning if you are compelled to appear in 
 
 102 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 court, and if ever a way opens, try to come 
 back." 
 
 "There is no way," she replied, and I left 
 her standing there with a look of utter hope- 
 lessness in her eyes. 
 
 The next morning witnessed a scene in 
 the hall of justice that will live in my mem- 
 ory as long as life lasts. The hall was an 
 enormous room, holding several thousand 
 people. The mayor of the city sat on a 
 raised platform before a table on which he 
 constantly hammered with his gavel. To his 
 right, was a group of the representative 
 ministers of the various Protestant denomi- 
 nations. Their spokesman, a prominent 
 clergyman of a fashionable and wealthy 
 congregation. The reverend gentlemen 
 shifted uneasily in their chairs, as the 
 criminals were brought in. There were 
 eleven hundred of them. Eleven hundred 
 girls and women. Quietly and orderly they 
 filed into the haU, and the officers who were 
 bringing them in fell back, and stood with 
 folded arms about the wall, and on guard at 
 the outer doors. 
 
 103 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The mayor rapped for silence, and the 
 great crowd of curious spectators, which had 
 gathered, ceased talking, and after the un- 
 winding of a certain amount of red-tape, the 
 spokesman for the Ministerial Association 
 rose to his feet. He told at some length of 
 the evils of the red-light district, known in 
 San Francisco as "Barbary Coast", and how 
 a year's jail sentence apiece was the least 
 the law could exact from a prostitute. This 
 man had thrilled his congregation on the 
 previous Sunday morning with a scholarly 
 sermon on the text "He that is without sin, 
 let him cast the first stone". But then it is 
 so easy and so safe to preach on the sins of 
 the Jews two thousand years ago; around 
 the Magdalene of that time they put a pro- 
 tectiug arm; around her descendant, who 
 passes us in the street today, they would put 
 a prison-wall and turn in scorn away. 
 
 When the minister finished his denuncia- 
 tion and urged that the chief executive of 
 the city recommend to the Judge that he 
 pass sufficiently severe a sentence, the 
 mayor turned to the throng of women wait- 
 
 104 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ing, and asked if any of them had anything 
 to say. 
 
 For a moment, no one spoke, then I saw 
 Beryl step forward. The mayor nodded to 
 her to proceed. She fastened her eyes on the 
 minister who had voiced the sentiments of 
 the association and said quietly: 
 
 "Mr. Ferndon, you have called us many 
 names. There seem to be so many names 
 for such as we, but is there no name for the 
 Minister of the Gospel who visits us in the 
 darkness of the night and condemns us in 
 the Ught of day?" 
 
 A murmur of exclamations were heard 
 throughout the court-room, and the mayor 
 rapped sharply for order. 
 
 Beryl continued in a sweet, sad voice, in 
 which there was no hate, only an infinite 
 weariness. 
 
 "I notice that you men, who have come 
 here in the long black coats that are such a 
 protection to you, and who have tried to 
 make us feel that you are filled with a 
 righteous indignation, are hanging your 
 heads in shame, so I forbear to discuss you 
 
 105 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 further. For ourselves," and here she 
 turned to address the mayor, "I would say, 
 your Honor, that had we the opportunity to 
 earn an honest living, we would avail our- 
 selves of it, but there is no such chance, 
 therefore there is no alternative but to serve 
 our sentence." 
 
 Absolute silence reigned for a second. 
 Public opinion as represented in the court- 
 room was undergoing a change. The mayor 
 realized it, and he used that diplomacy that 
 had always stood him in good stead. 
 
 "You say," said he, "that had you, and 
 the others with you, an opportunity to earn 
 an honest living, you would take it?" 
 
 Beryl nodded affirmatively. 
 
 "Very well," replied the man, rising and 
 raising his hand iu a dramatic gesture. "I 
 am going to give it to you. I am going to 
 take you women at your word, though there 
 are not many who would do so. I shall give 
 each and every one of you your chance." 
 The crowd pressed forward, the very air 
 was tense with the excitement of a coming 
 glimax, 
 
 106 
 
THI2 SYSl^i2M*S SAND 
 
 "Listen attentively to what I tell you. 
 Tomorrow morning, go to the Grlobe Depart- 
 ment Store on Market Street. Give the 
 superintendent there your real names, drop 
 the assumed ones you have used in the past, 
 and he will assign you to work. I can guar- 
 antee this, because I am the president of the 
 San Francisco Department Store Associa- 
 tion, and at this particular store, over eleven 
 hundred women walked out the other day, 
 and we need help." He didn't add, "and the 
 advertisement that this will be will tide over 
 any loss the strike has caused us." 
 
 But before anyone could speak, a commo- 
 tion at the back of the haU drew the atten- 
 tion of every person present. A man had 
 jumped up on a chair and his clear voice 
 rang out like a clarion call, "No, my sisters, 
 no! no! Better go back to the red-light dis- 
 trict whence you came than become strike- 
 breakers and go scabbing on a job. If you 
 accept the mayor's offer, you simply ex- 
 change one house of prostitution for an- 
 other, and better even go to jail than take 
 the work of these eleven hundred other girls 
 
 107 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and women and perhaps drive some of them 
 to Barbary Coast." 
 
 By this time, the chief of police, who was 
 present, caught the speaker from behind 
 and held him roughly by the collar. Before 
 the officer got him to the door, and while the 
 court-room was in a wUd state of confusion, 
 I stepped up and said, ''Never mind, Earl, 
 I will see that you get bond as soon as you 
 are arrested." 
 
 ''Why, Stevey, you here? What does this 
 mean?" 
 
 I didn't have time to answer, for Beryl 
 was speaking again, and the mayor was 
 calling loudly f ot order. 
 
 "I demand, your Honor," said she, "that 
 before we are taken away from here, this 
 man be allowed to finish what he had to say 
 to us. He called us — sisters and I want to 
 hear his message." 
 
 Earl was in the habit of deaUng with sit- 
 uations as he found them. Direct aetionist 
 that he was, he never waited for permission 
 — ^he simply broke away from the officer who 
 
 108 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 held him and plunged forward to the plat- 
 form where the mayor sat. 
 
 "I am the chairman of the strike commit- 
 tee of the organization that was locked out 
 of the mayor's department store because 
 they asked for a decent living wage. I know 
 what the women had to go through there, 
 and I know that the offer of this man is a 
 blind, and a ruse to bring you down to 
 greater humiliation. To drive you into that 
 whited sepulcher of his, already filled with 
 dead men's bones, would mean for you star- 
 vation under the guise of respectability, 
 and the driving of the other eleven hundred, 
 in the course of time, to take up that other 
 branch of the mayor's business, where they 
 would forsake respectability to appease the 
 pangs of hunger." He paused for an in- 
 stant, then hurried on. "You see here dem- 
 onstrated the alliance of church and state 
 and big business. My sisters, they are all 
 in league to strike the weak." 
 
 A spontaneous burst of applause greeted 
 these remarks. Earl's words had set the 
 place on fire. The mayor pounded' with his 
 
 109 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 gavel until the thing broke in his hand. He 
 had been able to control the capitalistic 
 press but he couldn't control Earl's tongue, 
 and the public was being informed concern- 
 ing conditions of which he and his colleagues 
 were spending millions of dollars to keep 
 them ignorant. His anger was intense, but 
 he kept his head. ''Tell your committee to 
 meet with me this afternoon," he said to 
 Earl, in a voice of assumed carelessness. **It 
 may be that we can come to some settle- 
 ment." Then turning to the Ministerial 
 Association, he continued briskly, "Have 
 you gentlemen anything further ^;o say?" 
 
 Mr. Ferndon coughed, rose to his feet, and 
 casting a reproachful look at Beryl, said, in 
 a hurt tone of voice, "I think, your Honor, 
 that there has been too much said already." 
 
 "Well, these accused were brought in 
 here at your instigation. Do you still insist 
 that they merit a year apiece in prison?" 
 
 Mr. Ferndon waved his hand, as if dis- 
 claiming responsibility for the whole affair, 
 and replied, "I think, your Honor, that 
 whatever you see fit to do will be entirely 
 satisfactory to us." 
 
 110 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Quite so," murmured the reverend 
 chorus. 
 
 One of them looked importantly at his 
 watch, " I have an appointment with the 
 secretary of the Y. M. C. A.," he whispered. 
 "It might be just as weU for us to be go- 
 ing." They rose and walked haughtily out 
 of the hall of justice. The mayor looked 
 after them with an expression of helpless- 
 ness, as if he were deserted in his hour of 
 need. Then anger took possession of him, 
 and he turned wrathfuUy upon Earl. 
 
 "You have undertaken to advise these 
 women," he said, sarcastically. "I have a 
 good mind to surrender the whole eleven 
 hundred of them over to you." 
 
 "I accept the responsibility," repHed 
 Earl, in a quiet voice. 
 
 The mayor smiled cruelly. Could he ask 
 a sweeter bit of revenge ? 
 
 "Very well, " said he, "but remember, you 
 are held under penalty of the law. If one of 
 them is caught on Barbary Coast again, you 
 are the one who will serve a yeaT's sentence 
 in prison." 
 
 Ill 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Earl, and the 
 women who saw that this strange man was 
 willing to assume guardianship over them 
 stared into one another's faces as if waking 
 from a nightmare. In all the world, they did 
 not know of one friend to anyone of them, 
 and their faith in humanity which had died, 
 was resurrected. 
 
 That night I went to the big mass-meet- 
 ing in the hall rented by the Retail Clerks' 
 Association, and presided over by Earl, who 
 acted as chairman. It was a strang6 com- 
 mingling of exploited womanhood. The 
 ousted employes of the store on, Market 
 Street, and the women who had had their 
 house raided, and who had been paroled to 
 Earl. They were all there, and each one 
 carried a tale of suffering in her face. 
 Poppy, as the captain of her picket-squad, 
 sat on the platform with Earl, and soon after 
 the meeting opened, she stepped to the 
 front, and holding out her hands to the new- 
 comers, said in a sweet girlish voice: 
 
 "Comrades, we welcome you here tonight. 
 We are all trying to do the same thing, de- 
 
 112 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 velop our class-consciousness, and earn our 
 daily bread. We will all eventually be of one 
 mind. Let us strengthen the solidarity of 
 the worker, and strive to bring about the 
 day when our common enemy, the industrial 
 master, will no longer be in a position to 
 prosecute and persecute us." 
 
 She sat down amid the hand-clapping of 
 those present, and Earl rose and directed 
 his remarks to the assembled clerks. 
 
 "Sisters, your committee met with the 
 board of managers of the G-lobe Department 
 (Store this afternoon, and I am glad to be 
 able to announce to you, that owing to a 
 certain amount of publicity which the strike 
 has caused, though the daily papers never 
 once mentioned it, the managers have de- 
 cided to grant your demands. In addition to 
 the real issue of the strike, the question 
 came up concerning the necessity of putting 
 more clerks behind the counters. We 
 showed the employers that every employe 
 was doing double duty, thus endangering 
 health and efficiency. For each clerk who 
 went out, two are to go back, and we are to 
 have a union-shop." 
 
 113 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 When the applause these words brought 
 forth had subsided, Earl turned to the new- 
 comers and said: 
 
 "My sisters, there is only one way out for 
 you, and that is through the channels of or- 
 ganized labor. The union is the only insti- 
 tution on God's earth that will fight to see 
 to it that you get a chance to live. There are 
 three planks in our platform: wages, hours 
 and conditions, but when you've said that, 
 you've really said it all, except that we are 
 also the only brotherhood that will hold out 
 to you the right hand of fellowship and ask 
 you not a question. Before the evening is 
 over, we wiU receive your applications to 
 membership, and tomorrow you can go to 
 work. In the meantime, are there any wom- 
 en present who would be willing to tell us 
 something of their experiences with the 
 powers that are leagued against us?" 
 
 Several stood up, and selecting three out 
 of the number, Earl asked them to come to 
 the platform. 
 
 "I was an actress," said the first to speak. 
 "I had a very dear friend in the daughter of 
 
 114 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 a judge who lived in the town where our 
 stock company was playing. They were 
 wealthy people, and I used to like to go to 
 my friend's beautiful home whenever I had 
 the time, for I was away from aU my kin, 
 and often very lonely. Her father took a 
 fancy to me, and did many things for me, 
 which I thought were done because I was 
 his daughter's friend, but in reality, he was 
 starting to bring about my downfall. One 
 evening he told me to meet him and he 
 would take me out to his home in his car. 
 Trustingly, I went to the place indicated, 
 but when I got there, I was greeted by a 
 private detective who arrested me on a 
 charge of immorality. I was thrown into 
 jail, and the next morning when I told the 
 Court that I was absolutely innocent, I was 
 laughed at and turned over to the care of a 
 rescue-mission. Here I got an insight into 
 the way these so-called rescue homes are 
 run. The day I was taken there they were 
 out on the street soliciting funds for fallen 
 girls, girls as innocent as I was, but who 
 were being handed over to the city author- 
 
 115 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ities, one by one, and placed by them in 
 houses where no one ever heard from them 
 again. The man who took from me every- 
 thing I had was a well-known contributor 
 to all charitable enterprises, these very en- 
 terprises being usually cloaks to cover in- 
 iquity, but the public, reading of this judge 
 who signed large checks for uplift schemes, 
 said reverently, 'There goes a G-odly man'. 
 It's for those behind the scenes to know 
 that the trees are only made of canvas." She 
 sat down and another took her place. 
 
 Such a sad-eyed, sweet-faced woman. It 
 didn't seem possible that those names which 
 the Reverend Mr. Ferndon had used could 
 have been applied to her. 
 
 "When I was a little child, a very little 
 child, about eight years old, I should say, 
 I learned aU of the evil of life in the city's 
 pubUe schools. Later I became a teacher in 
 that same environment. A man who was a 
 member of the Board of Education gained 
 my confidence. He threatened me with the 
 loss of my position when I besought him to 
 marry me, and when the time came that I 
 
 116 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 could no longer teach, he sent me, under an 
 assumed name, to one of the maternity 
 homes which he, as an influential member 
 of the community, helped to maintain. An* 
 other child of his, born of another teacher, 
 came into this world the same year mine 
 did, but owing to their father's political 
 pull, they disappeared simultaneously. I 
 was transferred by the nurse in charge of 
 my ward to what they called another sani- 
 tarium, but after a woman has once entered 
 there, she feels that she can never come out 
 again. People on the outside cannot realize 
 these things. They would not believe us, 
 were we to tell them, but we are in a position 
 to turn the tables for aU time if they only 
 knew that our revelations are the awful 
 truth. " This last was said in a whisper, and 
 the woman sat down too weak to go on. She 
 was dying fast, a victim of the great white 
 plague. 
 
 A pYetty factory girl, or rather she had 
 been a factory girl once, was the last 
 speaker. 
 
 "I was coming home from work one 
 
 117 
 
THE SYSTEM*S HAND 
 
 night," she began, very simply, "and was 
 holding tight my pay envelope. It didn't 
 contain much, but it meant a whole lot to 
 my sick, widowed mother and younger 
 brothers and sisters. There were seven of 
 us, and we lived in a miserable little four- 
 room flat, and it took us all, but the baby, 
 contributing a few dimes a week, to keep 
 the roof over our heads. Not one of the chil- 
 dren, whose ages we had had to lie about, 
 but worked for corporations that clear mil- 
 lions in excess profits every year, and we 
 had never once had enough to eat any day 
 in our lives. Even so, we would have been 
 happy together, if they hadn't reached out 
 and snatched me from my poor mother, who 
 has since died of a broken heart. This night 
 I was coming home, a man whom I learned 
 afterwards was a paid detective, stopped 
 me, took my pay envelope from me, and put 
 me under arrest for a crime I had never 
 even heard of. When he showed me his 
 badge, I thought he was some regular officer, 
 and I protested my innocence. My employer 
 who had engaged him to do this thing came 
 
 118 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 by just then and I appealed to him, but he 
 only sneered and said that I could consider 
 myself discharged, since I was the kind that 
 made scenes on the street, and he directed 
 the man to take me to jail. While there, I 
 was placed in a cell with three other women 
 who had been driven to such depths of de- 
 spair and degradation that association with 
 them, and hearing their language makes a 
 girl almost think she is one of the same kind. 
 I know now that this is a very common prac- 
 tice to force false confessions, and to make 
 a girl believe that it is already too late for 
 her to ever try to turn back. Still I declared 
 my innocence when I was brought up for 
 trial, but what is the word of a penniless 
 working-girl against a frame-up?" 
 
 The employes of the store were weeping. 
 It was all so terrible and so true. Earl rose, 
 and stood with bowed head silent for a mo- 
 ment. Then he raised his eyes. "And this is 
 America," was all he said. 
 
 119 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A rainy Sunday morning in Chicago, I 
 looked out from the window of my loop 
 hotel and then picked up a time table. I 
 could leave for New York that night, and 
 be there in time to attend to the business 
 that was bringing me East. Then a strange 
 feeling came over me. It was almost as if I 
 could hear a voice saying, "It will be a long 
 time before you leave this city." I stood 
 watching the crowds below on the side- 
 walks, the bobbing umbrellas appearing as 
 so many huge black bugs crawling here and 
 there. 
 
 I wondered if there was a soul in all the 
 great city whom I knew. It was April, the 
 day was fairly warm, and the rain fell in- 
 cessantly. To the East, I could see Lake 
 Michigan, and for a moment, it made me 
 think of the ocean forever breaking on the 
 shores of California, and of a pair of eyes 
 the color of that ocean. 
 
 The telephone in my room rang, and I 
 picked up the receiver. 
 
 121 . . 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Wire for you— it's collect, though," said 
 the hotel clerk. 
 
 "All right, send it up." A moment later 
 I was smiling at the scrap of paper which 
 read: "Saw your name in the papers. Want 
 to disclose important information. Stay in 
 Chicago till I get there. Wire me transpor- 
 tation. (Signed) Frank White, Eagles 
 Pass, Oregon." 
 
 Was some one merely working me to get 
 a free fare to the Mid-West city, or was it 
 a frame-up to trap me and make me a pris- 
 oner? But still more likely it was an 
 arrangement to catch and hold me long 
 enough to propose a bribe that I quit opera- 
 tions in behalf of the toilers and get out of 
 the country. Whatever it was, I would find 
 out. Money spent that way would be well 
 invested. I wired the transportation, and 
 also wired New York that I was delayed. It 
 was the next evening that I again encoun- 
 tered Earl. He had told me when he left San 
 Francisco that he might make Chicago his 
 headquarters for a while, but I had lost 
 track of him during the months that I re- 
 
 122 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 mained in the West— montlis that had given 
 me many glimpses of Poppy in the store, of 
 Poppy hurrying to and from work in the 
 California sunshine, and of Poppy smiling 
 confidently up at me when I told her stories 
 of the places I had seen. 
 
 When I came across Earl, it was a happy 
 surprise. I had drifted into a meeting on 
 the West Side, held under the auspices of 
 the Workers' Institute. Here, the men and 
 women who were hungry for an education, 
 came from shop and factory, after the long 
 day's work was over, and studied the rudi- 
 ments of English and Sociology, of History 
 and Economics, and listened to lectures that 
 would have put to shame many a university 
 professor, in point of accuracy and lucidity. 
 
 Earl was just finishing a brief talk on the 
 principles of trade-unionism. I caught the 
 words, "A man said to me the other day, 
 'You have no right to fix the limits of the 
 wages the employers pay the employes', and 
 I answered, 'We do not fix them going up, 
 only going down. We never say anything 
 about the maximum, we only stress the 
 minimum'." 123 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 When he saw me sitting near the plat- 
 form, he hurried down and took me afEec- 
 tionately by the hand. 
 
 "Why, Stevey, this is fine. When did you 
 come to town?" 
 
 I explained my situation. Earl listened, 
 then linked his arm in mine, and together 
 we left the hall, and strolled up the street. 
 He told me of his present work and what he 
 hoped to accomplish. 
 
