U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [47]
"Oh, Bil , you darling!" cried Maisie. She ran over and kissed him on the top of the head and sat swinging her legs on the arm of his chair. "Gee, I'l have to sleep on that," said Mac; "it's mighty white of you to make the offer.""Fainie, I'd think you'd be more grateful to Bil ," snapped Maisie. "Of course we'l do it."
"No, you're quite right," said Bil . "A man's got to think a proposition like that over. But don't forget the advantages offered, better schools for the kids, more re-fined surroundings, an upandcoming boom town instead of a dead one, chance to get ahead in the world instead of being a goddam wageslave."
So a month later the McCrearys moved up to Los An--119-geles. The expenses of moving and getting the furniture instal ed put Mac five hundred dol ars in debt. On top of that little Rose caught the measles and the doctor's bil started mounting. Mac couldn't get a job on any of the papers. Up at the union local that he transferred to they had ten men out of work as it was.
He spent a lot of time walking about town worrying. He didn't like to be at home any more. He and Maisie never got on now. Maisie was always thinking about what went on at brother Bil 's house, what kind of clothes Mary Virginia, his wife, wore, how they brought up their children, the fine new victrola they'd bought. Mac sat on benches in parks round town, reading The Appeal to Reason and The Industrial Worker and the local papers. One day he noticed The Industrial Worker sticking out of the pocket of the man beside him. They had both sat on the bench a long time when something made him turn to look at the man. "Say, aren't you Ben Evans?""Wel , Mac, I'l be goddamned . . . What's the matter, boy, you're lookin' thin?""Aw, nothin', I'm lookin' for a master, that's al ." They talked for a long time. Then they went to have a cup of coffee in a Mexican restaurant where some of the boys hung out. A young blonde fel ow with blue eyes joined them there who talked English with an accent. Mac was surprised to find out that he was a Mexican. Everybody talked Mexico. Madero had started his revo-lution. The fal of Diaz was expected any day. Al over the peons were taking to the hil s, driving the rich cientificos off their ranches. Anarchist propaganda was spread-ing among the town workers. The restaurant had a warm smel of chiles and overroasted coffee. On each table there were niggerpink and vermilion paper flowers, an occa-sional flash of white teeth in bronze and brown faces talk-ing low. Some of the Mexicans there belonged to the I.W.W., but most of them were anarchists. The talk of
-120-revolution and foreign places made him feel happy and adventurous again, as if he had a purpose in life, like when he'd been on the bum with Ike Hal .
"Say, Mac, let's go to Mexico and see if there's any-thing in this revoloossione talk," Ben kept saying.
"If it wasn't for the kids . . . Hel , Fred Hoff was right when he bawled me out and said a revolutionist oughtn't to marry."
Eventual y Mac got a job as linotype operator on The Times, and things at the house were a little better, but he never had any spare money, as everything had to go into paying debts and interest on mortgages. It was night work again, and he hardly ever saw Maisie and the kids any more. Sundays Maisie would take little Ed to brother Bil 's and he and Rose would go for walks or take trol ey-trips. That was the best part of the week. Saturday nights he'd sometimes get to a lecture or go down to chat with the boys at the I.W.W. local, but he was scared to be seen round in radical company too much for fear of losing his job. The boys thought he was pretty yel ow but put up with him because they thought of him as an old timer. He got occasional letters from Mil y tel ing him about Uncle Tim's health. She had married a man named Cohen who was a registered accountant and worked in one of the offices at the stockyards. Uncle Tim lived with them. Mac would have liked to bring him down to live with him in Los Angeles, but he knew that it would only mean squab-bling with Maisie. Mil y's letters were pretty depressing. She felt funny, she said, to be married to a Jew. Uncle Tim was always poorly. The doctor said it was the drink, but whenever they gave him any money he drank it right up. She wished she could have children: Fainie was lucky, she thought, to have such nice children. She was afraid that poor Uncle Tim wasn't long for this world.