U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [533]
It wasn't until they were seated in a smal lunchroom under the el that Don turned to Mary and squeezed her hand. "Tired?" She nodded. "Aren't you, Don?" He laughed and drawled, "No, I'm not tired. I'm hungry."
" Comrade French, I thought we'd detailed you to see that Comrade Stevens ate regular," said Rudy Goldfarb with a flash of teeth out of a dark Italianlooking face.
-533-"He won't ever eat anything when he's going to speak," Mary said.
"I make up for it afterwards," said Don. "Say, Mary, I hope you have some change. I don't think I've got a cent on me." Mary nodded, smiling. "Mother came across again," she whispered.
"Money," broke in Steve Mestrovich. "We got to have money or else we're licked." "The truck got off today," said Mary. "That's why I was so late getting to the meet-ing." Mestrovich passed the grimed bulk of his hand across his puttycolored face that had a sharply turnedup nose peppered with black pores. "If cossack don't git him."
" Eddy Spel man's a smart kid. He gets through like a shadow. I don't know how he does it."
"You don't know what them clothes means to women and kids and. . . listen, Miss French, don't hold back nothin' because too raggedy. Ain't nothin' so ragged like what our little kids got on their backs."
"Eddy's taking five cases of condensed milk. We'l have more as soon as he comes back."
"Say, Mary," said Don suddenly, looking up from his plate of soup, "how about cal ing up Sylvia? I forgot to ask how much we col ected at the meeting." Young Gold-farb got to his feet. "I'l cal . You look tired, Comrade French. . . . Anybody got a nickel?"
"Here, I got nickel," said Mestrovich. He threw back his head and laughed. "Damn funny.
. . miner with nickel. Down our way miner got nickel put in frame send Meester Carnegie Museum. . . . very rare." He got up roaring laughter and put on his black longvisored miner's cap. "Goodnight, comrade, I walk Brooklyn. Reliefcom-mittee nine o'clock. . . . right, Miss French?" As he strode out of the lunchroom the heavy tread of his black boots made the sugarbowls jingle on the tables. "Oh, Lord," said Mary, with tears suddenly coming to her eyes.
"That was his last nickel."
-534-Goldfarb came back saying that the col ection hadn't been so good. Sixtynine dol ars and some pledges. "Christ-mas time coming on. . . you know. Everybody's always broke at Christmas." "Henderson made a lousy speech," grumbled Don. "He's more of a socialfascist every day." Mary sat there feeling the tiredness in every bone of her body waiting until Don got ready to go home. She was too sleepy to fol ow what they were talking about but every now and then the words centralcommittee, expulsions, oppositionists, splitters rasped in her ears. Then Don was tapping her on the shoulder and she was waking up and walking beside him through the dark streets.
"It's funny, Don," she was saying, "I always go to sleep when you talk about party discipline. I guess it's because I don't want to hear about it.""No use being sentimental about it," said Don savagely. "But is it sentimental to be more interested in saving the miners' unions?" she said, suddenly feeling wide awake again. "Of course that's what we al believe but we have to fol ow the party line. A lot of those boys. . . Goldfarb's one of them. . . Ben
Compton's another. . . think this is a debatingsociety. If they're not very careful indeed they'l find themselves out on their ear. . . . You just watch." Once they'd staggered up the five flights to their dingy little apartment where Mary had always planned to put up curtains but had never had time, Don suddenly caved in with fatigue and threw himself on the couch and fel asleep without taking off his clothes. Mary tried to rouse him but gave it up. She unlaced his shoes for him and threw a blanket over him and got into bed herself and tried to sleep.
She was staring wide awake, she was counting old pairs of trousers, torn suits of wool y underwear, old armyshirts with the sleeves cut off, socks with holes in them that didn't match. She was seeing the rickety children with puffy bel ies showing through their rags, the scrawny