 "I'm with the garment- workers now," he 
 said. "They're organizing rapidly, but it's 
 awful what the needle trades have aU been 
 through. Every strike means bloodshed, 
 but it means a few cents more in pay. The 
 other night, I saw twenty thousand men and 
 women, representing seventeen nationali- 
 ties, marching like a great silent army away 
 from a haU that they had rented, and which 
 had been locked in their faces, and they 
 made no complaint; their endurance is some- 
 thing magnificent, but they are hungry, 
 Stevey, they are hungry all the time. Some- 
 times I say to myself, 'How long can a hun- 
 gry man lastl'and then to watch them 
 
 124 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 making garments. Some day the piece- 
 work system will have to go, but in the 
 meantime, a hundred thousand lives will go 
 to bring about the transformation. Stevey, 
 they speed them up in those sweat-shops tiU 
 it makes your heart sick to see it. Half the 
 workers have consumption, and they cough 
 and spit all day, and sew like mad to keep a 
 little home together, a home that means a 
 couple of dark rooms up a long flight of 
 stairs. When you go in and strike a match, 
 you see the bugs running over the walls and 
 the rats scurrying into comer holes. Most 
 likely a lot of little kids have just huddled 
 together all day waiting for the parents to 
 come home from the factory to bring them 
 supper. God, if the bosses only treated the 
 poor employe as well as they do their ma- 
 chinery, he wouldn't complain, but they 
 don't, 'cause they keep the machinery well- 
 oiled and they don't keep the worker well- 
 fed." 
 
 We walked on in silence for a while, and 
 Earl continued: 
 
 "The women are to be pitied the most. 
 
 126 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 As a man, I can't get to the bottom of half 
 the trouble. We need a girl to work among 
 them. I'd like to get that little San Fran- 
 cisco red-head to come on and take up 
 organizing. It might be arranged. You re- 
 member the one named Poppy, don't you?" 
 
 Remember Poppy? Had I ever forgotten 
 her for a single hour? And here was Earl 
 speaking in his usual direct way, and with- 
 out a particle of sentiment. 
 
 "She'd be good at it, don't you think so?" 
 he went on. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I think she would be good 
 at anything she did." 
 
 "Awfully bright little girl," he added, 
 and then went back to the subject of the 
 struggle of the unorganized worker, but I 
 didn't hear much. I was thinking of the girl 
 named Poppy, and how Earl had called her 
 a little red-head. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped before a shabby 
 frame building, and compared the number 
 above the door with one written on a scrap 
 of paper which he held. 
 
 "Steve, this is where I have to make a 
 
 126 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 little talk tonight. A whole factory of 
 cigar-makers was locked out the other day. 
 There is no branch of industry in which the 
 workers are paid less or treated worse. 
 Come on up with me, I want you to hear 
 what some of them have to say. They are 
 wonderful. Such patience, such endurance, 
 in the face of privations and persecutions 
 that are past relating. ' ' 
 
 We ascended a narrow creaky stairway 
 and at the far end of a very dirty hall, 
 turned and entered a dimly lit hall where 
 a large group of toilers, both men and 
 women, and comprising several nationali- 
 ties, sat and listened to the words of an edu- 
 cated Polish boy, who was speaking in Eng- 
 lish and with great fervor. Dropping into 
 a seat beside a Slavic woman, who was 
 crocheting, I was in time to hear him say: 
 "Andrew Carnegie has made millions out of 
 the steel industry, and has given away many 
 of these millions in establishing libraries all 
 over the country, which is a commendable 
 thing to do, for we all appreciate libraries, 
 but evidently old Andy has never stopped 
 
 127 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to consider the fact that these millions 
 which have built the Kbraries have been 
 produced by the workers toiling twelve 
 hours a day in the steel mills. It is pitiful 
 that it hasn't occurred to his mind that 
 while a library is a very good thing indeed, 
 the workers who have made it possible for 
 him to build them never get time to read the 
 books. 
 
 "John D, Rockefeller has given a hun- 
 dred million dollars to the founding of med- 
 ical institutions, which is undoubtedly con- 
 tributing to a noble cause, but I, a poor com- 
 mon man, with a common brain, a mere frag- 
 ment of the great piece of human machinery 
 which has made possible the erection of 
 these fine laboratories, cannot help asking 
 why Mr. Rockefeller did not spend that 
 hundred million dollars in building clean 
 and sanitary shops, and why he did not pay 
 the employes a living wage with which to 
 buy sufi&cient nourishing food to enable 
 them to live and to buy habitable homes 
 where disease was not being bred? And 
 when I stop to think of these things, I real- 
 
 128 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ize how the Rockefeller system of doing 
 business has rendered me a fit subject for 
 the great white plague by compelling me to 
 labor long hours in a filthy factory and to 
 live in a hovel rather than a home ; and when 
 I go for an examination to a doctor, trained 
 under the Rockefeller plan, and he tells me 
 that if I leave at once for Arizona and live 
 according to the highest American stand- 
 ards, I may survive for six months or per- 
 haps a little longer, and I haven't a cent to 
 do it on, I cannot see how Mr. Rockefeller's 
 charity has done me a world of good. 
 
 ''I look about and observe the schools and 
 imiversities this wealthy man has endowed, 
 thus making his name famous, and don't 
 misunderstand me and think I don't appre- 
 ciate places of learning, for I do, so do all 
 the toilers, but what breaks our hearts is to 
 realize that it has been made impossible for 
 us ever to attend them. I am only a common 
 man with a common brain, and I see only 
 with the eyes of experience through 
 which I have passed, and I know that it 
 is the ambition of every normal young 
 
 129 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 man to possess a home for his wife and 
 children, and how some, by almost super- 
 human efforts, have gone to the outskirts 
 of town and acquired a start ia this 
 direction. And I have seen how a httle 
 growing family, when settled in this newly 
 reaUzed dream to which a mortgage a mile 
 long is attached, sees each year a hundred 
 dollars less to pay on the cherished home. 
 And when the oldest boy reaches the age of 
 fourteen, without ever knowing what it was 
 to have enough to eat, and the parents, their 
 he'arts aching to send him to one of these 
 fine Rockefeller colleges, have instead to 
 swear out a false statement about his age 
 so the boy can do a man's work in a sweat- 
 shop to help with the final payments and 
 prevent a forecolsure of the mortgage, I 
 can't get very enthusiastic about the phil- 
 anthropy of the 'richest man in America'." 
 
 A fit of coughing shook the speaker, and 
 he held a handkerchief to his mouths When 
 he took it away, it was stained with blood. 
 
 A woman, sitting on the other side of the 
 one who was crocheting, rocked a whimper- 
 
 130 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ing baby in her arms, and buttoned up her 
 dress, across her empty breasts. "It's no 
 use trying to nurse him," she remarked to 
 her companion. "We've only had a bit of 
 stale rye bread in the room for days and my 
 milk is all dried up." 
 
 The Polish boy had regained his strength 
 again, and though very pale as a result of 
 the hemorrhage, went on speaking: 
 
 "We come to this country, we foreigners, 
 hearing it to be a land of plenty and of free- 
 dom, but the treatment accorded us is worse 
 than that accorded cattle. We are so hope- 
 ful when we come. We are so ambitious, but 
 the rich manufacturers who employ us say 
 among themselves,. 'We'll keep the for- 
 eigner down and that will keep the wages 
 down'. We want to be real Americans but 
 they don't want patriots — ^they want ma- 
 chines, and so we never get a chance to de- 
 velop — ^we only get a chance to die." 
 
 After a while. Earl brought the boy over 
 to where I sat and introduced him, just as 
 Joe. I held out my hand. "It's all true, 
 Joe," said I, "but remember, the foreigner 
 won't die — there are too many of him." 
 
 131 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Three niglits later, the man White 
 arrived, and I met him as I had wired him 
 I would do, in the lobby of my hotel. He 
 had probably seen a picture of me some- 
 where in a paper, for he knew me, and as I 
 came into the crowded lobby, and looked 
 about at the ever-shifting panorama of 
 human beings, coming and going through 
 the swinging doors, moving swiftly across 
 the tiled space, between elevator and desk, 
 here today and gone tomorrow, this stranger 
 stepped up to me, and held out his hand. 
 
 "I am White," was all he said, and with 
 that quick intuitive appraisal of a man 
 which was the gift bestowed upon me by a 
 long line of ancestors who had been proud 
 to call themselves detectives, I knew I had 
 invested well when I had sent for him to 
 come to Chicago. 
 
 I sought a secluded comer, and we sat 
 down on the heavily upholstered chairs. I 
 was the first to break the silence that en- 
 sued. White struck me as a man who would 
 never be in a hurry about anything. A great 
 leisureliness enveloped him. He was a frail, 
 
 132 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 handsome man of about my own age with 
 prematurely gray hair and a qiiiet, thought- 
 ful manner. He watched the restless throng 
 of people who were passing back and forth 
 just out of ear-shot. 
 
 "I like to see a lot of men and women 
 moving freely, each intent on some busi- 
 ness," said he, with a wistful smile. "There 
 was such a long time when I saw so little, 
 only just thought and thought." He leaned 
 back in the big chair wearily and sighed. I 
 looked at his well-worn garments, neat but 
 frayed, and considerably out of date. 
 
 ''You have been in the country?" I asked, 
 
 "I have been in prison," he answered. 
 
 A boy called loudly the name of a wealthy 
 New York man he was paging. A band of 
 musicians, concealed behind a bank of arti- 
 ficial palm trees, played softly the popular 
 airs of the day, and two society women, with 
 an inartistic amount of rouge on their faces, 
 strolled by, laughing gayly. 
 
 "It's an experience that one can't de- 
 scribe," he continued. 
 
 "You know you get so much time to think 
 
 133 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 in those long, long days. You are shut in 
 by high stone walls, and the terrible lone- 
 liness of the life gets you at first. Then you 
 begin to think. It's this thinking — thinking, 
 that makes a philosopher out of you." 
 
 "But tell me," I asked, "how did you 
 come to seek me*?" 
 
 "Do you remember arresting that rich 
 banker Vardoe in Southern- Washington, for 
 kilhng a young girl, when an innocent man 
 had been serving a sentence for fifteen years 
 for an act he knew nothing at aU about? 
 WeU, you are the one who can help us now." 
 
 "Who do you mean by us?" I asked. 
 
 "There are six others still in prison — ^vic- 
 tims of the same frame-up that sent me 
 there. I swore to a true alibi for them, and 
 I was convicted of perjury. They are in, 
 serving a life sentence for a murder com- 
 mitted by someone else." 
 
 "And the real criminal'?" I asked. 
 
 "He is still at large. It was like this, Mr. 
 Doyle. A sheriff of the county in which I 
 lived had been killed. Some private detec- 
 tives testified that they had overheard my 
 
 134 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 comrades and myself plotting to murder 
 this man, and the mayor of an adjoining 
 city, and even the President of the United 
 States. We were absolutely innocent of any 
 such ideas, but we belonged to an organiza- 
 tion that was feared and hated by the 
 money-powered element and hence the 
 frame-up. Why, Mr. Doyle, these hired de- 
 tectives told how they had bored holes in 
 the waU of a room in a certain hotel, and 
 had listened to our conversation, when, as a 
 matter of fact, none of my comrades nor my- 
 self had ever been in that particular build- 
 ing." 
 
 White then went on to tell me many de- 
 tails of a case with which I was already 
 familiar. I let him finish, and noted how ac- 
 curately and truthfully he spoke. 
 
 Then I said, "And now what can I do 
 for you*?" 
 
 "Forme? Nothing. But my comrades — ^I 
 want you to get them out of prison." 
 
 "White, I know all about this infamous 
 story, more than you think I know. I can 
 and will file an affidavit exposing the alleged 
 
 135 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 criminal. This will bring about the release 
 of your friends, but I am not in a position to 
 get justice meted out to the murderer for 
 the fact that he belongs to a wealthy society 
 family, and is part owner of a private de- 
 tective agency renders him immune." 
 
 White nodded. "I know that, but Mr. 
 Doyle, we do not desire to see him punished 
 — ^we only aslf for our own liberty." 
 
 ''You are very charitable," I remarked. 
 
 ' ' Charitable ? " he echoed. ' 'We believe in 
 brotherly love, if that is what you mean, and 
 remember the worker builds, he doesn't like 
 to tear down." 
 
 "And will you now go back to work?" I 
 asked. 
 
 White shook his head. "There is no de- 
 cent work open to the ex-convict," he re- 
 plied. "After I came out of prison, at the 
 end of a long, cruel sentence, for simply tell- 
 ing the truth, I found that every door was 
 shut in my face. I went from place to place. 
 It was no use. Finally, hungry and heart- 
 sick, I found myself engaged, along with 
 fifty other ex-convicts, to go into a lumber- 
 
 136 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 camp up North and work as strike-breakers. 
 None of us realized that we were to be used 
 for that purpose. We were just so glad to 
 get another job again. 
 
 "The conditions under which the men had 
 vv'orked were something past describing. I 
 did not wonder that they had struck, but we 
 did not learn this at the time. Later, when 
 we found out that they were on strike, I, 
 with some of the others, left. In a bunk- 
 house of very small dimensions, a hundred 
 and fifty men had to sleep. The beds were 
 merely narrow ledges m tiers of three 
 around the sides of the wall. Every one 
 brought in his own blankets, but they soon 
 became so filled with vermin that to wrap 
 oneself in them was torture. Four tin wash 
 basins were all that the hundred and fifty 
 men had in which to bathe, after they came 
 in from work sweating and covered with 
 dirt. The stench of the foul towels and the 
 three hundred socks hanging round the 
 stove to dry was almost beyond what human 
 beings could endure. We rose and ate a 
 frugal breakfast on a rough board table by 
 
 137 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 candle-light, and if you have ever been in 
 the timber lands, you know what the day's 
 work meant." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said I, and then I told 
 him something of my experiences as a lad 
 in the Minnesota forests. White roused him- 
 self from the reverie into which he had 
 fallen while listening to my tales of the 
 wrongs and agonies of the workers, and 
 held out his hand. 
 
 "I have no way of thanking you for what 
 you are going to do for my comrades," said 
 he. "I even had to ask you to bring me here, 
 but some day I'll pay it back. I'm a car- 
 penter by trade. Do you think that if I were 
 to go under an assumed name, I could get 
 work here in Chicago?" 
 
 "I'll see to it that you get a job," said I, 
 "but remember, you owe me nothing." 
 
 White looked at me with a gratitude that 
 was beautiful to see. 
 
 "My comrades," he said softly. "Mr. 
 Doyle, I've wondered and wondered what 
 on earth I could ever do to get them out, and 
 it just came to me like a flash one day that 
 
 138 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HANB 
 
 you were the man to see. If you hadn't 
 sent for me, I would have started in walk- 
 ing and I'd have walked until I found you. 
 I heard a man say about you once, 'You 
 can't buy Doyle'." 
 
 I thanked him for these words, and he 
 said: 
 
 ''Some day won't you try to do what you 
 can to abolish the third degree?" 
 
 "That has long been my ambition," I re- 
 plied, and he continued: 
 
 "It was so terrible the way they treated 
 tls after we were taken into custody. Being 
 innocent, we had nothing to confess, but 
 they put us into the black hole or dungeon, 
 and kept us there for forty-eight hours, as 
 far as I can estimate, without food or drink. 
 Then they took us out one by one and placed 
 us in a room where six detectives prodded 
 us with questions, and struck us heavy 
 blows in the face. After failing to get any 
 information, we were again herded into One 
 cell and this completed the once-over. There 
 were twelve of us at this time, but five of 
 the men contracted pneumonia soon after 
 
 139 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the persecutions began, and died in prison. 
 The 'twice-over' was then tried to bring 
 about a perjured confession. This is the 
 sweat-box, an air-tight compartment ten by 
 ten by eight feet square. The steam is 
 turned on and there in a few minutes the 
 prisoner becomes so sick and faint that he 
 falls exhausted to the floor, and in that at- 
 mosphere he lies for many hours. In this 
 weakened condition, he is again questioned, 
 and oft-times he is so far gone that he will 
 answer *yes' to any question put to him. I 
 kept a tight rein on myseK, however, and 
 refused to lie, even in the face of death. 
 Then comes the second confinement to the 
 cell, and another period of torture without a 
 particle of nourishment. If a man has failed 
 to break imder these methods of obtaining a 
 confession from him, he is submitted to 
 some form of the third degree. In my case 
 it consisted of being stripped and tied to a 
 wooden cross and propped against the wall. 
 A jail physician was simamoned, and he 
 tested my heart to see how far they could 
 safely go without killing me. Then attend- 
 
 140 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ants turned the fire hose full force upon my 
 naked body and kept the pressure up until 
 the doctor said I could stand no more. As a 
 great modem writer has said, 'The secret 
 horrors of the prison are never revealed to 
 the outside world'. In the case of one of my 
 comrades, the prosecuting attorney and an- 
 other man took him into a padded box of a 
 room, known as the * crazy cell' and tying a 
 rope about his neck, told him to sign his 
 name to a paper at once before they hanged 
 him, but he was very game. So weak that 
 he could not speak, he shook his head, for 
 he knew the paper was a confession of 
 guilt." 
 
 As I sat there listening to White speak- 
 ing in his quiet forceful way, his voice full 
 of the emotion that he felt, I thought to my- 
 self, "a, few more years and this evil will 
 be abated", but as late as Armistice Day, 
 1919, which found me still in Chicago, the 
 toilers of the great city, the industrial cen- 
 ter of America, were being subjected to the 
 agonies of the third degree and there were 
 a few new tortures added since the day that 
 White had told of. 
 
 141 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Come here tonight," said I, "and I will 
 take you over to a meeting of one of the car- 
 penters ' locals and introduce you to the 
 president, and they will be glad to receive 
 you and take you into the union. ' ' 
 
 Then I put my hand on his shoulder. 
 "White," said I, "I've seen a good deal of 
 life in my time, and the odds are so fear- 
 fully against the men and women who do not 
 belong to the moneyed class that I would 
 give up the fight for them as a losing battle 
 were it not for organized labor." 
 
 White smiled. "I guess you didn't know I 
 carried a card," said he. "But it makes me 
 glad to hear you, who are not a union man, 
 say these words." 
 
 He stood watching the mass of palm trees 
 behind which the musicians were concealed. 
 They were playing the closing number of 
 their program, "The Last Rose of Sum- 
 mer." 
 
 "That was written by a man in the deatk 
 chamber," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "and you, who came so 
 near to being placed in one yourself, have no 
 
 142 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 hatred in your heart for anyone, not even 
 your enemies. Where did you learn this 
 breadth of view — this humaneness?" 
 
 White did not reply at once, and I went 
 on: "There is a peacefulness about an atti- 
 tude of mind like yours and a constructive- 
 ness that is the very antithesis of all de- 
 structive doctrines. You seem to have 
 reached a great height through mental and 
 moral development — can you account for 
 itr' 
 
 Then White turned and looked at me with 
 his thoughtful, sorrowful eyes, and an- 
 swered very simply, "Mr. Doyle, I am a 
 product of poverty and persecution, but 
 like the majority of exploited workers I 
 have undergone a spiritual transformation 
 even when my poor body cried for food and 
 flinched from blows. With my suffering 
 brothers and sisters the world over, we are 
 too busy trying to help each other out of 
 misery to stop and plan and plot revenge." 
 
 143 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mrs. O'Brien smoothed the sheet that 
 covered the tossing little form on the bed, 
 and choked to keep back the tears that 
 would fall. The cars on Cottage Grrove Ave- 
 nue clanged noisily past the dingy basement 
 flat. Children playing on the sidewalk 
 screamed and quarreled, and the heat of a 
 summer night in Chicago made breathless 
 all the air. 
 
 "He's a-dying, Mr. Doyle," the poor 
 mother murmured more than once. "He's 
 a-going just like little Margy went that first 
 summer after we come to Chicago. Oh, my 
 God, I can't give up my baby, seems like I 
 just can't, Mr. Doyle. Tell me, what shall 
 I do? What shall I do?" 
 
 "It's so hot in here," said I. "Perhaps if 
 I were to carry him out on the steps and sit 
 there with him in my arms, he'd get a breath 
 more of air." 
 
 The baby opened his heavy eyes and 
 looked up at me ; a smile flickered across the 
 
 145 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 pinched little face, and he tried to hold out 
 his thin white hands. 
 
 "See," said I, "he heard us and wants 
 to go." 
 
 I stooped and lifted the tiny, emaciated 
 form and, followed by the mother, who car- 
 ried a ragged pillow, we went out into a 
 dark hall-way, up a few steps and into a 
 scrap of a coUrt-yard, where the smoke of 
 years had settled, and where the refuse of a 
 dozen families who occupied the tenement 
 house had accumulated. I pushed some 
 rusty tomato cans off a dirty soap-box, and 
 sat down with the dying child in my arms. 
 Overhead, the clear blue sky and the stars 
 that I had loved and studied as a boy. Poor 
 little lad — bom and struggling for a short 
 year and a half in this tenement district 
 would soon be knowing the secrets of the 
 firmament. The -other O'Brien children, all 
 under-nourished, romped or fretted about, 
 as the mood suited them. The mother talked 
 with a woman who leaned from an upper 
 window and who advised her what to do. 
 
 "Ain't the doctor coming back again?" 
 she called, shrilly. 
 
 146 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 *'He said it warn't no use," answered 
 Mrs. O'Brien. "We owe him an awful lot 
 now." 
 
 After a while the father came home from 
 work. One noticed not the greasy overalls, 
 the toil-worn hands that clutched a tia din- 
 ner pail, but his anxious frightened counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "How is he tonight?" he whispered gent- 
 ly, as he gazed down on the sleeping child. 
 I didn't answer because I couldn't. He 
 stroked the little form tenderly, and then 
 he put his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 "It's mighty good of you, Doyle, to take 
 such an interest in the baby." 
 
 "This house is all the home I've got," 
 said I. "Ever since I came to room here, 
 I've watched over this little chap and it al- 
 ways seemed to me that he was a bit too 
 fine for this tough old world. O'Brien, he 
 is going to miss a lot of misery. Can't you 
 bring yourself to look at it that way?" But 
 he only shook his head, and the tears ran 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 "No, I can't," he replied. "If he goes, 
 
 147 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 I'll always be thinking how he didn't get his 
 chance. You don't know what it is to be a 
 father,. Doyle. Our children is aU the wealth 
 we workers got, and when they take them 
 from us, we see red for a while, that's aU. 
 I've been there before, and I know." 
 
 Back and forth through the narrow lit- 
 tered court-yard, the inmates of the big 
 brick tenement house kept passing. Two 
 young girls who worked in a nearby laun- 
 dry stopped to inquire for the baby. 
 
 "Gee, ain't this heat something awful?" 
 said one. 
 
 "Seems like we ought to be able to stand 
 it after that mangle room all day," re- 
 marked her companion. "Come on, I've got 
 a date with a kid what's going to set us up 
 to a couple of ice-cream cones, — so long, Mr. 
 Doyle," and they sauntered off, trying to 
 make the best of poverty, which is ever the 
 way with youth, but O'Brien only stared 
 ahead of him, and in his eyes was that 
 haunted, hopeless look which comes to those 
 who have fought and fought and never won. 
 
 "A machinist gets paid so little," said he, 
 
 148 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 * * and they got so much to pay us with. Why, 
 Doyle, I work twelve hours out of the 
 twenty-four for a company that's composed 
 of millionaires, and though I'm a skilled 
 workman, I can't make enough to feed the 
 wife and children. This baby began failing 
 when we had to cut down on his milk supply, 
 and the little we got soured 'cause the ice- 
 man don't come up this block, a block that's 
 got two hundred and fifty-three children in 
 it. Just think of that, only last week they 
 counted two hundred and fifty-three." 
 
 The next morning the total was two him- 
 dred and fifty-two, and the O'Brien baby 
 was finding out about the starry heavens 
 and would never have to trouble with the 
 moral law. Mrs. O'Brien sat by the little 
 form that lay so still now, and smoothed the 
 sheet as she had done the previous night 
 when the baby tossed with the heat. She 
 sobbed piteously and the older children, 
 huddling in a comer of the scantily furn- 
 ished room, were awed into silence for the 
 first time in their short lives. The majesty 
 of death rested upon the whole house, and 
 
 149. 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 men and women came and went on tiptoe, 
 and softly offered the mother what consola- 
 tion lay withia their power to give. But the 
 father neither wept nor said a word. There 
 was a terrible stillness ia the way he bore 
 his grief. It was as if the oppression and 
 the wrongs of all his lifetime were met and 
 set before his face in the passing out of his 
 little boy, and I observed him anxiously, for 
 I realized that he had reached the point 
 when strong men break. 
 
 That night a man was arrested for boldly 
 entering a hall in the fashionable part of 
 town where a great charity baU was in 
 progress, and calmly shooting down the man 
 who led the grand march. He was not fatal- 
 ly wounded, but the papers came out in 
 glaring headlines the following morning 
 with the news that the wealthy and charita- 
 bly-inclined Mr. Blank, who had been active 
 in arranging for the success of a ball given 
 for the benefit of convalescing children of 
 the poor, was attacked by a man named 
 O'Brien, one of Mr. Blank's employes. The 
 man, a machinist by trade, was evidently de- 
 
 150 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 mented, as no motive could be ascribed for 
 the act. It was well-known bow "good" the 
 company of Blank & Blank was to its work- 
 men and how many charities there were in 
 connection with the business. They had 
 thought of everything from a rest-cottage 
 for the girls who broke down at the ma- 
 chines, while working piece-time, to this 
 latest idea of a sanitarium, where little sick- 
 ly children might be taken to die in beauti- 
 ful surroundings or else be cured and sent 
 back to the tenements again. But what was 
 the use of trjdng to do anything for the 
 toilers anyway, they were so unapprecia- 
 tive. 
 
 From his cell, while waiting trial, O'Brien 
 looked out of the barred window at the hour 
 he knew a little hearse with a few mourners 
 behind it would be passing on its way to the 
 cemetery. He heard the whistle blow that 
 should have summoned him to work, and he 
 counted over in his mind the contents of the 
 thin pay envelope that he brought home on 
 Saturday nights. It was no use. There was 
 no way out. He bowed his head, crushed, 
 
 151 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and from Ms heart there went out a cry that 
 
 for the toilers such as he, the new day would 
 
 dawn, some how, some way. 
 ***** 
 
 The summer dragged on, and I continued 
 working "under cover" finding out more 
 and more each day of the sufferings of the 
 poor — ^poor because the affairs of govern- 
 ment lay in the hands of an autocratic few 
 who were hoarding all the wealth of the 
 land, with the exception of what they spent 
 on their own backs, and what they paid out 
 to the "system's hand" to keep the worker 
 ignorant, under-nourished, and afraid. 
 
 There was just one mistake they made — 
 one fortification they failed to fortify. They 
 neglected to replenish their ranks with men. 
 Wealthier and wealthier they became each 
 year, but fewer and fewer in number, and 
 the producer of the wealth became more 
 poverty-stricken with the advance of every 
 year, but he multiplied until the toilera 
 swarmed in masses of exploited human be- 
 ings all over the United States. The women 
 who had worked in shop or factory all day, 
 
 152 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and had done their house-work at night, had 
 still found strength to give sons and daugh- 
 ters to their country, and a hundred and fifty 
 of them to a block is a safer investment for 
 the future than one, or perhaps two, pamp- 
 ered poodle dogs. 
 
 During the early part of August, Poppy 
 came to Chicago. Earl had written several 
 times, but the girl had replied that she was 
 satisfied to stay on in San Francisco at the 
 store. Then an aunt, her only living rela- 
 tive, who worked in a West Side plant, lost 
 the use of her hands in manrpulating some 
 machinery, and crippled and unable to care 
 for herself, sent for her niece to come to her 
 aid. 
 
 During July I had roomed in that section 
 of the city known ,as ''death's corner", a 
 part of the Nineteenth Ward where the very 
 poorest of the poor are to be found. In 
 August I moved into the Fourteenth Ward, 
 and settled down in a cheap little room on 
 Lake Street. 
 
 Here it was that Fate again let Poppy's 
 path cross mine. 
 
 153 
 
THE Si:STEM'S HAND 
 
 I found her in a squalid apartment, sur- 
 rounded by a group of big-eyed foreigners, 
 talking to them on a hot Sunday evening. 
 They were comparing notes ab(iut the places 
 they had all come from. An Italian was de- 
 scribing Sunny Italy, and declaring that it 
 was the most beautiful country in the world, 
 but Poppy had laughed and told him he 
 hadn't seen California yet or he wouldn't 
 think that. "The flowers out there," she 
 was saying, "why, they grow in rows on 
 either side of the sidewalk; but in Chicago, 
 I only see a few in the florist's window. And 
 the fruit out there — ^it is so plentiful, but 
 here " 
 
 A woman leaning against a fire escape to 
 watch a little child who was sleeping there, 
 turned quickly and held up her hand in 
 warning. She had seen me enter the hall- 
 way and had taken me for a plain-clothes 
 man. The homes of the very poor were con- 
 stantly raided and arrests made on no 
 grounds whatsoever. A neighborly gather- 
 ing was called a meeting of revolutionists, 
 and any literature in a language that the de- 
 
 154 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 tectives could not interpret was seized and 
 confiscated — often the well-worn pamphlets 
 turned out to be little books of devotion. 
 Even a man's religion must be regulated in 
 a country that the pioneers had fought to 
 make free. Anything of a political nature 
 was considered seditious, and a certain man 
 who was caught reading a copy of the Dec- 
 laration of Independence printed in the 
 Lithuanian tongue was put in jail as a sus- 
 pected anarchist. 
 
 But particularly was aH persecution 
 aimed at organized labor — union of&ces 
 were ruthlessly invaded, and safes broken, 
 and books taken. 
 
 Frightened and bewildered, these men and 
 women ceased talking and looked at me in a 
 suUen manner. I crossed right over to 
 where Poppy sat. 
 
 "Earl told me I might find you here," I 
 said, with a smile of happiness I could not 
 conceal. 
 
 Poppy jumped up with a glad little cry. 
 "0, Mr. Doyle, I am so glad to see you 
 again." Then she turned to the others: 
 
 155 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "This is an old friend of nune," she said, 
 by way of introduction, and they, with that 
 ehild-Hke trust and yearning desire for 
 friendship, which is always present among 
 the elemental people, welcomed me to their 
 midst with a graciousness that is not possi- 
 ble to those who wear a cloak called "man- 
 ners" but which covers a heart that is with- 
 ered up and dry. I have found not only more 
 true kindliness of spirit, but more exquisite 
 tact and courtesy among those men and 
 women who produce the world's wealth than 
 among those who spend it. I can speak with 
 the authority of Mark Twain, when he saidj 
 "Honesty is the best policy. I know, 'cause 
 I've tried them both." 
 
 156 
 
CHAPTER Vni. 
 
 Indian summer came and went and the 
 winter was upon us before we realized it. 
 Winter means such different things to the 
 rich and to the poor. I used to watch the 
 cars drive up to the big State Street stores 
 and the women step out, well-wrapped in 
 expensive furs, to do a morning's shopping. 
 I used to watch them spending on some 
 trifling luxury enough money to keep a 
 little family in the house where I lived warm 
 and well-fed for a week, and I couldn't help 
 thinking how it was the father of the cold 
 and hungry family who had made the money 
 the idle-rich woman was spending. I used 
 to watch the same woman fritter her after- 
 noon away at a silly little club or tea, and 
 Poppy, the girl I loved, was working until 
 long after dark in a close shop back of a 
 millinery store, making and trimming hats 
 and thus earning enough to provide for her 
 own slender wants and those of the poor 
 afflicted aunt. 
 
 157 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 By the passing of the workman's compen- 
 sation act, a woman injured while at her ma- 
 chine, as this one was, should have received 
 a few doUars each week for a while to come, 
 the sum being about half the amount of 
 what her wages had been. She was totally 
 disabled. She would never be back in the 
 imventilated work-shop again, but the com- 
 pany's surgeon, who attended her, testified 
 that he had only had to amputate the first 
 phalanx of each finger of her two hands and 
 as the damage paid for a lost phalanx is 
 very trifling, the destroyed ten did not buy 
 a month's bread. An employe, in a situation 
 like this aunt of Poppy's, is not allowed to 
 have a physician of her own choosing to teU 
 her side of the story, to explain to a judge 
 that she is crippled for life, and that the 
 accident occurred through gross negligence 
 on the part of the firm for whom she labored. 
 She was simply at the mercy of a huge mod- 
 ern Juggernaut, and a Juggernaut has no 
 mercy. 
 
 One night just before Christmas, Poppy 
 and I were hurrying along West Madison 
 
 158 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Street. It is that part of town where the 
 dingy little rescue missions are to be found 
 and the overflowing employment agencies 
 and the cheap second-hand stores. 
 
 Poppy was looking for a coat for her 
 aunt, and not pajdng any attention to the 
 flimsy half-cotton one she wore herself. She 
 laughed with the delight of a child over the 
 softly falling snow. 
 
 "It is the first I have ever seen," said she, 
 "and I think it's so beautiful. Look how all 
 the mud and the dirt has been covered up 
 with a pure white blanket." 
 
 Women with shawls over their heads hur- 
 ried by and men with thin coats on crept 
 into comer saloons to seek a cheerful stove. 
 When we got into the crowded street-car. 
 Poppy tried to hide her wet shoes under the 
 seat, and laughed again at my concern over 
 her health. 
 
 "I'm strong — ^nothing can hurt me," she 
 said. "Don't you know that California 
 people are raised so much out of doors that 
 they are pretty nearly always well? But, 
 
 159 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Mr. Doyle, I am worried about a family on 
 the top floor where Aunty and I live." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "what about them?" and 
 I noticed that with aU. the frostiness of the 
 air, Poppy's cheeks were not so rosy as they 
 had been in the days when she lived and 
 worked in her beloved native state. 
 
 "They are Himgarians," she said, "and 
 new-comers to the city. They don't seem to 
 know anyone and they are very shy. Nattir- 
 ally I don't like to iatrude on them, but I 
 just know that something is wrong up there, 
 for Helen is crying every time I pass her in 
 the hallway or on the stairs, but she shakes 
 her head when I ask her what's the matter, 
 and hurries on. I suppose she's afraid to 
 trust anyone." 
 
 ">And who is Helen?" I asked. 
 
 "0, she's the little mother to the rest of 
 the children. There are several of them, aU 
 younger than Helen, and she must be about 
 twelve, I guess." 
 
 "The parents both go out to work, of 
 course?" 
 
 "Yes, the father has a job in a foundry, 
 
 160 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and the mother works in a box-factory, but 
 they make so little, and lately they have 
 been sick and are not working at aU. I'm 
 sure the children must be hungry. Tell me, 
 Mr. Doyle, isn't there some philanthropic 
 society to whom we could appeal in a case 
 like this, and get a little temporary help for 
 that poor family?" 
 
 I smiled. "Poppy," said I, "little Helen 
 is older than you think. She knows instinc- 
 tively that should she let the public chari- 
 ties take hold of her home, there wouldn't 
 be any home. They would txirn in a report 
 that the parents were shiftless; at any rate, 
 the children would be taken from them, and 
 put into some kind of institutions, the apart- 
 ment fionigated, and that would be the end ' 
 of it." 
 
 Poppy sighed. "Everything closes in on 
 the toilers. Doesn't it spem as if they had 
 cried out long enough from pitiful homes, 
 and filthy workshops, from cold, dark alleys 
 and from prison cells to a God or someone 
 who would hear them?" Poppy's eyes were 
 full of tears, and there was a ring of passion 
 
 161 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 in her voice. Two or three people turned to 
 look at the girl whose youth and prettiness 
 made her more attractive than she realized. 
 
 '* Let's get off here, Poppy," said I, "and 
 then walk the rest of the way." 
 
 Crunching the snow under our feet, I 
 tried to answer Poppy's question. "It's like 
 this," said I, "a nation must suffer a long 
 time before the people are delivered, but be 
 sure the New Day is coming. We none of 
 us know yet just how or when, only as cer- 
 tain as ancient Rome fell when it had 
 reached its height of debauchery, will those 
 who are now in power in America be 
 dragged in the dust. No civilization can 
 flourish forever that is built on a rotten 
 foundation, and supported with the money 
 which has come from the grinding of human 
 flesh and machinery into one." 
 
 We reached the frame tenement where 
 Poppy lived, and she stopped for a moment 
 and looked up at it. "Even this awful old 
 building, so filled with misery, is beautiful 
 tonight with the fresh snow on it, isn't it?" 
 
 I nodded, and we went inside. Poppy and 
 
 162 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 her aunt had a room on the third floor in 
 the rear, but we climbed the creaking stairs 
 to the fourth floor where the Hungarian 
 family managed to exist in two rooms, and 
 stopped for a moment to get our breath. The 
 house was bitterly cold, and full of smells; 
 cabbage, onions and garlic were being 
 cooked behind a dozen dirty doors, some- 
 times one would push open a little ways, 
 and a gaiint face would peer out behind the 
 smoking kerosene lamp. Poppy knocked at 
 the door where her little friend Helen lived, 
 and after receiving no response, we turned 
 the knob and felt our way in. 
 
 "Helen," Poppy cried, brightly. "It is I 
 — Poppy Grrant, from down-stairs. Where 
 are you?" 
 
 A smothered sob indicated where she was, 
 and I turned my flashlight in that direction, 
 and saw a pitiful group of children huddled 
 against the wall in one dark corner. There 
 were five of them, and their little faces were 
 so filled with fear, and they had evidently 
 gone so long without food, that they 
 appeared scarcely human. I struck a match, 
 
 163 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and lighting a bit of candle, which I had 
 learned to carry in my pocket, I left the 
 children to Poppy. Something WAS wrong, 
 and it was even more wrong than the sight 
 in the first room we had entered. I made 
 my way to the back-room, with the aid of 
 the flashlight, to the spot where the odor 
 was leading me. It was as I thought. On 
 the bed lay a man and women desperately 
 ill, both delirious, and racked with fever, 
 and between them lay the body of a child 
 who had been dead for three or four days. 
 He was about two years old, and had evi- 
 dently died of the same disease that was 
 fast devouring the parents. 
 
 I heard Poppy trying to comfort the little 
 ones in the other room. I heard a man 
 mounting the stairs outside with dragging 
 feet, and slam a door as he went into his 
 own home. A moment later, and a piercing 
 shriek rent the air. It was a cry that I was 
 becoming accustomed to — ^it was the cry 
 that a woman gives as she enters the vaUey 
 of the shadow, and I listened for that other 
 sound and soon it came — ^the first thin wail 
 of the newly-born. 
 
 164 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The men and women on the G-old Coast 
 are banqueting tonight, I thought to myself, 
 and here, as Poppy had said, 'How much 
 longer could it all go on?' 
 
 That same night, the little Hungarian 
 children, led by Helen, had descended to 
 Poppy's room, and she had made them pal- 
 lets on the floor. The parents never regained 
 consciousness, and when the county under- 
 taker, whom I had notified of the child's 
 death, finally came, he and his assistant car- 
 ried down three baskets. That was the last 
 we ever saw of them, but I found out later 
 that the bodies were sold for a large sum to 
 a medical college, and the county under- 
 taker, who had secured the contract for 
 burying paupers, put in his customary biU, 
 and received his voucher. 
 
 Towards morning, when I could be spared 
 from other things, I went over to a neigh- 
 boring saloon, and the man in charge gave 
 me ten doUars for the little orphans. With 
 this start, I visited a gambler in the room 
 above the saloon, and he gave me five. I re- 
 turned to the children, and gave the dona- 
 
 165 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 tion to Helen, who was still sitting up, and 
 told her to buy them food as soon as the 
 stores were opened. She thanked me and 
 said: "But Poppy has already gone out to 
 get us bread, nice fresh bread from a bakery 
 — she told us to wait and see what she would 
 bring." 
 
 "How long has she been goneT' I asked. 
 
 "0, a long, long time," said the child. 
 "She didn't have any money, because she 
 bought her aunt a coat last night, and she 
 was going to walk to work this morning be- 
 cause she didn't have even any car-fare left, 
 but she said she was going to get the bread 
 anyway. Do you suppose she can?" Helen's 
 little wistful face, so full of sorrow that a 
 child should never know, looked anxiously 
 into mine, and I think she feared for Poppy, 
 just as I did. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock when Earl 
 rushed into the room where I was standing 
 by the window, wondering what to do in the 
 way of finding Poppy, and exclaimed, 
 "She's been arrested, Stevey. They didn't 
 even book her, but she got someone to 
 
 166 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 'phone me from the station that she is there, 
 said not to bother about her bond until I 
 came here and fed some starving kids. 
 Where are they, and what are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 "You're talking about Poppy?" 
 
 '*Well, who on earth do you suppose I'm 
 talking about? Lopk here, Steve, you might 
 as weU know it sooner or later. Poppy's my 
 girl." 
 
 "Indeed," said I, "then why don't you 
 marry her and take her out of this hole?" 
 
 Earl laughed harshly. "She says not as 
 long as the aunt lives, and that is all there 
 is to it, but she loves me, and I love her, and 
 we are waiting. I meant to tell you for a 
 good while, but I haven't seen much of you 
 lately. I don't even see Poppy as often as I 
 want. The organizing takes me out of town 
 a great deal. I've been everywhere in the 
 last few months." Then he glanced around 
 the room. 
 
 "Where are the children she wanted me 
 to feed?' 
 
 167 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "They have been attended to," I an- 
 swered. "What station is she in'?" 
 
 "The Chicago Avenue. Let's be going 
 over. I don't know what the charge is." 
 Again he laughed his harsh little laugh, 
 which I learned to know was the way he 
 tried to conceal his emotions. "Funny how 
 I feel about her being there. Jail isn't any- 
 thing in my young life, but when it's the girl 
 you love, you get frightened and wonder if 
 they're reaUy going to dp anything to her. 
 I say, Stevey, did you ever love a girl?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "just once. I loved 
 her very deeply, but I thought she was too 
 much of a child to understand how I felt. I 
 was waiting for her to grow up, watching 
 over her the best I could all the time, and 
 then suddenly I found out she cared for 
 someone else." 
 
 We caught a car and rode in sUence to 
 the station. I realized that Earl was entire- 
 ly ignorant of whom I spoke. It was better 
 so. Neither he nor Poppy should ever know. 
 It was strange, but even in that hour, when 
 my sense of loss was so keen, I kept out- 
 
 168 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 wardly calm, and attended quietly to the 
 work in hand. Later, as other men have 
 done, I went into the streets and walked for 
 miles, and fought the whole thing out. 
 
 I recalled then, how I had told Poppy, a 
 nation seeks a way out of suffering when 
 that suffering becomes too great for it to 
 any longer bear, and how I thought America 
 would have to endure a whUe longer before 
 it became so purged through suffering as to 
 be able to master the situation. I had spoken 
 to her of pain being like a cleansing fire, and 
 now I was brought face to face with the 
 problem which each individual soul must 
 work out for itself, and I realized how a na- 
 tion is simply an aggregation of individuals, 
 and how each one must pay his own par- 
 ticular price to be worthy a part of the great 
 whole. 
 
 I had lost Poppy, and Earl had won her, 
 but some day Poppy and Earl would face 
 tragedy, as I now faced it, and then would 
 comprehend as I was comprehending now 
 the inscrutable law that nothing worth 
 while is ever accomplished without suffer- 
 
 169 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ing for some one. From the child itseK to a 
 new-formed government, made up of the 
 children of men, the task of creation is 
 wrought through agony, I lived to see the 
 day when the truth of this was illustrated in 
 the establishment of a real democracy in a 
 country which for ages had known the most 
 crushing autocratic rule on earth. 
 
 Earl and I inquired for Poppy at the desk, 
 and the matron was instructed to bring her 
 to the waitiug-room. She paused on the 
 threshold when she saw us both standing 
 there, and tried to smile, and then any 
 doubts in my mind as to which one she cared 
 for were obliterated, for she flew straight to 
 Earl's side, and putting her head down on 
 his shoulder, cried like a little girl. Earl put 
 his arms about her, and between soothing 
 her, and scolding everybody else, got a Mn( 
 on the story. 
 
 "They were so hungry," said Poppy, 
 wiping her eyes, "and I had no money — 
 what else was there to do?" 
 
 "What DID you do, dear?" asked Earl, 
 gently. 
 
 170 , ^ 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 <n 
 
 'I broke a window and grabbed some 
 loaves of bread in a baker's shop, and I was 
 turning to run with it to the children when 
 a policeman caught me and sent for the 
 wagon and brought me here. They have 
 been trying to make me say I am ashamed 
 of myself, but I'm not, for those little things 
 were starving." 
 
 Poppy was led away here, and Earl 
 seemed very much distraught. 
 
 *' Listen," said I, "I have a bit of money 
 saved up. I'll never need it now that I'm 
 not going to get married. You take it, and 
 buy Poppy out when she is fined this morn- 
 ing. They'll make it a heavy fine, thinking 
 she can't pay it, and will have to go to 
 prison, and you know it won't be just prison 
 for a pretty girl like Poppy." 
 
 Earl paled at the thought of the danger 
 we knew her to be in. He grasped my hand. 
 "How can I ever thank you?" he said. "I'll 
 accept the loan, old man. Of course, money 
 can accomplish anything, but you tell 
 Poppy, or I'll tell her, that you helped me 
 
 171 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 out on this. It will take all you have and 
 all I've saved up most likely." 
 
 "Just let it all come from you," said I, 
 **I don't want her to ever know." 
 
 When the girl stood before the judge and 
 he asked her why she had stolen the bread, 
 she replied by asking him if he had ever 
 been hungry. "'Cause if you haven't, you 
 ought not to sit there in judgment on others 
 who have committed half the wrongs you 
 send them to prison for, because their poor 
 stomachs were empty." 
 
 It was as we had expected: Poppy re- 
 ceived a heavy fine or else must go to jail 
 for a year. When Earl paid the price of the 
 girl's liberty, and the three of us walked 
 out of the court-roomj Poppy looked back 
 over her shoulder, and said: "I hope you'll 
 be hungry some day, judge; it'll make a man 
 out of you yet." 
 
 172 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A pile of coal had been dumped into the 
 street in front of one of the mansions out 
 on Sheridan Road. There were several tons 
 of it, and to me it presented a chance to earn 
 a few dollars. I had now gone two days 
 without food, and I walked up to the door 
 and rang the bell, A maid, who looked like 
 she had stepped out of a musical comedy, 
 answered the summons, and said to wait, 
 she would see. 
 
 "Yes," she said, with an affected French 
 accent, "the mistress says she has been 
 looking for somebody to put that coal in the 
 basement. You can get a shovel at the back 
 door." Paint with hunger, I started the 
 task, and after a while a noon whistle 
 sounded somewhere in the distance, and I 
 knew I could at least claim a bite, or the 
 equivalent for the same. 
 
 Another maid dressed in exaggerated 
 black and white set me down to a very nice 
 lunch indeed. 
 
 173 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "And how long have you been out of 
 work*?" she asked, perching up on the edge 
 of the table while I ate. 
 
 "Only a short while," I answered. 
 
 "And would you like to stay on and do 
 some other smaU jobs, after the coal is all 
 stored away?" she questioned, smilingly. 
 
 I nodded. It didn't seem to me it mat- 
 tered much what I did, only of course a per- 
 son had to eat. The sudden realization that 
 I wasn't to go on dreaming of a future with 
 Poppy any more, and my repugnance to 
 working at my profession, under the direc- 
 tion of the private agencies, even though I 
 had accomplished much good in showing 
 them up, had left me rather stranded. I 
 would have to find myself, so to speak, get 
 a new perspective, and fit into the scheme 
 of things once more. 
 
 "Because," the maid was saying, "the 
 mistress has been watching you from the 
 window, and she has taken quite a fancy to 
 you. " 
 
 "Indeed, I'm sure that's very kind." 
 
 The maid giggled. I looked up. Even a 
 
 174 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 detective can be caught napping when his 
 heart is sore, and the old struggle fails to 
 grip him for a while. 
 
 *'I think I begin to understand," said I. 
 "I thought at first that this must be the 
 home of some wealthy and fashionable so- 
 ciety people." 
 
 The maid was all gravity now. ''That's 
 exactly what it is," she said slowly. "Just 
 exactly what Chicago has always called it, 
 but of course," and she shrugged expres- 
 sively, "if you are to become a part of the 
 help, you will have to learn the lay of the 
 land." 
 
 I passed my hand across my eyes. It was 
 going to take a long time for the vision of 
 the sweet little laughing Poppy to fade 
 away. In the meantime, I must endeavor to 
 be less dull, and grasp the meaning of this 
 girl's chatter. 
 
 "Who did you say lives here?" I asked, 
 finally. 
 
 "I didn't say who," she answered, "but 
 being a poor stupid man who couldn't read 
 the front door plate, I'll tell you — Mrs. 
 Gemble." 
 
 175 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Mrs. Gremble," I repeated. "The rich 
 society woman, the widow of " 
 
 "The widow of nothing," scoffed the 
 maid. "Do you know what her husband real- 
 ly does, and what he really is?" 
 
 "No," I replied, "I do not." 
 
 "And I'm not going to tell everything I 
 know to a tramp that isn't going to give me 
 anything for it." She flounced out of the 
 kitchen where I had been taken to eat my 
 lunch, and on her exit came the entrance 
 of a Japanese boy, whose non-committal 
 smile took me back to the West where I 
 numbered many a little yellow man as my 
 friend, and where the Orientals, both 
 Japanese and Chinese, live and work in 
 such great nmnbers. I felt more at honfe 
 than I had since coming to Chicago. 
 
 When the coal was all in, I left word at 
 the kitchen door that I would be back later 
 for my pay, and borrowing car-fare from 
 the Jap, crossed the city to where Earl 
 roomed and was lucky enough to find him 
 just coming in with his grip from a down- 
 state trip. As a national organizer, he was 
 
 176 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 rapidly working his way to the front in the 
 ranks of labor. He put the very best that 
 was in him into his work, and with his nat- 
 ural gift for leadership, and oratory, would 
 soon be a power among men. When he saw 
 me, his face tit up with just the same in- 
 genuous smile that I had seen that long ago 
 day in the lumber camp. He had told me out 
 in San Francisco that he had acquired two 
 or three trades in the years that he had been 
 growing up and fighting the fight for organ- 
 ization. He had been framed on in steel 
 mills in Ohio, arrested and struck insensible 
 in a great garment strike in New York. He 
 had worked in the brick-kilns of Illinois, 
 and knew at first hand the fearful struggles 
 of the men to obtain a living wage and 
 humane treatment. He was returning from 
 one of these yards, where, after a long and 
 bitter conflict, the employes had succeeded 
 in getting a contract signed, and he looked 
 very tired in spite of the smile of welcome 
 that he gave me. 
 
 Poppy would be safe in Earl's keeping. 
 There was no one I knew whom I trusted so 
 
 177 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 thoroughly. They were really suited to each 
 other. Both were consecrating their lives 
 to the same cause, while I — ^I was only an 
 outsider, an onlooker at the battle, a man 
 leaning over the wall which surrounded the 
 arena wherein was being waged the mighty 
 conflict between Capital and Labor, and be- 
 cause my best friend and the woman I loved 
 were soon to be man and wife, must not 
 make me forget that the thing which I had 
 been set apart to do was to point to the 
 fingers of the ''system's hand" reaching out 
 into every department of life, and strangling 
 to death every helpless creature whom it 
 touched. Earl put his arm affectionately 
 about my shoulders. 
 
 "I say, old man, I'm sure glad to see you 
 again. What are you doing with yourself 
 these days'?" 
 
 "1 start on a new job tonight. Earl," said 
 I. "It may be that you won't see me for 
 quite a little while. I'll be in Chicago, but 
 I'll be working 'under cover'." 
 
 "You're not with any of those slimy 
 agencies any more?" he asked quickly. 
 
 178 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "No, I'll never be with them any more, 
 but as a detective, I shall always go on 
 working, and always working for the under 
 dog." 
 
 He smiled in a relieved way, and settled 
 back in his chair and puffed on a little old 
 pipe he usually carried. 
 
 "You know, Steve, I^m having a hard 
 time of it with Poppy," he said, and sighed 
 as if the management of the girl with the 
 red-gold hair was a much more difficult task 
 than the handling of a thousand union men. 
 
 "Yes"? What seems to be the trouble?" 
 
 "It's those Hungarian kids. Poppy's 
 adopted them all, and she just simply can't 
 feed them, yet she tries, and I worry myself 
 sick over the way she is working, but she 
 won't listen to a thing I say. I was wonder- 
 ing if you wouldn't have some influence 
 with her. She always thought a lot of your 
 judgment — a lot more than she does of 
 mine," he grumbled. "What I want you to 
 advise her, is this," and he leaned towards 
 me in a confidential way. "Tell her that 
 she ought to marry me right away. Tell her 
 
 179 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 that I can support the kids right, and she 
 can't, and maybe for their good, she'll listen 
 to reason." 
 
 ''You would be willing to take this re- 
 sponsibility?" I asked, a bit amazed. 
 
 "Why, of course. Who else is there to 
 take it? Poppy loves the little rascals, says 
 they are the first brothers and sisters she 
 has ever had, and it would break her heart 
 to send them to an asylum, besides they 
 would be separated, and they haven't a rela- 
 tive in the world but each other. It's a plain 
 case of our duty to raise them the best we 
 can. Poppy's right about that, only I'm the 
 one to get out and hustle for the living, and 
 not that tender little girl." 
 
 ''And the aunt?" I asked. 
 
 "She died last week — that's another rea- 
 son why Poppy clings so tightly to the chil- 
 dren. They are bright little things, and now 
 that they are getting something to eat, they 
 are all looking more like regular human be- 
 ings. But this arrangement can't go on. 
 WiU you try to do something to help me in 
 the matter?" 
 
 180 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 I sat silent for a while. So I was to go to 
 Poppy and persuade her to make up her 
 mind to marry Earl at once. Another of 
 life's Uttle ironies, I thought. 0, well, it 
 was all a part of the big game. I rose, and 
 held out my hand to Earl: "I'll go over 
 now," I said, "because I have to be back 
 at my job some time tonight." 
 
 I found Poppy and the five little Hun- 
 garians seated about a table which held a 
 lamp and some garments of wearing ap- 
 parel. She was telling them stories whUe 
 she sewed, and she sewed as fast as her 
 fingers could fly. After the greetings were 
 exchanged, I sent the children into a comer 
 of the room to play with a broken toy or 
 two that Poppy had managed to secure for 
 them. 
 
 "Not been breaking windows again?" I 
 asked, with a smile, 
 
 "Oh, no," said she, "I'm working over- 
 time now and I have plenty of money." 
 
 "Poppy," and I tried to make my voice 
 steady. "With me there isn't' the least bit 
 of use to bluff. I am perfectly well aware 
 
 181 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 that you and these youngsters here are only 
 partially nourished, and only partially 
 clothed. The thing can't go on. I'm going 
 to have to report the case to the authorities. 
 It's a miracle they haven't found it out be- 
 fore now, and — " but I simply couldn't con- 
 tinue, for the reproachful expression in 
 Poppy's eyes hurt me to the soul. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Doyle, you wouldn't do thatf' 
 she cried. "I always thought you were go- 
 ing to be my friend." 
 
 "I'm your friend all right," said I, and I 
 suppose my voice sounded rather harsh. 
 "Poppy, teU me one thing, do you really 
 love Earlf 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "No, look at me," I commanded, and she 
 raised her sweet gray eyes and I had my 
 answer. 
 
 "Very well, then, marriage is your only 
 way out. I mean the only way that you can 
 possibly keep the children." 
 
 Poppy was silent for a long time after 
 this. I saw she was thinking. "Do you sup- 
 pose it would be right"?" she asked finally. 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 182 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ''Well, burdening him with these strange 
 child:fen. It isn't as if he loved them like I 
 do." 
 
 "He loves you enough to care for any- 
 thing that you care for," said I. ''And 
 that's the test of love, if you want to know 
 it." 
 
 Poppy slowly shook her head up and 
 down, as if she were beginning to imder- 
 stand, then a little tremor passed over her 
 face, and the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 "I guess you're right, Mr. Doyle, you 
 generally are. This is the second time I am 
 going to take your advice. I want you to 
 know how much I thank you for the interest 
 you have taken in me," she rose and held 
 out her hand, and bending down, I kissed 
 her softly on the forehead and went away. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Okagowa stood watching me as I built a 
 high board fence around the back part of 
 the Gemble mansion. "You make him velly 
 high so nobody see Melican man come and 
 go? Melican velly rich, but nobody see, no- 
 
 183 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 body know, muchly different in Japan. You 
 like Melican God?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 "I don't think I'm very well acquainted 
 with him, ' ' I replied. ' ' Are you ? ' ' 
 
 "Pleacher man at Gospel Mission, he say: 
 'Be velly good Chlistian boy, and you be 
 saved'. He tell me give him savings and he 
 keep for me. I save sixty dollars. When I 
 go to get, pleacher man say, '0, I thought 
 you gave that to God', and I no get. Me no 
 like that Melican God. He heap no good. 
 He lose my money. He heap careless." 
 
 The immobile countenance of the little 
 Jap betrayed no emotion, but I wondered 
 what thoughts were passing through his 
 head. Th'e first warm days of spring were 
 upon us. Little buds were coming out on the 
 trees. The lawn that I tended showed a 
 bright green in the pale rays of the late 
 afternoon sunshine. 
 
 "Okagowa," said I, "I'll lend you sixty 
 dollars, if you will do something for me." 
 
 The narrow black eyes twinkled." 
 
 "I want you to faU down and hurt your 
 knee, just before the big dinner tonight, and 
 then of course you couldn't serve. I'll offer 
 
 184 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to do the work for you, and on such short 
 notice, they won't be able to think up any 
 better plan, and so I will get a chance to 
 see what a really swell American dinner is 
 Uke." 
 
 Okagowa considered. ''Me not velly bad 
 hurt, only pletend?" he questioned. 
 
 ** Exactly. Say about seven forty-five — 
 the dinner is at eight, isn't it?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 ''All right, you be going up or coming 
 down some stairs, I'll watch you and stick 
 around, and in the confusion of the moment^ 
 I'll offer my services." 
 
 "You know how to serve velly gland din- 
 ner?" he asked. 
 
 "I know a little of everything." 
 
 Okagowa seemed satisfied. "Me go bed, 
 then me sneak out and go picture show. You 
 keep sixty dollars, Mr. Doyle, me no need, 
 Melican God might get again," 
 
 It seemed to me that night that there was 
 nothing the mind of man might conceive to 
 charm and delight the senses which was not 
 manifest at the Gemble dinner. The young 
 
 185 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 son of Mrs. G-emble, who had been away at 
 school in Prance, was being introduced to 
 Chicago society. This dinner was in honor 
 of his homecoming. Just at the time that 
 little Okagowa slipped gracefully on the 
 polished hardwood floors and uttered a 
 shrill cry of assmned pain, private cars and 
 pumpkin-colored cabs of the taxi-trust, 
 which was a part of the whole system, were 
 beginning to deposit gorgeously attired 
 women at the Gemble gates. It was an easy 
 matter for me to persuade the hysterical 
 hostess to allow me to put on a dress suit 
 and do the best I could to replace the 
 Japanese butler. When I came into the 
 large and magnificent dining room, or more 
 properly, hall, with the cocktails, and felt 
 the perfumed warmth and heard the throb- 
 bing violins, and saw the women chattering, 
 and the men all laughing, a wave of nausea 
 swept over me, and I had to hold tight to the 
 priceless cut-glass I was carrying lest I 
 throw every piece at this gathering of idle 
 rich, and cry shame upon them for their in- 
 humanity to man. 
 
 186 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The women wore jewels of fabulous value 
 and gowns, which, lacking in quantity, made 
 'up in quality, so that upon each bare back 
 were shoulder-straps holding together a 
 mass of fluff that had sent not less than one 
 little girl to a home for broken-down wage- 
 slaves and made a profit for the already 
 millionaire manufacturer which would have 
 kept Poppy's little orphans in food and 
 clothes and school books for at least a month 
 or more. 
 
 At the head of the glittering table, with 
 its flowers, and ferns, and silverware sat the 
 woman for whom I had now been working 
 several months, and whom I had just about 
 finished studying. She was handsome and 
 clever, there was no doubt of that. I had 
 not read her easily, and her guests seated 
 at either side and representing Mid-West 
 aristocracy had never read her at all. 
 
 At the foot of the banquet-board presided 
 the son. One glance was enough for me— a 
 degenerate through and through. The weak 
 face and twitching hands, stained with 
 cigarettes, that toyed nervously with a 
 
 187 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 damask napkin, proclaimed him a type that 
 is not spoken of in polite society f uch as 
 was assembled here. Mothers with mar- 
 riageable daughters chose to overlook his 
 shifting glances and receding chin. Walton 
 Gemble would inherit a fortune. 
 
 Among the guests was one who did not 
 talk so much or quite so loud. He seemed to 
 have a lot of thinking to do. Once or twice, 
 I saw him look at the young heir with an ex- 
 pression of bitterness on his face, and then 
 across the table where his wife sat. They 
 were a childless couple. It was naturally 
 hard to see one's own flesh and blood turn 
 out so disappointingly, and the man couldn't 
 know, of course, that the only one present 
 who really sympathized, was the stupid 
 gardener who was taking forever and for- 
 ever to serve the wondrous dinner. 
 
 Walton G-emble glanced into the faces of 
 his mother's guests with little interest. He 
 had been raised abroad, and on his occa- 
 sional visits home had not met many people. 
 He had been told that his father had died 
 when he, Walton, was a baby, and when he 
 
 188 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 felt the eyes of the great financier, Mr. 
 Mitchell, upon him, it meant nothing to him. 
 How is a child to know his father from any- 
 other man unless he is told? And neither 
 he nor anyone else had ever been told that 
 which would have shocked society, and so- 
 ciety must be preserved from shocks at aU 
 costs. 
 
 A man by the name of G-raydon, who was 
 prominent in the affairs of the Board of 
 Trade, and in the Association of Commerce, 
 was telling a good story, and for a moment, 
 all the guests stopped to listen. 
 
 "Say what you please," said he, "it's our 
 private detective that deserves the credit 
 every time. Here in this case of poor Mai- 
 lers — what would he have known of what 
 was going on if that chap Thomas hadn't 
 tipped hitn off just in time "? Why the papers 
 had actually printed the story, and it cost 
 Mailers fifty thousand to suppress the 
 issues. The boys were ready to go out in 
 the streets with the copies, when, as I say, 
 he got the word." 
 
 "What was the story, Mr. Graydon?" 
 189 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 piped a thin voiced woman of about forty, 
 who was dressed like a chorus girl. 
 
 Grraydon laughed. "0, come now, Mrs. 
 Timmins, I can't tell that story here," he 
 replied. 
 
 *'0, yes, please do," came from half a 
 dozen feminine throats. 
 
 ''Well, the paper being suppressed, ex- 
 cept for a few issues that somehow or other 
 crept out, I didn't get all the details, but 
 the gist of it is that Mrs. Mailers was found 
 in a hotel with an army ofi&cer, and well, 
 they weren't either of them dressed just 
 exactly as if they were going out onto the 
 street, and of course it cut poor old Mailers 
 pretty deep, because his wife is a good deal 
 younger than he is, and crazy over any man 
 that wears a uniform." 
 
 '*0, how perfectly dreadful. She will 
 never be received anywhere again. I always 
 say those things simply can't be suppressed, 
 no matter how high you pay. " A fussy little 
 lady sitting at Mr. Mitchell's left rolled her 
 eyes at him in an appealing way, as if de- 
 manding confirmation. 
 
 190 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 He smiled. "I disagree with you," said 
 he. "Enough money can buy anything on 
 earth. I dare say Mailers didn't have quite 
 enough." 
 
 The soft carpet deadening my footballs, I 
 moved slowly from place to place, making 
 more mistakes by intention than by acci- 
 dent. After a bit, when the liquor had been 
 more freely consumed, I knew the tongues 
 would be loosened and I would hear things 
 that I had come to hear. 
 
 There were tales of scandal recounted and 
 relished, and murmurs of horror always ex- 
 pressed. I pondered over the hypocrisy and 
 the everlasting pity of it all. Were they 
 never going to tire of pla3ang so senseless 
 and disgusting a game? Were these men 
 and women of America, of which this hand- 
 ful was representative, going to keep on 
 skirting the edge of the abyss, until like the 
 master-class in other lands, they toppled 
 over into outer darkness*? 
 
 Mr. Strothers, the head of a great manu- 
 facturing plant, was unburdening himself 
 of his troubles with his employes. "It's 
 
 191 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 these unions that give us all our trouble," 
 he was saying. "The foremen can manage 
 the men if we can keep the organizers out. 
 The foreigners especially are easily held 
 down if we can only keep them ignorant and 
 handle them ourselves." 
 
 Mr. Mitchell, the wealthiest man present, 
 and the shrewdest and the most cruel, 
 looked at the woman who sat at the head of 
 the table, and again smiled his slow smile of 
 cunning knowledge. His rather handsome, 
 sensual face, with its thin lips and narrow 
 eyes, attracted people, and when he smiled 
 in that peculiar way of his as if he knew far 
 more than he would ever teU, others would 
 cease talking and turn to hear what he 
 might have to say. 
 
 "I have before remarked," and he spoke 
 with that subtle emphasis that gaius atten- 
 tion, "that if you can pay for it, you can buy 
 anything in the world. I never have any 
 trouble with unions — ^I learned long ago how 
 to handle them. I am interested in several 
 concerns that employ thousands of men and 
 women. I couldn't have these same men and 
 
 192 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 women annoying me. I simply put the most 
 competent private detective agency in the 
 field and told them to go the limit. It has 
 often cost me very dear when some dozen or 
 more strikers had to be clubbed to death, 
 but my agents know that my word is good 
 when I say that they are immune from aU 
 punishment by law, and they accomplish 
 some neat pieces of work. 
 
 "I remember the time the machinists at 
 a certain plant, and I beKeve there were 
 some electricians in sympathy with them, 
 walked out, and demanded what they were 
 pleased to call a living wage, all the result 
 of the activity of union workers, and how it 
 took the braining of a woman, the wife of 
 one of the pickets, to bring the fools to their 
 senses. However, bloodshed is not always 
 necessary. Starving them back to work has 
 rarely failed to bring them to their knees, 
 but of course, with the details of a strike, 
 I'm never concerned. If, for instance, they 
 ask for what they are beginning to call arbi- 
 tration, I simply turn the job over to my 
 trusted operatives, and they use any means 
 
 193 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 they think justifiable. Setting the workers 
 against each other, and causing hard feel- 
 ings between the races is generally an 
 efficacious method." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know what we are 
 coming to," wailed a woman, who never 
 read anything deeper than the fashion 
 magazines. ''The masses are getting to 
 clamor so, and with all we do for them too. 
 Why only last week, I sat for hours selling 
 doilies at a charity bazaar." 
 
 A man who had gained millions from the 
 labor of the toilers in the stockyards spoke 
 very bitterly of the whole subject. "I shall 
 never forget the trouble the organized 
 worker caused us in 1904," said he. "Not 
 satisfied with sixteen and a half cents an 
 hour, they went out on strike, but we were 
 able to produce so many loyal unorganized 
 laborers that the business could have been 
 carried on just the same, had not one of the 
 men brought the germ of smallpox into the 
 yards. Of course, for their own safety, the 
 men had to sleep where they worked, and 
 the disease spread very rapidly, and the 
 
 194 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 first thing we knew, everybody had it, and 
 after a fumigation, we had to take the 
 strikers back, and being in the position we 
 were, had to grant them a slight increase in 
 wages. It was most annoying. " 
 
 **I hear they horde their wealth out 
 there," remarked another lady guest, "but 
 of course I'm too sensitive to stand the odor, 
 so I've never really had the opportunity to 
 find out. I've often heard that the poor are 
 just as weU off in dirty shacks as not. They 
 are not intelligent enough to know any bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Mr. Weaver, the head of the great light- 
 ing plant of the city, smacked his lips over 
 the delicacies he was devouring and replied, 
 *'You are quite right, Madam, quite right. 
 Speaking from experience as well as from 
 observation I would say that I consider the 
 bonus system the most reliable method of 
 defeating the progress of organization 
 among the employes. They fall for it in- 
 variably." Here his eyes gleamed cruelly. 
 "And I might add," he continued with a 
 shrewd glance around the table, "that even 
 
 195 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 our own private and particular method of 
 reading meters and then shuttiug off gas 
 until payments are made, has not netted a 
 larger profit to the company than the dues 
 collected from the company's club, com- 
 posed of the men and women who work for 
 us. Of course, we always give them a little 
 present at Christmas time and the poor 
 fools think they are really getting some- 
 thing for nothing. The big stores use this 
 system almost exclusively in handling their 
 help. It has another advantage in that it 
 puts an employe at the mercy of the cor- 
 poration for whom he is working. Should 
 he even attempt to join the union he is fired 
 for a period and then must start in aU over 
 again. Any dues paid in are a clear gain 
 to us and the annual hoMay treat a whole 
 year further off. Only the rich are wise 
 enough to count the pennies, it would 
 seem." 
 
 The rich Mr. Porter, often referred to as 
 ''America's Soap Baron", and who also 
 drew a large revenue from the rent of rows 
 upon rows of tenement houses, laughed 
 
 196 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 heartily as he exclaimed: "Why take the 
 workers seriously? To me they are just so 
 much cattle. Even when they get obstreper- 
 ous, I never forget that I am a gentleman 
 and behave as a true sportsman should. It 
 became necessary, in one strike, not so very 
 long ago, for the agents to shoot down ten 
 men who insisted on picketing a plant more 
 as an example to the others than anything 
 else, and for a time, it looked as if we were 
 going to have a nasty bit of trouble. It went 
 so far that the indictments had reached the 
 grand jury, when I stepped in, made it all 
 right with the prosecuting attorney, and 
 promised to see to it that he was elected 
 judge at the next election. He was, too. A 
 great deal depends on a man keeping his 
 word to his friends in little matters like 
 this." 
 
 "Politics have cost me a fortune," stated 
 a shriveled up old man who had made mil- 
 lions, and grudged the spending of a penny. 
 
 "Oh, well, replied a self-satisfied chew- 
 ing-gum king, "I pride myself on my gener- 
 osity. I always allow that a corporation has 
 
 197 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to have a large margin of profit to provide 
 for its 'slush' fund. We've got to see to it 
 that certain men of certain parties are 
 elected, though when you come right down 
 to it, the thing that really counts in any 
 fight with labor is the pooling of its wealth 
 on the part of industry. The solidarity of 
 capital can always prevail if we can just 
 manage to keep the laborers apart. I fancy 
 that the blacklist system, which some brainy 
 private detective originated, and which all 
 corporations throughout the country have 
 adopted, has done more than anything else 
 to break the power of organization." 
 
 Mrs. Gemble evidently wished to encour- 
 age this man in his contributions to the din- 
 ner-table conversation, for she asked sweet- 
 ly, "And what is the blacklist system, Mr. 
 Wharton?" 
 
 "The blacklist system," he replied, in an 
 important tone so that all the other guests 
 would stop talking and listen to him, "is 
 best described by giving you an illustration. 
 Say a man is working in one of our factories, 
 and has this union idea in his head. He is 
 
 198 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 sure to impart it to the fellow working next 
 to him, and is what we call an agitator. His 
 remarks to his fellow-workman are reported 
 to headquarters by any one of the many de- 
 tectives whom we have placed about for just 
 such purposes. This agitator is fired, of 
 course, and having a miserable family de- 
 pendent upon him for support, he hastens to 
 the next factory manufacturing the same 
 kind of goods, and applies for a similar posi- 
 tion to the one he held. But he is told to 
 bring references from the last place he 
 worked. We cannot give them, and our com- 
 petitor in business is so closely bound to us 
 by the ties of commercial unionism that he 
 loyally refuses to employ the man. Gro as 
 far as he Ukes in his trade, he will find the 
 system beautifully working and at last there 
 is nothing for it but to return to us and beg 
 our pardon and promise to give up forever 
 all thought of a trade union. Often-times, 
 we do not even then consider it safe to re- 
 engage a man who has thus behaved. At any 
 rate, we let him forego any seniority rights 
 he may have earned and start again at the 
 
 199 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 bottom. It is really a wonderful method in 
 dealing with the worker." 
 
 "And in a case where you don't take him 
 back?" asked a guest. 
 
 "Well, the only alternative, quite natural- 
 ly, is the penitentiary, for the man has to 
 starve, beg or steal; should he be caught 
 doing either of the latter crimes he is arrest- 
 ed on a charge of vagrancy or theft, and he 
 lands just where he belongs. This thing of 
 organization on the part of our employes is 
 rather serious, or may grow to' serious pro- 
 portions, and has to be dealt with very 
 firmly." 
 
 "They have a funny phrase," giggled a 
 young girl, who was trjdng to attract the 
 attention of Walton Gemble, "I believe they 
 call it collective bargaining." 
 
 The shriveled up little man, who was 
 miserly, again piped out his sentiments: 
 "Though I employ thirty-five private de- 
 tectives to guard my interests and protect 
 me from the rabble, I never feel safe. Do 
 you recall hearing of that case somewhere 
 out West, of one of Hart's men who turned 
 
 200 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 traitor, and was the cause of getting that 
 banker punished for the murder of some 
 foolish girl or other? I have forgotten his 
 name." 
 
 "Will you have some more wine'?" I 
 asked, as I bent to fill his glass. 
 
 201 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 I learned through Earl that Poppy had 
 promised to marry him on the first day in 
 June. She seemed to be very happy that 
 spring, the care of the little Hungarian 
 children was an absorbing passion with her. 
 She washed and dressed them and played 
 with them as a little girl might with her 
 dolls, and she took the responsibility of see- 
 ing to it that they were fed and attended 
 school, with that maternal love which lies 
 latent in the heart of every female child. 
 
 Earl was more like a big happy boy than 
 ever. The two of them used to have great 
 times taking the orphans down to a little 
 cheap shoe-shop on Blue Island Avenue and 
 fitting them out in rough little boots. Then 
 they'd visit stores on Milwaukee Avenue 
 and pick out bargains in tiny caps and 
 stockings. Poppy made the little coats and 
 dresses that they wore, and now that she 
 had decided to marry Earl in the near 
 future, she let him help in the providing for 
 
 203 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the material wants of the children. They 
 were all five of them beginning to bloom out 
 after the long dark period in their life which 
 had culminated in the death of parents and 
 one brother. Helen, with her fair hair and 
 big blue eyes, was almost pretty, and she 
 simply adored Poppy. "She kept us from 
 the asylum," she often whispered to the 
 neighbors, but the look of fear so early im- 
 planted on her wistful countenance never 
 quite left it. Poor little Helen, and Earl and 
 Poppy. Life was trying to be a bit kind to 
 them all in these days, and make them laugh 
 over buying new shoes and sitting down to 
 meals of plain boiled potatoes. It is often 
 that way — ^we dont realize it at the time, 
 but afterwards when the years have flown 
 by, it is well to have something to remem- 
 ber. 
 
 My work in the Gemble mansion was not 
 completed. Some force stronger than my 
 own will kept me on there and I worked 
 quietly and watched and waited. 
 
 Walton Gemble had, at his mother's in- 
 stigation, taken charge of a Sunday School 
 
 204 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Class in a mission hall on the West Side, 
 where the signs in. the windows are in any 
 language except English. 
 
 "Walton has just fallen in love with those 
 dreadful Bohemian and PoUsh, and I don't 
 know what aU out there, but then he always 
 was that way, so interested in the masses; 
 even as a child, he would run away to play 
 with little ash-can creatures in the alley," I 
 heard her murmur to an acquaintance. 
 
 Her whole life was a pose, and for some 
 reason, best known to herself, she had fairly 
 thrust the sullen boy iato her electric and 
 told him to comply with the request of the 
 church elders in her neighborhood, and go 
 to the mission they had established on the 
 West Side, and make a bluff at teaching a 
 class on Smiday morning. 
 
 "Damn it, what do I know about such 
 rotf" he had grumbled, in his sulky way, 
 kicking the soft turf of the green sward I 
 was tending. Neither he nor his mother 
 noticed me, but glancing up I saw an ex- 
 pression of alarm on her handsome face. I 
 think she fancied that the religious denomi- 
 
 205 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 nations were beginning to suspect her and 
 were already using their secret and success- 
 ful methods to obtain whatsoever they de- 
 sired. She had been giving very largely late- 
 ly to charitable institutions, and was a reg- 
 ular contributor to half a dozen fashionable 
 churches scattered over the exclusive end 
 of the North Side, that part of Chicago 
 which is so beautiful to the eye with its weU- 
 kept drives that skirt the lake, and which 
 runs past the cemetery into Evanston and 
 Wilmette. 
 
 April glided into May, and May was near- 
 ly gone. Poppy had for some time been 
 planning a little "family picnic" as she 
 called it. She had invited me to join Earl 
 and herself and the beloved orphans early 
 on the morning of Memorial Day, and we 
 were to all go out on a South Side car to 
 Jackson Park for a glorious day under the 
 trees, and watch the children eat their first 
 meal on a grassy slope. The heavy winter 
 had been hard on Poppy — she was not used 
 to the rigors of the Illinois climate, and she 
 longed inexpressibly to spend every Sunday 
 
 206 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and holiday out of doors now that the air 
 was mild and bahny. 
 
 ''Almost as lovely as California," she 
 would declare to Earl, when he took her for 
 little walks through Humboldt Park that 
 spring, but we both knew that Poppy was 
 homesick for the G-olden G-ate and the feel 
 of the salt spray on her cheeks. 
 
 "I hope to take her back there some day," 
 he had told me, when he came to deliver the 
 invitation to the picnic, and we had strolled 
 up the street a few blocks together, and I 
 had promised him I would come. 
 
 Memorial Day that year dawned bright 
 and clear. Mr. Mitchell had called at the 
 Gemble mansion the night before, and his 
 hard clean-shaven face looked harder than 
 ever as he drove away. I was sure Mrs. 
 G-emble was making very heavy demands 
 upon him now that the boy was home, and 
 the man who had said that money can buy 
 anything on earth was practicing bitterly 
 the doctrine that he prieached. None of the 
 servants were about as I prepared and ate 
 an early breakfast. Walton Gemble had 
 
 207 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 come in towards morning half intoxicated, 
 and I heard him swearing as he ran his low 
 gray racing car into the garage over which 
 I had my room. 
 
 I walked over to the car-line in the hush 
 of the early morning, and drew in deep 
 breaths of fresh air as if to cleanse myself 
 of the soiled atmosphere of the costly Gem- 
 ble mansion. How secure and safe from all 
 disturbance it lay there in its background 
 of stately trees, and the occupants slept on, 
 protected. They were breaking all the laws 
 of Grod and man, but man keeps silent when 
 you feed him gold, and Grod had not yet 
 spoken. 
 
 Little Helen met me at the door of 
 Poppy's humble home. She had moved into 
 two little rooms in another part of the 
 tenement district as she thought the old en- 
 vironment where the deaths of her aunt, and 
 of the Hungarians had occurred, too gloomy 
 for the children, and her one object with 
 them was to help them to forget a past so 
 fraught with suffering. Little Helen's face 
 held the frightened look of those early days; 
 
 208 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 however, as she said brokenly, as if very 
 near to sobbing, "Mr. Doyle, won't you 
 please find Poppy 1" 
 
 "Find her^' I echoed. 
 
 "Yes," contuiued Helen. "She went to 
 the store last night to get some cheese and 
 crackers for our lunch today, and she hasn't 
 come back yet." 
 
 For a moment I was too stunned to speak, 
 then a terrible fear gripped me at the heart. 
 Standing there in the spring sunshine, I 
 shook as if with a chill. I, the cool detective, 
 who had found more than one missing girl 
 in my time, was as helpless as the little 
 child before me, when it came to a question 
 of the girl I loved. Then with an effort, I 
 pulled myself together, and began question- 
 ittg Helen. She could only say the same 
 thing over and over — Poppy went to the 
 store, and she had never returned. Helen, 
 it seems, had put the younger children to 
 bed and had sat up aU night, dozing of£ now 
 and then in her chair by the window, watch- 
 ing and hoping that each figure that turned 
 the comer would be her beloved benefactor. 
 
 209 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 By the clock, it must have been about ten 
 minutes later, thought it seemed ten hours, 
 when Earl appeared. I like to look back and 
 remember his happy laughing eyes as he 
 bounded up the stairs, and handed some 
 chunky packages to Helen. Instantly he 
 saw that something was wrong. Grlaucing 
 from the child's white face to mine, which 
 perhaps registered more apprehension than 
 I realized, he cried, ** Where's Poppy*?" 
 
 After we had told him, I thought the boy 
 was going to f aiat. Then he lunged forward, 
 and down the stairs again. Following, I saw 
 him enter the little grocery store across the 
 street, where Poppy did her marketing. Al- 
 most immediately he reappeared. 
 
 "They don't recall her having been in at 
 all yesterday," he stammered. "What other 
 clue have we got to go on?" 
 
 "Earl," said I, "we've got to put this into 
 the hands of the police." He turned sharply, 
 "My God, Steve, we stand no chance to get 
 help there. Poppy is a union girl, and we're 
 all poor and " 
 
 210 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ** Never mind, old man, well have to re- 
 port the case and they are bound to make 
 some sort of an investigation. Hurry now 
 as fast as you can and then see the press." 
 Earl groaned — "the press, why they'll not 
 say anything to help and " 
 
 I put my hand on his shoulder, and real- 
 izing that I had to steady him, steadied my 
 own quivering nerves. 
 
 "Listen, Earl, it's like this. If no one has 
 bought the papers up to make no mention of 
 her disappearance, they'll be glad to get 
 a hold of the story from the news end. 
 They're always looking for sensations, and 
 on the strength of their not having been 
 forbidden to publish any word concerning 
 Poppy, they may decide that it will sell 
 copies of the paper to feature the story, and 
 in that way we will reach those who might 
 give us a clue worth working on." 
 
 Earl nodded comprehendingly, and 
 dashed off towards town. Groing back to the 
 little waiting children, I sat down by the 
 table where they were eating breakfast and 
 noted the careful little preparations which 
 
 211 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 had been made for the picnic that was not 
 to be. 
 
 "Is we going to the park now?" asked 
 tearful Freddy, aged six. 
 
 I took him up on my knee and leaned 
 over towards the "little mother", who was 
 trying to coax the others to eat their coarse 
 cereal and thin blue milk. 
 
 "Helen," said I, "I want you to try to 
 think of every place that Poppy ever went, 
 and tell me where it is, so we can help to 
 find her quickly." 
 
 "When you find Poppy, then can we go 
 to the Park 1 ' ' persisted Freddy. I told him 
 yes and he slipped off my knee and went to 
 the window, where he looked out for a long, 
 long time. 
 
 Helen tried hard to think, but there 
 wasn't any place but the shop where Poppy 
 worked, and as this was a holiday, she 
 wouldn't be there. Sometimes she went to 
 meetings at night, when Earl came and 
 called for her, but not very often. They 
 didn't know the other people in the house 
 very well, as they had not been there long, 
 
 212 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 but we migM ask them all if they had seen 
 Poppy. So Helen and I started in on the 
 top floor, and paused at each door until we 
 came to the basement. No one had seen her 
 after she had left the room m which she 
 lived, and told Helen she was going to the 
 store a moment. Among the tenants, I 
 found a kindly Scotch woman who volun- 
 teered to look to the children until Poppy 
 came back, but there was in her face the 
 same fear there was in mine, and the same 
 expression in her eyes. Those who have suf- 
 fered poverty are banded together by a 
 common tie. They know the dangers that 
 are lurking near. Only those who have 
 fought the wolf from the door can under- 
 stand what a hungry man is talking about, 
 and only those who have felt the "system's 
 hand" creeping up on them from behind 
 and flown in terror from its clutches could 
 appreciate the agony of mind I was in over 
 the one night's disappearance of the sweet- 
 faced girl. 
 
 Towards noon Earl returned, utterly 
 fagged with his useless searching, and 
 
 213 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 frantic in his impotence to do anything. Up 
 and down the quiet little room he walked, 
 sometimes questioning one of the orphans, 
 sometimes stopping as if to listen for a cer- 
 tain voice, and then, after a while, he sank 
 into a chair by the table and buried his head 
 
 in his arms. 
 
 * » * 
 
 For three days and nights this suspense 
 went on. The papers had received no word 
 to suppress the story, and the city rang with 
 it. Thousands of dollars were made that 
 week by a half dozen dailies out of the 
 story of our little Poppy's strange disap- 
 pearance. They printed the picture that 
 Earl had carried, and described the "girl 
 from California" as we had described her 
 to them, but because we had so little to tell 
 and because they must say more than that 
 she was pretty and sweet and good, and 
 should be traced, they sent reporters to the 
 little meager home where the frightened 
 orphans waited, and toot pictures of the 
 children and printed them, and intimated 
 that there was really no accounting for 
 
 214 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 working-girls — their standards were not 
 very high; these children, for instance, 
 whose were they, anyway, and just why had 
 this young girl taken so keen an interest 
 in them"? 
 
 When Earl read these insinuations, he 
 was beside himself with grief and indigna- 
 tion, and he went out, and among the vari- 
 ous unions, raised what he thought would be 
 enough money to make them retract any 
 slander they had printed. But, though hun- 
 dreds of workers taxed themselves volun- 
 tarily, a day's pay each, to help place Poppy 
 right in the eyes of the world, it was, as 
 Mr. Mitchell would have remarked, not 
 quite enough. Earl divided the contribu- 
 tions up among the papers, which accepted 
 the money, and then came out in the next 
 issues with the statement that the lover of 
 the girl would bear watching. He had tried 
 to bribe them to hush certain matters up, 
 but they of course were incorruptible. 
 
 The next blow to fall upon the little 
 household was the advent of the officers 
 from the Juvenile Protective Association. 
 
 215 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Learning of the children, they swooped 
 down upon them, and bore them all away. 
 Shrieking, as with mortal pain, Helen tried 
 to fight them off. They had been that par- 
 ticular part of the system which she had 
 dreaded most of her short life, and at last 
 they closed in upon \the helpless "little 
 mother". Standing with her arms about the 
 frightened younger ones, she pleaded not to 
 be taken away, but each little weeping 
 brother and sister was separated from the 
 other, and as many various institutions re- 
 ceived them. Looking back in after years, 
 and seeing the faces of so many sorrowful 
 men and women staring through the mist of 
 time, the countenance of little Freddy looms 
 up clear and pathetic, and I often hear his 
 baby voice calling out, as it did that day 
 they carried him off from his only home to 
 a charity orphanage, "Oh, I did want to see 
 the park, the booful, booful park." 
 
 Just before she left, and while she was 
 getting the children's clothes together, sob- 
 bing pitifully as she moved from one room 
 
 216 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to another, Helen came over to me and 
 placed a little leaflet in my hand. 
 
 "That's my Sunday-school lesson for next 
 Sunday, ' ' she said brokenly. "WUl you take 
 it to the teacher, and tell them why we can't 
 come any morel" 
 
 An address was written at the top of the 
 page, and I nodded and put my arm about 
 the little lonely child. 
 
 "It was a nice Sunday-school," she con- 
 fided. "One morning we were passing, and 
 heard such pretty music. Poppy stopped 
 to let us hear, and the lady there said for us 
 to come back again, so we did, and they were 
 going to pay Poppy a dollar a week to play 
 the organ, 'cause the other player was go- 
 ing away, and Poppy said that some night, 
 after she came home from the shop, she was 
 going to run over and see about it, but I 
 guess she must have forgot. Poppy did love 
 music ,and I do, too, and oh, I miss her 
 something dreadful." Here the child laid 
 her head down on my shoulder, and cried as 
 if her heart would break, 
 
 "Come, come," said the sharp voice of 
 
 217 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the elderly woman who was rounding up 
 her charges, and I noticed that she made 
 several notes in a memoranda book she 
 carried. This woman, though married, had 
 never had a child herself, and she was in 
 great demand as a lecturer before 
 "Mothers' Clubs" and "Parent Associa- 
 tions", as an authority on the up-bringing 
 of the young. She had written an essay on 
 "The Psychology of the Child Mind", and 
 was now getting data for one on "The Vul- 
 garity of Being Poor". 
 
 When the last little Hungarian, that 
 Poppy had so loved and cared for, been 
 taken from the rooms. Earl came in from 
 the outside and sat down. 
 
 "I couldn't stand it," he said, "I simply 
 couldn't. I used to think that we workers 
 were going to get out into the light some 
 day, but we're not. Thiugs are getting 
 darker every minute. They're attacking us 
 from every angle." 
 
 "The darkest hour for any nation is the 
 hour before its dawning," I said, "and Earl, 
 that's true of the human soul as well. The 
 
 218 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 workers have some things to learn yet and 
 they must learn them through the suffer- 
 ing of each individual. Try to get that 
 thought, and it will help you through these 
 crucial days, old man. You are a part of 
 that great mass which wiU rise some day in 
 all its power, and might, and be weighed 
 in the balance and found not wanting. You 
 and all those other millions and millions 
 who have made the wealth of the land, and 
 had it taken from you, will come into your 
 own some day. You, who have known cold 
 backs, and empty stomachs, and bleeding 
 hearts, are bearing all these things that the 
 common people shall be free. It wiU be a 
 glorious day when it comes, Earl — ^won't 
 you try to think of that?" 
 
 The vision caught the boy, and he almost 
 smiled an instant. 
 
 "1 know," he answered, softly. "I've al- 
 ways known, only I just couldn't seem tp 
 say it that way, Steve. Why, when I've been 
 addressing meetings and looked down into 
 the hungry, care-worn faces of the men, 
 men on whose neck the iron heel had pressed 
 
 219 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 for years, I tried to get that message to 
 
 them. And now " 
 
 "And now you WILL get it to them, don't 
 you understand?" 
 
 Earl sat silent for a long while, his head 
 bowed ia sorrow. Tears had been added to 
 him in the past few days. 
 
 "The police say they have exhausted 
 every clue, Steve, but somehow I have 
 thought that YOU would find her yet." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I am going to find her." 
 
 Earl looked up quickly. 
 
 "Have you anything to go on?" he cried. 
 
 "I will find Poppy," said I, slowly, "but 
 you must be very, very brave." 
 
 The little alarm clock that used, to sum- 
 mon Poppy to the day's work ticked loudly 
 from a shelf. The broken toy that she had 
 gotten once for Freddy lay neglected on a 
 wooden chair. The kindly Scotch woman 
 who lived in the basement came in and 
 started a fire in the range, and said she'd 
 make us both some tea. 
 
 220 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The hot June sunshine fell on Earl's 
 bowed head, and leaving him sitting there 
 with his anguished thoughts, I slipped 
 away, for I had many matters to attend to. 
 
 221 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Mission Sunday-school, where little 
 Helen and her brothers and sisters had gone, 
 stood on a narrow, dirty side street, and 
 was nothing more or less than a vacant 
 store. I found an old Bohemian woman 
 scrubbing the floor when I stopped, and I 
 asked her where I would find the teacher 
 whose name was on the leaflet Helen had 
 given me, but she understood so little Eng- 
 lish that I got no satisfaction. 
 
 I strolled about the place, noting colored 
 pictures on the wall, and a blackboard or 
 two, and then I glanced at the little old- 
 fashioned organ that Poppy had considered 
 playing for the sum of one dollar a week, so 
 the Hungarians might have another slice of 
 bread around, I suppose. Had she ever kept 
 her appointment to talk the matter over, 
 and who had talked to her if she had? All 
 about the long, low room I walked. I opened 
 the back door, and looked out on a filthy 
 alley. Then I sat down on one of the benches 
 
 223 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 which were placed crosswise before a small 
 improvised platform, and concentrated on 
 the question. I put my emotions to one 
 side, and forced myseK to make a study of 
 the case of Poppy's disappearance, as a de- 
 tective, pure and simple. 
 
 That evening, as I was turning in to the 
 driveway of the Gremble mansion, I encoun- 
 tered Okagowa coming out. He grinned in 
 his friendly way. 
 
 '*How you feel?" he asked. 
 
 "All right," I answered. "Whyf 
 
 Okagowa shrugged. "Me see something 
 big on your mind — you terrible worried," 
 replied the Japanese boy, gravely. 
 
 "Where are you going?" I asked, wishing 
 to change the subject. 
 
 "Get eligilettes for Mr. "Walton — he heap 
 sick." 
 
 "You go get them, and I'll take them up," 
 said I. 
 
 Okagowa grinned again. "You lika see 
 fine bedroom of millionaire?" he questioned. 
 
 I nodded, and he disappeared, and in a 
 few moments returned with a package of 
 
 224 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the highest-priced cigarettes on the market. 
 I took them, and entered the house, and 
 made my way up the back stairway to the 
 second floor. The thick carpet deadened my 
 footfalls, and no one heard me until I 
 knocked at the door which Okagowa had 
 described as Mr. Walton's. 
 
 "Come," called a peevish voice, and I 
 went in and closed the door behiad me. 
 
 Walton G-emble lay in a costly brass bed- 
 stead with the silk comforters pulled close 
 about him, though the day was very warm. 
 
 He peered at me a moment in stupid won- 
 derment, then frowned and let out an oath. 
 
 "What the hell do you want?" he snarled. 
 
 I didn't answer, but handed him the pack- 
 age of cigarettes. 
 
 "Where's that fool of a Jap?" he asked. 
 
 "Okagowa was called away to attend to 
 something of importance, and I offered to 
 brings these up to you," I replied. 
 
 "WeU, you can go now," and he turned 
 his face away. 
 
 "Would you care to see the day's 
 papers?" I volunteered. 
 
 225 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 He darted a quick look in my direction. 
 
 "No," he snapped, "what do I want to 
 see them for?" 
 
 "There's news in them which might take 
 your mind oE your worry," said I. 
 
 "Worry — who says I'm worried?" he 
 cried, half sitting up in bed. "I'm sick, do 
 you hear, sick, the doctor says so, and now 
 get out." 
 
 But I only stood quite close to the bed 
 looking down on him, and my mind worked 
 very rapidly. G-emble became infuriated. 
 He swore and threatened to use violence if 
 I delayed another instant. 
 
 "Who are you, anyway?" he asked. 
 
 "You know I am the gardener," I an- 
 swered, quietly, noting the extreme nerv- 
 ousness with which he eyed me. 
 
 "Then if you're the gardener, get out and 
 garden," and he ended the interview by 
 puUiag the coverings entirely over his head. 
 
 The day passed and night came, but I 
 didn't go to my room. I avoided Earl and 
 indeed every one. I sat in a little restaurant 
 
 226 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 on the West Side, and waited for midnight. 
 Then I walked over to the mission Sunday- 
 school and opened the door with a skeleton 
 key. Again the gaudy pictures stared at me, 
 revealed by the light of a street lamp which 
 shone in above the curtain which covered 
 the lower part of the window. Mary, and 
 Mary Magdalene, and the Carpenter, who 
 had organized twelve men of various crafts 
 into one union, all looked down at me and 
 their faces were very, very sad, for they had 
 witnessed the iniquities of two thousand 
 years, committed in their names, and as yet, 
 they had borne in silence and with patience. 
 The front door and the back door and the 
 plain bare room was all that was to be seen, 
 but I was a detective, and as such, must see 
 more than others would or could. 
 
 Getting out my pocket-knife, I loosened a 
 strip of oilcloth that ran down what might 
 have been called the center aisle. At the 
 far end, toward the back, was a square of 
 boarding separated from the rest of the floor 
 on three sides, and on the fourth side, fas- 
 tened to it by a couple of rusty hinges. I 
 
 227 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 inserted the blade of the knife, and raised 
 the trap-door. Then I let myself drop down 
 on to some soft earth below. The darkness 
 was absolute. I took out my flashlight, and 
 discovered a few broken boxes, and some 
 old iron. I moved cautiously. I knew what 
 I had come to find, but when I found it, the 
 blood in my body seemed to freeze, and for 
 a moment, my brain reeled. Like the Car- 
 penter above, I moaned, "My God, why 
 hast thou forsaken me'?" and the an- 
 guish that I endured can never be put on to 
 paper. Tenderly and with great sobs tear- 
 ing my throat, I touched the mutilated little 
 form of Poppy, and then crept back and out 
 on to the street again. 
 
 Crossing over to a comer saloon, I tele- 
 phoned to Jerry Maloy, and then sat down 
 and waited. Jerry was a messenger boy 
 whom I had known out West, and whom I 
 had befriended once. I met him going into 
 the G-emble mansion with a message one 
 day, and he recognized me, but only winked, 
 and putting his finger on his Ups, murmured, 
 "Mum's the word, boss, but I'm sure glad 
 
 228 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to see you again; let me know if I can ever 
 be of any service to you." Poor little fellow, 
 grown old before his time with hard usage,; 
 an orphan, and ambitious, as he told me 
 once, to make something of himseK. 
 
 After awhile he came, breathless and 
 eager. "What's the idea, Mr. Doyle," he 
 whispered, dropping into a chair where I 
 sat beside a small table in a back room. But 
 when he got a good look at my face in the 
 dim light of the flickering gas-jet, he gulped 
 hard, and caught my arm roughly. 
 
 "My God, what have they done to you?" 
 he asked quickly, and glanced around the 
 nearly empty room. 
 
 "Sit up and keep cool, and listen atten- 
 tively to what I am going to tell you," said 
 I, and then leaning forward, I looked into 
 the boy's honest eyes and began. 
 
 "Jerry, organized labor here in Chicago, 
 has, through the central body, offered a 
 reward of five hundred dollars for the find- 
 ing of the missing girl. Poppy Grant. Have 
 you followed the story at aUI" 
 
 He nodded. "Sure, I read everything." 
 
 229 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Very well, then, after I have explained 
 things to you, go to the police and tell them 
 what you know. Don't mention my name 
 in connection with the case. Simply say you 
 stumbled on to a clue which led to the 
 finding." 
 
 • Shaken as I was with my own personal 
 suffering, and wishing to do a kindness to 
 the boy, I was unmindful of the peril in 
 which I was placing him. At another time, I 
 would have seen this — ^now I saw only one 
 thing, and I moved towards it with a deadly 
 sureness of aim. All my past training came 
 to my aid, and forced me to proceed with 
 the deliberation of the detective, rather than 
 with the haste and passion of the man, but 
 so centered was I on the course which I 
 intended to pursue that for many days, I 
 scarcely ate or slept. I rose above the needs 
 of the flesh and lived as in a world apart. 
 
 Jerry listened to the tragedy with 
 staring eyes, and then went quickly 
 and quietly away to do my bidding. 
 I think he must have sensed some- 
 thing of what Poppy had been to me, for he 
 
 230 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 said with a little break in his voice, as he 
 turned to go, ''It's awfully kind of you to 
 throw the five hundred my way, Mr. Doyle, 
 and I'm so sorry about the young lady, I 
 just don't what what to say." 
 
 Long afterwards, he told me the details 
 of that night, and early morning. The police 
 had let him lead them to the spot where the 
 body lay, and then had put him through the 
 third degree, to make him tell what more he 
 knew. 
 
 "I told them that was all," said he, in 
 relating the story to me, "but you see they 
 were peeved because they had been outwit- 
 ted by a messenger boy, and so they took it 
 out on me." 
 
 " 'How did you come to find the body,' 
 they would ask, and I would tell them how 
 I was rummaging down there for some old 
 iron to sell, and they would say, 'There's 
 some man back of this, you know his name, 
 tell it to us or we'll make you tell,' and then 
 they tried all different methods to enforce 
 confession. I was strung up by my hands 
 to a bar hanging over a door, and with my 
 
 231 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 feet just off the floor, was left to dangle 
 there until I fainted from the pain. My 
 hands swelled and turned purple, and I 
 nearly chewed my tongue up with the agony. 
 Sometimes a big, burly fellow would kick me 
 as I hung there, and growl at me, 'Will you 
 teU now?' Then they'd put me in a great 
 big tub, or rather tank, of freezing water, 
 and when I had no longer any strength to 
 swim, I'd invent a sort of bobbing up and 
 down to keep from drowning. Here, too, 
 I generally fainted, for I have a weak heart. 
 It was when the authorities were experi- 
 menting with the barrel, rolling me back and 
 forth across it, and each time I went forward 
 striking my head with terrific force upon 
 the cement floor that an idea came to me, 
 and when they got through with that tor- 
 ture, and were debating what they would 
 try next, I said, 'What are you wasting your 
 time on me for? I've told you the truth. I 
 don't know anything about the murder of 
 that girl. I only found her body, that's all. 
 Why don't you find out who owns and runs 
 that mission? They might be able to put 
 
 232 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 you wise,' and there were three of them 
 looking down at me, and they just ex- 
 changed glances, and one of them said, 'I 
 never thought of that,' but they beat it, and 
 I got a chance to lie still, and endure the 
 misery they had caused me without any 
 more being added to it. I had been arrested 
 without even being booked, so none of my 
 friends knew where I was for several days, 
 but I felt pretty sure that the police were 
 anxious to find the murderer, as they hadn't 
 been able to find the body, and I figured my 
 troubles would soon be over." 
 
 Jerry was right. They were anxious to 
 redeem themselves in the eyes of the public, 
 as its guardians, and they acted imjnediately 
 upon his advice, and began investigations. 
 The chief of the force called on the Board 
 of Trustees of the fashionable North Side 
 church when they learned they were in 
 charge of the little West Side mission, and 
 requested a list of the teachers and others 
 engaged in carrying on the work. 
 
 Elder Fields, quaking inwardly at the 
 
 233 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 intrusion of this uniformed man into his 
 luxuriously appointed home, put on his most 
 sanctimonious manner, and declared that 
 the chief would have to see the superintend- 
 ent about the personnel of the mission. The 
 murder, or could it have been suicide — one 
 can never tell about these working-girls — 
 was sad, very sad indeed, but he himself 
 had not the time to visit the mission, as he 
 said, the superintendent ought to know what 
 the chief wanted to find out, and if there 
 was any other way he could be of use to the 
 arm of the law in any future matters, he, 
 Elder Fields, would be only too happy to 
 assist. It was our police that made the 
 cities safe for democracy, and oh, yes, the 
 name of the superintendent — ^well, they had 
 been very fortunate in securing the services 
 of the wealthy young Walton G-emble, who 
 had just returned from Europe, and was so 
 interested in the study of the foreign peo- 
 ples. There were really quite a few of them 
 in Chicago, didn't the chief think so, and it 
 was really hard to tell what we were coming 
 to in these days, when so few of the young 
 
 234 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 men took any real interest in the spreading 
 of the gospel, and — 
 
 The policeman had jotted down the 
 address, and was making for the mansion 
 on Sheridan Road. 
 
 The papers had announced the finding of 
 the body, and intimated that several sus- 
 pects had been areste^. Still no one had 
 bade them keep silent. 
 
 The coroner had testified that the girl had 
 been brutally attacked, .then choked to 
 death. 
 
 Poor Earl-^I did not deem it best to be 
 with him in those first awful hours. I had 
 to let him think the worst of me, and appear 
 to fail him when he needed my friendship 
 the most. It wrung my heart to picture him 
 identifying Poppy at the morgue. The 
 second day I got a note from him, saying 
 he had tried in vain to find me at the G-em- 
 bles, but I was never there when ^le called, 
 and no one knew where I was. He had 
 thought me true to him, but he realized his 
 mistake. "You remember you said you 
 would find her," he had written. "You not 
 
 235 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 only failed to do that, but you have failed 
 me as a friend. As a detective, and as a 
 man, I am through with you." 
 
 Poor Earl — it was hard to keep from going 
 to him then and trying to comfort his lacer- 
 ated heart, but I had gotten to that pass 
 where I could let anything wait until I 
 finished what I had to ^o. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, Okagowa 
 flew to me, as I stood on the back steps, 
 watching a certain upper window, and his 
 comical little face was white with terror. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Doyle, one time boy tell me at 
 Grospel Mission, no let harness-bulls catch 
 me. Big one at front door now — ^I no Uka 
 open, what I do?" 
 
 "Stay here and I will let him in." I 
 walked through the house and answered the 
 second impatient ring of the chief of police. 
 He spoke quickly and to the point. 
 
 "Oembles live hereV 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Walton Gemblef 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Tell him I wish to see him." 
 
 236 
 
THE. SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Neither of us had moved, and the officer 
 pushed his way iato the hall. 
 
 **You heard what I said?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then why don't you get a wiggle on 
 your creepers?" 
 
 "Mr. Gemble is sick in bed, sir." 
 
 "Take me up to him." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 I led the way up the wide stairs and down 
 the heavily carpeted hall. If he wondered 
 why I, a servant, did not laiock, he did not 
 say so. We simply went into the room and 
 closed the door behind us. 
 
 Walton Gemble and his mother were the 
 only occupants of the room, and they both 
 started violently when they looked up and 
 saw who stood there. The woman was the 
 first to recover. 
 
 "Stephen, what does this intrusion 
 mean?" she asked, in her usual haughty 
 manner, addressing her remark to me, and 
 appearing to ignore the officer. 
 
 237 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 The atmosphere of wealth was not lost 
 upon the man. He took off his hat. 
 
 "You will pardon my visit, madam, but it 
 becomes my painful duty to make some in- 
 quiries of your son concerning the mission 
 Sunday-School where he is superintendent, 
 and where the body of a young woman was 
 found in the basement yesterday." 
 
 The figure in the bed seemed to slip down 
 out of sight. 
 
 Mrs. Gemble smiled sarcastically. '*0h, 
 yes, I believe I did read something about it 
 in the papers. Unfortunate, wasn't it? You 
 try to help those wretched beggars, and they 
 keep right on fighting, and even killing each 
 other in the very church itself. Walty, dear, 
 try to rouse yourself and tell this gentleman 
 what he wants to know. Of course, chief, I 
 rely on your tact to spare my son any har- 
 rowing details. He has been really quite ill 
 for several days now, and has not seemed 
 to care for visitors at all." 
 
 The officer bowed. He evidently intended 
 to talk with the boy alone, and Mrs. Gemble 
 saw he was waiting. As she passed out of 
 
 238 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the room, I followed, and she turned to me 
 for the first time, with her mask off. 
 
 "^^ Listen," she almost hissed into my ear, 
 ''there at the keyhole," and, dropping to my 
 knees, I heard the conversation between the 
 two in the bedroom. 
 
 The officer asked a few perfunctory ques- 
 tions. Walton answered them in a muffled 
 tone. Then the officer said, "This young 
 woman, Poppy Grrant — ^^did you ever have 
 any words with her?" 
 
 "Not many," came the reply. 
 
 "And what were they about?" 
 
 "About playing the organ. She claimed 
 she could do it, but I never heard her." 
 
 "I think, Mr. Gemble," said the officer, 
 'that I will have to ask you to get up and 
 drive over to the mission with me. There 
 are some questions I can settle better if we 
 are both on the place together. We will call 
 and take the other men teachers with us." 
 
 "The teachers are all women," almost 
 groaned Walton. 
 
 "Indeed," replied the officer. "Then we 
 
 239 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 will not trouble them just now. You and I 
 will go over the ground alone." 
 
 " I 'm sick, ' ' whined Walton. ' ' I 'm — 
 
 ''Yes, so sorry," apologized the officer, 
 ' ' Just as soon as you can, please. I will wait 
 here by the window while you dress." 
 
 The man was clever — ^he knew there were 
 big possibilities ahead — ^big, anyway it went. 
 It took the chief to handle these really deli- 
 cate matters — ^no rough stuff here. 
 
 The next morning, the papers announced 
 that young Walton Gemble had collapsed 
 on the floor of the mission when taken there 
 to explain certain matters to the chief of 
 police, and the chief had placed him under 
 arrest pending further investigation of the 
 murder of the young girl. Poppy G-rant, who 
 worked in a millinery shop six days of the 
 week, and was, so far as could be learned, 
 contemplating the playing of a Mission 
 Sunday-School organ on the seventh day. 
 Great mystery had surrounded her disap- 
 pearance, and the finding of the body, three 
 and a half days later, by a messenger boy, 
 in the basement of the mission itself, pointed 
 
 240 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 to a very brutal attack before the life was 
 finally choked out of the victim, finger 
 marks being plainly seen about the throat 
 of the once pretty girl. Needless to say, this 
 was the last time the press mentioned Wal- 
 ton's name in connection with the affair, 
 save as briefly as possible. Mrs. Gemble 
 had telephoned for Mitchell as soon as Wal- 
 ton was arrested, and the two of them had 
 been closeted for an hour or more, during 
 which time angry words could be heard 
 from both of them, and the tearful pleadings 
 of the woman were silenced by oaths from 
 the man. 
 
 When Mitchell finally left the house, I 
 took out my watch. I gave the private 
 operatives, whom I knew he had gone to 
 employ, exactly an hour to be on the job. 
 They were not late. Starting in with the 
 maids, they began a systematic course of 
 instruction ending in each case with the 
 presentation of a bribe. The alibi was very 
 simple and every one had learned it by 
 heart, when they finally came to me. 
 
 "You are the gardener?" asked an inso- 
 241 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 lent-looking fellow, who always dressed in 
 the height of fashion, and swaggered a bit 
 while he worked. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Very weU. On the night of the 29th of 
 May, you remember distinctly that Walton 
 Gemble did not leave this house. He was 
 partially ill at the time. Doctor Hilton will 
 swear that he attended him then. He was 
 running a slight temperature and of course 
 would not be going around. So far as you 
 know, he was confined to his bed. Being an 
 outside servant, you could not swear to that; 
 however, you can swear to it that his car 
 which he always drives, never left the 
 garage. You are certain of this, because 
 you looked in and saw it there when you 
 went up to your room above the cars, about 
 midnight, we will say." He paused, and 
 flicked a speck of cigar ash from his coat. 
 He smoked indolently while he talked. 
 ''And, by the way," he added, as if an after- 
 thought had come to him, "the trial will 
 naturally put all the help out a little. Mrs. 
 Gemble does not wish any one to be too 
 
 242 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 much inconvenienced in their routine work. 
 Here is a little sum to make the trouble you 
 have to go to as a witness entirely worth 
 while." He handed me a roll of bills. The 
 denomination was small, however. The 
 number of the crisp greenbacks looked like 
 a lot more than it really was. 
 
 I stood silent and failed to take the money. 
 The operative glanced at me sharply. He 
 had been looking the other way when he 
 presented the roll. People are known to 
 accept a gift of this kind more readily if it 
 is presented gracefully, and in an off-hand 
 way, so to speak. 
 
 A slow smile of utter contempt rested on 
 the fellow's face. 
 
 ''Aha," said he, "and so we have one of 
 those high-priced gentlemen with us, have 
 we ? Just how much did you figure that the 
 little job was worth?" 
 
 *'I accept no job," I replied, and turned as 
 if to leave. 
 
 The man suddenly became alert, and 
 caught me by the shoulder. 
 
 "Look here, now," and he spoke roughly. 
 
 243 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 *'Cut out that comedy stuff, and name your 
 price. 
 
 "There is nothing further from my mind 
 than comedy, ' ' said I, * ' but I have no price. ' ' 
 
 The man gazed at me in a baffled way for 
 a moment, then he laughed nervously, and 
 leaning close, said in a vicious tone, "You 
 damn fool, do you know you are playing 
 with fire?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," I replied. "I think I realize 
 that even better than you do." 
 
 Again he seemed at a loss to know what 
 words to use or how to handle a man who 
 said he had no price. 
 
 "I believe you're a crook," he said, 
 slowly, eyeing me as if I were an object of 
 disgust, "and I am on to your little game. 
 WiU a thousand satisfy you, eh?" 
 
 The man wearied me inexpressibly, but I 
 seemed to have to go through with the 
 matter. 
 
 "Listen," said I, "I am neither a fool nor 
 a crook, but I heard Walton drive his car 
 into the garage between four and five o'clock 
 on the morning of the 30th. He swore 
 
 244 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 loudly as he does when intoxicated. I 
 suppose it was his noise that woke me up." 
 
 The operative started, and his eyes nar- 
 rowed. ' ' So you got the goods on him, have 
 you? And you think your testimony will 
 bring you more from the other side? Let 
 me tell you something. This girl hadn't a 
 friend in the world who isn't as poor as she 
 was. They couldn't give you anything. 
 They're only a bunch of union-workers." 
 
 An hour later, Mrs. Gemble sent for me 
 to come to her in the library. I don't know 
 why it was called that, — ^nobody ever read 
 any books there, but the furnishings were 
 very rich and magnificent, andj as I entered 
 the room, I saw Mrs. Gemble sitting in the 
 softened light of many shaded electric 
 lamps, and holding a book as they hold them 
 on the stage, when the curtain goes up, and 
 the actress is discovered carelessly reading 
 an absorbing novel. She had made one slight 
 mistake, however, — the volume was upside 
 down in her hand. 
 
 Concealing her agitation under a manner 
 of cool scorn for the servant who had been 
 
 245 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 sent to her for reprimanding, she remarked, 
 "I am informed, Stephen, that you have 
 taken a very ugly prejudice against a friend 
 whom I sent to you to arrange the details of 
 how I wish the help to appear at the exam- 
 ination of my son Walton. The whole affair 
 is most trying, and this is no time for you 
 to manifest personal dislikes." 
 
 I bowed, and after awhile, she continued, 
 with more impatience in her voice than 
 before. 
 
 "Why do you object to doing as you are 
 toldr 
 
 "I object to lying, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. GTemble dropped the book and rose 
 quickly, 
 
 "What do you know of this terrible trou- 
 ble, anyway r' 
 
 "I know everything," I replied, and the 
 woman sank back into her chair with a low 
 groan. After a moment she got control of 
 herself again. 
 
 "Listen," she cried, "it is impossible for 
 you to know everything. You don't even 
 know what you are talking about." 
 
 246 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Mrs. Gremble," said I, "you have played 
 your cards very cleverly, but the servants 
 in your kitchen have long gossiped about 
 you, while the guests at your table ate your 
 cake and drank your wine and preferred to 
 believe what tale you chose to tell. It is 
 that way with our rich Americans, you have 
 bought apparently everything, from the 
 government of our country down to the man 
 who carries away your garbage and cleans 
 out your sewer, but you are unmindful of 
 the fact that the system you employ is 
 always laughing at you behind your back." 
 
 She regarded me with an expression of 
 frozen terror. "How dare you!" she 
 breathed. * ' How dare you ! ' ' 
 
 "One dares anything who has no fear," 
 said I. 
 
 Mrs. G-emble trembled with mingled emo- 
 tions, but she put up her bluff once more. 
 "You are dismissed from my employ," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I was going anyway — my 
 work is nearly finished." As I turned to 
 leave the room, she called me sharply. 
 
 247 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Stephen, what do you think you know 
 about my son? You may tell me, but be 
 quick about it." 
 
 "He is a murderer," said I, "but I prefer 
 to let the law take its course in the case 
 rather than attending to it myself. The 
 latter would have given me more personal 
 satisfaction, but the greater good to the 
 greater number can best be served this 
 way," 
 
 A fit of hysterical sobbing shook the 
 woman, and she kept repeating — "It's a lie, 
 a lie, you know it's a lie." 
 
 "No," I replied, "it's not a lie, and you 
 know it's not." 
 
 She wept brokenly for a moment. Then 
 she threw herself on my mercy. 
 
 "Oh, spare us, Stephen, spare us. What 
 have I ever done to you that you should 
 bring this trouble on me?" 
 
 "You brought this trouble on yourself, 
 Mrs. G-emble." 
 
 The thrust went home. "Oh, yes, it's my 
 fault. He was born, marked. All the nine 
 months that I carried him, I was trying to 
 
 248 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 kill him. I didn't want a child. I used 
 every means to thwart his coming. I am 
 the one to blame, but spare me, and I will 
 give you anything you ask." 
 
 The same old cry. The same old method 
 of covering up the sins of those who have 
 acquired the wealth of all the land, and 
 through that wealth, the power. Better 
 had it been written in the Declaration, "of 
 money, for money, and by money," for the 
 People would not then have felt the 
 mockery. 
 
 That same evening Mitchell sent for me. 
 He had been summoned to the house by Mrs. 
 Gemble, after her fruitless interview with 
 me, and I realized that this was playing the 
 trump card in her hand. No one had ever 
 resisted the great financier. 
 
 The man was seated in a massive leather 
 chair in a room more nearly like a den than 
 any other in the mansion, and the one to 
 which Mitchell often repaired, as if he had 
 a proprietary right in it. He looked at me 
 as if to express his utter distaste of having 
 to come into such close contact with a crea- 
 
 249 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ture of the working world. As he had said, 
 he never handled these details himself, and 
 here was a case that had failed to respond 
 to the treatment his agents had accorded it. 
 
 He didn't call me by name. I was to 
 him, nameless. He simply threw a roll of 
 bills on the table, and ordered me to count 
 them. I did so. 
 
 How much is there?" he asked, keeping 
 his eyes on a picture by a great artist, which 
 was hanging on the wall. 
 
 "Twenty-five thousand dollars," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 **Is that sufficient to make you take the 
 night traiQ for the West and stay there the 
 rest of your life?" 
 
 I shook my head — Mitchell grew pale with 
 rage. He pressed his lips tightly together, 
 and thought hard for an instant. Then he 
 threw another roll on the table, and said, as 
 if his hate for me was boundless, *' There is 
 twenty-five thousand more. Fifty, in all, 
 but not another damn cent do you get, you 
 infernal scoundrel, you blackguard. Take 
 it and go, and if you fail to leave Chicago 
 
 250 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 tonight, you will pay for your delay with 
 your worthless life." 
 
 Still I stood quietly by the table, my arms 
 folded, and my eyes on the man who had 
 boasted that one could buy anything on 
 earth, if he only had the price, 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell," said I, **is it possible 
 that you have never met a man before who 
 wouldn't take a bribe'?" 
 
 For the first time, he gave me a thorough 
 scrutiny. He was puzzled, more puzzled 
 than he had ever been in his long successful 
 Uf e. He was also very shrewd, and I think 
 he was asking himself the question — "who 
 is this servant in this house?" 
 
 Then he leaned forward, and said in a 
 milder tone. "I am doing this as a friend 
 of Mrs. Gemble. She is a widow, and in 
 great anxiety now about her son. He is not 
 at all well, and these fool police mistook his 
 fainting the other night, when they had the 
 audacity to drag him from his bed to that 
 blamed mission, for some complicity in a 
 crime that was committed there. Now if 
 you can't see your way clear to agree with 
 
 251 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 this family, you have served, then for God's 
 sake, clean out, and take the money and 
 everything will be forgotten." 
 
 "Mr, MitcheU," said I, "there is grave 
 unrest in our country just at present. It is 
 a pity that so talented a man as you should 
 be using all your talents to bring about the 
 very thing you fight and fear." 
 
 "What do you mean?" he gasped out, 
 taken off his guard for a moment. But 
 before I could reply, he held up his hand to 
 comand silence, and I withdrew, for the in- 
 terview was ended. 
 
 A few hours later, Okagowa brought me 
 a message. Time was an item now, and I 
 saw MitcheU was moving rapidly. The note 
 that the Japanese boy gave me was on a 
 soiled piece of wrapping paper, hastily 
 written in pencil, and by an illiterate person. 
 "Come to Post Of&ce at midnight. Dearborn 
 side. You will hear good news. Don't fail 
 to come." The crudity of it was ludicrous. 
 Did they really think the workers were so 
 stupid after all? 
 
 "Who brought this, Okagowa?" I asked, 
 
 252 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 and he answered, "A dark man, I think him 
 heap Dago. He call me to back fence when 
 I start for picture show, and say, 'Give to 
 gardener, it bring him much luck.' " 
 
 I studied the situation. A Dago, — Dagoes 
 meant Italians, and they were generally 
 superstitious. All right, I would meet him, 
 and have the matter over with. 
 
 The night was very black, and the hour 
 was twelve-thirty when I arrived at the 
 Federal Building. I walked around the 
 entire block twice before I met anyone who 
 appeared to be waiting for me. Then sud- 
 denly I saw him. A taU man standing on 
 the steps on the Adams Street side. He was 
 far more nervous than I was— perhaps it 
 was his first assignment, I don't know. He 
 drew near slowly, and I was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 "Looking for the gardener so you can 
 bring him luck?" I asked pleasantly. 
 
 The man mumbled something, and walked 
 along at my side for a minute. Then he 
 began to fall back of me. I felt for an object 
 that I carried in my left breast pocket, and 
 
 253 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the object was not a pistol, nor any weapon 
 that men generally carry. A second or two 
 passed. The man breathed hard — ^I almost 
 smiled. He was making such hard work of 
 it, and then out of the comer of my eye, I 
 caught sight of a gleaming blade, and I 
 realized the hour had struck. Just as he 
 drew still further back, as if to. give his arm 
 full play, I fell forward, wheeled around, 
 and flashed an illuminated white crucifix 
 iuto the man's face. With one scream he 
 dropped the knife and fled. I stooped and 
 picked up the sharp steel blade, and putting 
 it into my pocket, but not the one which held 
 the crucifix, I boarded a South bound car. 
 
 254 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 For a week I lived under an assumed 
 name, in a lodging hour.e on Twenty-second 
 street. The smoke of the big manufacturing 
 plants in that neighborhood was about all I 
 could see from my dingy, dreary room. I 
 knew the man who had been hired to kill 
 me would report to Poster that he had 
 done so, and that things would proceed as 
 if I were indeed securely out of the way. 
 
 Each night I bought a copy of the daily 
 paper, and the morning that the trial was 
 to come off, I washed and dressed carefully, 
 and made my way to the court-house. No 
 one saw me as I slipped in qmetly, and took 
 a seat in the rear, after all had assembled. 
 Neither did anyone notice a little runt of a 
 man whom I brought with me. 
 
 The defense had hurried the trial. The 
 lawyer engaged by Mrs. Gemble was a man 
 grown rich on the persecutions of ihe poor. 
 He may have called his actions prosecutions. 
 
 255 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 They consisted in hounding starving girls 
 and women who had asked for a chance to 
 live, iiito the penitentiary and worse. 
 
 Mr. Meers was an eminent corporation 
 attorney. He had a real gift for explaining 
 to an ignorant public the serious menace 
 that an unhappy, hungry, factory girl might 
 be to a joyous, well-fed community, and 
 should the worker, in addition to her pov- 
 erty, carry a \mion-card, then was she indeed 
 a dangerous individual, and must be dealt 
 with accordingly. 
 
 Mrs. Gemble had lain the retaining fee on 
 his desk, and remarked flatteringly — ^''You 
 are the ablest man I know, Mr. Meers. You 
 have never failed to protect the big business 
 interests of our city from the working-class. 
 I know you will see readily that this girl 
 who was found murdered must not in any 
 way be allowed to interfere with the career I 
 have mapped out for my son," and he who 
 had grown fat and famous on the broken 
 hearts of the gentle little factory girls whose 
 cries had now and then displeased the gigan- 
 tic corporations for whom they, toiled, smiled 
 
 256 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 an oily smile and replied, "Leave it to me, 
 Mrs. Gemble, leave it to me." 
 
 The private detectives reported that, now 
 that the gardener was out of the way, the 
 rest of the servants had a perfect alibi to 
 swear to, and that it was so absolute, it 
 would not even be necessary -co hand-pick 
 the jury— the less paid out to others, the 
 more there would be to satisfy their insatia- 
 ble demand. 
 
 Mitchell had had a very satisfactory con- 
 versation with the prosecuting attorney. He 
 had been most amenable to reason, especial- 
 ly after the old friend of the Gemble family 
 had carelessly tossed a small package on the 
 table which stood between them. A very 
 small package indeed, hardly larger than a 
 roll of fifty-dollar biUs. 
 
 The judge too seemed to know his busi- 
 ness. That was the comfort of dealing with 
 people of your own kind. They took much, 
 that you might think you had to explain, 
 for granted. Scarcely any words were 
 needed after the throwing down of the little 
 packages. These were fairly magic in their 
 
 257 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 power. A hitherto dark room seemed flooded 
 with sunshine — cool or indifferent manners 
 changed to warm and cordial ones. 
 
 It was just as he, Mr. Mitchell, had so 
 often said. There was a way by which one 
 could get anything on earth, at least that 
 part of the earth, called America. How de- 
 lightful to join in with the singing of the 
 National Anthem — *'The land of the Free 
 and the home of the brave," or even help 
 swell the chorus of "Nearer My God to 
 Thee, Nearer to Thee." 
 
 Mr. Mitchell thought that some burst of 
 patriotic or religious fervor was indeed the 
 only way by which he could express his 
 satisfaction with a land which had yielded 
 him so bounteous a harvest of good things. 
 And out in Mount Grreenwood, the body of 
 Poppy lay beneath a mound of fresh-piled 
 earth. Poppy, who Kke the little wildflower 
 for whom she had been named, was sweet 
 and fair and blameless. 
 
 "Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye," droned the 
 bailiff. ' * The Court is now in session, ' ' and 
 the state, represented by a deputy of the 
 
 258 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 prosecuting attorney, a man who had served 
 as a law-clerk for a big firm of corporation 
 lawyers, rose and presented the case. Ram- 
 bling along about the glory of Illinois, and 
 how she must ever rally to the support of 
 the weak, touching upon many subjects, 
 save the one in hand, he floundered in a sea 
 of words, and failed to say anything. When 
 he took his seat, the witnesses were called, 
 and one by one they took their stand. 
 
 There was Jerry Maloy, who testified to 
 the finding of the body, and poor Earl, who 
 said he had identified it as the girl to whom 
 he was engaged. In every question put to 
 him, there was a subtle inference that he 
 probably knew more about the killing than 
 anyone else. In the old days. Earl would 
 have fought back and given word for word, 
 but his sorrow had so overwhelmed him that 
 for the time being, he was impervious to all 
 taunts, and replied to the questions dully, 
 and as if his mind were a great way off. 
 
 There were a number of Labor leaders, 
 men who like himself were trying to make 
 life endurable to the toilers, in the crowded 
 
 259 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 court-room with him, but as he took his pla«e 
 among them, I saw he was scarcely con- 
 scious of their presence. 
 
 Some of the girls who had worked beside 
 Poppy in the dingy little West Side shop 
 sat together in a group and cried softly. 
 They had sacrificed a day's pay each to be 
 here, and yet what could they do? Helen 
 had been brought from the orphan asylum, 
 and I was almost shocked at the change in 
 her appearance. White and emaciated m 
 the dark blue apron of the institution, her 
 fair curls drawn tightly back into one stiff 
 braid, she answered the questions put to 
 her, and her eyes' were tearless. She had 
 cried so much that she was now past weep- 
 ing, and looking at the child as she stood 
 there, I realized that Helen would be one 
 of those who would have to driuk of the cup 
 till the dregs had all been drained, in order 
 that the shackles might fall off the millions 
 and the millions who were bowed down with 
 them. 
 
 "Did you ever see tins' gentleman be- 
 fore?" asked the attorney, indicating Wal- 
 
 260 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 ton, and feeling sure the child had been told 
 what to say. And she who had heard his 
 conversation with Poppy about the organ 
 and told it to the police, looked at the 
 defendant a moment and slowly shook her 
 head in the negative. The detective had 
 threatened her with a beating around for 
 the younger brothers and sister whom she 
 never saw now if she dared say yes. All the 
 expression had gone out of her face. She 
 was only twelve, and hope was dead. Only 
 twelve, but alone, utterly alone to battle 
 with conditions that would as surely crush 
 the life out of her as a sinking ship must 
 go down and down until its topmost part is 
 lost from view. 
 
 The state rested then, and the defense 
 began to call its witnesses. The maids 
 swore that they had seen Walton Gemble 
 iU in bed for two days, and nights, previous 
 to the night on which the murder had been 
 conmutted. 
 
 When Okagowa took the stand, he hesi- 
 tated for an instant, then he felt in his 
 pocket and fingered sixty dollars which had 
 
 261 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 been given Mm in the shape of three twenty- 
 dollar bills. A cheerful grin spread across 
 his face. I knew of what he was thinking. 
 Okagowa had gotten even with the Melican 
 God at last. 
 
 "Yes," he said, solenmly. "Mr. Walton 
 heap sick that night — me sit up with him 
 and so me know." 
 
 Mrs. G-emble was the last to take the 
 stand. Sitting surrounded by many of her 
 wealthy friends, her hand in Mrs. Mitchell's 
 she listened with an intolerant air to the 
 whole proceedings. Now she rose and 
 clinched all the testimony that her side had 
 given, and the jury settled back in their 
 seats to hear her lawyer's speech. 
 
 Mr. Meers had oratorical gifts. He used 
 them now. 
 
 "Please your Honor, and Gentlemen of 
 the Jury," he began, "there can be only one 
 logical outcome of this hearing this morn- 
 ing, and that is a dismissal of the ease on 
 the grounds of insufficient evidence to con- 
 stitute a cause of action. However, there 
 has been a grave wrong done — a wound 
 
 262 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 inflicted that only time can heal. Here we 
 see a devoted and devout widowed mother, 
 shocked and grieved over the accusations 
 made against her only child, a lovely boy, 
 a mere youth, who, though raised in the 
 midst of luxury, has retained so unspoiled 
 a nature that one of the very first things he 
 did, on his return from abroad to his native 
 land, was to offer to teach in a little mission 
 Sunday-School, located among a most illit- 
 erate and un-Grodly set of men and women. 
 Is it likely that a young man so filled with 
 love for his fellow-men as to cause himself 
 great personal inconvenience in order to 
 bring words of truth to them, would ever be 
 capable of a crime so revolting as the one 
 we have been forced to consider? No, Your 
 Honor, and Gentlemen of the Jury, it is not. 
 Walton Gemble, lying sick in his bed at his 
 mother's home, is as innocent of murder as 
 I am." Here he coughed and took a glass 
 of water. "And though my young client 
 here is not the one whom the law seeks, I 
 might add that the real criminal ought not 
 to be very hard to find. This unfortunate 
 
 263 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 girl had many strange acquaintances — she 
 frequented meetings in the company of the 
 man who claims he intended to marry her; 
 meetings that we all know to be of an in- 
 cendiary nature. It has been my unhappy 
 experience to see some thing of that side 
 of life where the working-class congregate 
 into what they call their unions, and dis- 
 covering that this unfortunate girl, found 
 murdered in the basement of a little Chris- 
 tian Mission, was a member of one of these 
 bodies, some of them being most desperate 
 in their teachings, I am not really surprised 
 at her untimely end. Understand me, I am 
 accusing no one, but as you all have seen, 
 the blame does not rest on this young boy, 
 and quite naturally we ask the question — 
 'Who is the man, and where are we to look 
 for him?' " Mr. Meers went on at some 
 length in the same strain, and when he felt 
 satisfied that everyone was impressed with 
 what a brilUant lawyer he was, and how 
 there was not a particle of real evidence 
 that pointed to the guilt of Walton Gemble, 
 he took another glass of water and sat down. 
 
 264 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Jktrs. Gemble gave him a smile of complete 
 satisfaction, and pressed Mrs. Mitchell's 
 hand. Her friends leaned towards her, and 
 told her not to worry, the ordeal would soon 
 be over now. Mitchell glanced at Walton, 
 who sat with bowed head and his thin lips 
 curved into a cruel smile. Just as he had 
 said, the trial had cost him very dear, but 
 then every fresh illustration of the fact that 
 money rules was precious to him, for he had 
 so much money and that meant he had 
 so much power. 
 
 The judge turned to the prosecuting at- 
 torney's deputy and asked if he had any 
 evidence in rebuttal. The latter mumbled 
 something about "character witnesses" and 
 glanced over at the group of Poppy's fellow- 
 workers who had been promised a chance to 
 testify of what they knew concerning the 
 sweet girl with whom they had toiled, and 
 whom they aU had grown to love. 
 
 The judge frowned. ''There is no ques- 
 tion of character involved," he said sharply. 
 * ' I can 't aUow a waste of time. Is that all ? " 
 
 But the deputy never answered, for at 
 
 265 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 this moment, I rose from my chair in the 
 back of the hall, where no one had noticed 
 me, and walked quietly to the front and 
 inside the railing. "If it pleases the court," 
 said I, "I have been unavoidably detained, 
 and as a witness for the state, I desire to 
 be sworn in." 
 
 A breathless silence followed my appear- 
 ance. Then Earl leaned forward and mur- 
 mured "Stevey," but I didn't look at him, 
 I looked at Mr. Mitchell. I wanted to see a 
 czar crumple. I think the man thought for 
 a moment that it was my ghost which stood 
 there and not a man of flesh and blood at all. 
 Hadn't he been told that my body was at 
 the bottom of the lake? 
 
 Hadn't his hireling reported that I was 
 stabbed and weighted and that he and his 
 friends had seen to it that I was safely de- 
 posited in a deep place in the water? Wasn't 
 that what he paid his money for? Had I 
 come back from the dead to accuse him, as 
 well as his son, of murder? Had I come to 
 tell of the enormous bribes which he had 
 offered me to get out and keep still? 
 
 266 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Suddenly everyone started to talk, and 
 the judge rapped loudly for order. In an 
 austere voice, he directed that I should be 
 sworn in, and then said to the prosecutiag 
 attorney, ''Proceed with the witness." 
 
 The latter asked, "What is your full 
 name?" 
 
 "Stephen Angus Doyle." 
 
 "Your occupation?" 
 
 "I am a detective." 
 
 Mrs. Gemble gave a little shriek and very 
 nearly swooned. 
 
 "Do you understand about this case?" 
 
 "I do thoroughly." 
 
 "Then go ahead and tell what you know." 
 Why should they care, hadn't they done all 
 they had been told to do, and the introduc- 
 tion of a new element was not their business. 
 Mrs. Gemble should have seen to it that the 
 coast was clear. 
 
 "If it please your Honor," said I, "there 
 are some family introductions that I will 
 have to make, so as to clean up this case as 
 it should be cleaned." 
 
 267 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 "Faroily introductions," echoed the 
 deputy. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "this murderer ought to 
 meet his father before the judge sentences 
 him." 
 
 I turned to Walton. "Mr. Gemble, per- 
 mit me to introduce your father, Mr. Mit- 
 chell." 
 
 The boy stared in stupid amazement, but 
 the man became deathly pale. He rose and 
 tried to stammer something, but no sound 
 came from his white lips. He took a step 
 forward, then sank back into his chair, a 
 frightened old man. All the bravado was 
 gone. Everything was gone for him. His 
 house of cards had tumbled down about his 
 ears. The judge leaned over towards him. 
 
 "Is this man Doyle speaking the truth?" 
 he asked, in an excited tone. 
 
 Mitchell nodded. He was past speaking. 
 
 "And now," said I, "another little rela- 
 tionship must be established. Mrs. GTemble, 
 do you recall your long-lost husband?" The 
 shabby drawfed figure by the door shuffled 
 forward. The woman screamed and put out 
 
 268 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 her hand, from force of habit, to Mrs. Mit- 
 chell, but the later had withdrawn. Looking 
 at her husband as if she could kill him, Mrs. 
 Mitchell sat breathing heavily, glancing 
 scornfully now and then towards the woman 
 who had so long been his mistress and whom 
 she had accepted as her best friend. Her 
 world was crumbling to pieces before her 
 very eyes. These things that were happen- 
 ing, that had happened all along, were they 
 a part of the exclusive ruling class? The 
 class that had been able to buy anything? 
 Such sordid revelations as this man on the 
 stand was making belonged to the working 
 class, the toUers that she had ever likened 
 unto beasts, but now? In the meanwhile, 
 the shabby, dwarfed man stood waiting until 
 society could catch its breath. He was used 
 to waiting. 
 
 The judge was plainly much perturbed. 
 Red tape was dispensed with. He asked 
 sharply of the man whom I had brought with 
 me, " are you the husband of Mrs Gemble ? ' ' 
 
 "I am," replied the man quietly. 
 
 "Prove it." 
 
 269 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 He took from an inside pocket a marriage 
 certificate dating back twenty years or 
 more, and showed it to the judge. 
 
 "And your name'?" 
 
 "Peter Gemble," said the man, finishing 
 the sentence. 
 
 Then, turning to me, the man on the bench 
 said, "Proceed." 
 
 "This man, Peter Gremble," said I, "was 
 hired by Mitchell to marry the present Mrs. 
 Gemble. She was about to give birth to his, 
 Mitchell's, child, and he thought that in this 
 way, she was off his hands. But it seems 
 the woman had as shrewd a sense of business 
 as he has demonstrated. She waited until 
 he had married a wealthy society girl and 
 was getting a firm foothold in the corpora- 
 tion that has since became famous, and then 
 she started a systematic course of blackmail 
 that has enabled her to live in luxury all 
 these years." 
 
 Everybody gasped, except those involved 
 in the disclosures — ^they seemed to sir^k 
 down into their chairs lower and lower. 
 Walton was trembling visibly, and he passed 
 
 270 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 his hand around his neck, inside the collar, 
 nervously, as if he already felt a rope there. 
 Peter was still standing patiently waiting 
 to be dismissed. The judge turned to him 
 irritably. 
 
 "You can go. But wait, why did you 
 never come forward before and tell these 
 things'?" 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. "I've 
 been busy. I had to make a living, but 
 anyway, I made it honestly. I'm a dish- 
 wa><her in a restaurant." 
 
 The judge rapped for attention. "This is 
 a most unusual state of affairs," said he. 
 "However, we are concerned only with the 
 ease of the murder of this yoimg girl. If 
 you, Mr. Doyle, have anything to say about 
 that, we will hear you. If not, you are 
 excused." 
 
 "I have things to say," said I. 
 
 The deputy of the prosecuting attorney 
 then began at the beginning, and asked me 
 again my name and occupation. To the 
 latter question, I replied, "I have been 
 working as a gardener for Mrs. Gemble for 
 
 271 
 
THE SYBTBM'S HAND 
 
 the past few months. Along with the other 
 servants, I was approached by private oper- 
 atives, hired by Mitchell, and told to repeat 
 the alibi the maids of the household have 
 just sworn to, each one of course was ade- 
 quately compensated." 
 
 Mr. Meers, from force of habit, started 
 to roake some objection, but he was so near 
 defd, legally, that he had not the will to 
 interpose a word. He looked at his crushed 
 clients, entirely deserted now by aU their 
 fashionable friends, and he began putting 
 some papers together as if he, too, would 
 soon take his leave. 
 
 "Where were you on the night of May 
 29«;hf" 
 
 *'In my room above the garage, and I 
 heard Walton Gremble drive his car in at 
 about half past four on the mormng of the 
 30th, his assumed sickness dates from that 
 time." 
 
 Walton sprang up, his face livid, but he 
 was unable to utter a sound and sank back 
 in his chair, his hands twisting frightfully. 
 
 "That day," I continued, quietly, "I 
 
 272 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 called early at the home of Miss Poppy 
 Grant — she was a friend of mine, as is the 
 man she was to marry, and the little orphans 
 whom she had taken in and cared for, told 
 me that she had not been home all night. 
 We were all of us going to spend the holiday 
 in a Park; instead, we spent it searching 
 vainly for the missing girl. It was not until 
 the third day after her disappearance that 
 I got a clue as to the murderer. On that 
 day, this little child Helen happened to men- 
 tion the Mission Sunday-School which they 
 had started to attend, and how the position 
 of organist had been offered to Poppy by 
 the Sunday-School supeiintendent, and how 
 she had iutended to stop by there some night 
 after her work was done and make arrange- 
 ments. That night, I went to the mission 
 and found the body." 
 
 Another exclamation, and a look of imder- 
 sfanding on Earl's face. 
 
 "But," cried the deputy, "the body was 
 foimd by a messenger named Jerry Maloy." 
 
 "Yes," said T, "I sent for Jerry, and told 
 him where it was." 
 
 273 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 Here the boy was questioned, and after 
 he corroborated my testimony, I continued, 
 "This cigarette case with Walton Gemble's 
 initials on it, which I found dropped beside 
 the body, would have been proof enough of 
 his guilt, had I not also heard his mother 
 teliing him that he must go down to the mis- 
 sion and teach Sunday-School there whether 
 he wanted to or not. He rather strenuously 
 objected," 
 
 I paused, and the deputy took the gold 
 case and examined it v;hile Walton shook 
 and muttered to himself. 
 
 The judge then turned to the lawyer for 
 the defense and asked, ''Have you anything 
 to say to refute the testimony of this man?" 
 and Attorney Meers replied, after holding 
 a whispered consultation with his clients, 
 "No, your Honor." 
 
 Then the judge replied, "I'm to conclude, 
 then, that the testimony of this man Doyle 
 is positively true? and it frees my hands, 
 and I can instruct the jury accordingly'?" 
 Then turning to me, he said, "On behalf of 
 the jury and this Court and the judiciary of 
 
 274 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 the State of Illinois, I offer you my sincere 
 thanks. You are excused." 
 
 Addressing the twelve silent men who had 
 been listening to everything, he instructed 
 them briefly. They retired and returned in 
 less than twenty minutes, but during that 
 period of suspense, I sat with folded arms 
 and looked about me. On one side of the 
 court-room were the representatives of that 
 minority which had for so long reigned, and 
 in their blanched and quivering faces, full of 
 lust and full of greed, full of cruelty, full of 
 fear, I read the signs of their departure ; and 
 on the other side of the room, where Justice 
 is supposed to be dispensed, I saw the fore- 
 runners of that majority which has for so 
 long been oppressed, and in the faces of Earl 
 and the Labor Leaders who surrounded him, 
 faces full of suffering, full of hope, I read 
 the signs of their oncoming, and saw the 
 dawning of a great New Day. 
 
 For myself, I thought "The System's 
 Hand" is leprous now. The claw-like fin- 
 gers soon will lose their strength. Already 
 the flesh is yellow, and the spots of decay 
 
 275 
 
THE SYSTEM'S HAND 
 
 can be seen. The foreman of the jury was 
 speaking. I turned my eyes from contem- 
 plation of the future of America, and sighed 
 for the little lovely girl, the child of the 
 common people who had had to die that 
 others after her might live. 
 
 "If it please your Honor," the foreman 
 was saying, "we find the defendant Walton 
 Gemble guilty as charged in the indict- 
 ment." 
 
 276 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS3519.078S97 
 
 The system's hand, 
 
 3 1924 002 407 892