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They Call Me Carpenter: A Tale of the Second Coming, a novel by Upton Sinclair |
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Chapter 24 |
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_ CHAPTER XXIV There was a crowd following us, of course; and I sought to keep Carpenter busy in conversation, to indicate that the crowd was not wanted. But before we had gone half a block I felt some one touch me on the arm, and heard a voice, saying, "I beg pardon, I'm a reporter for the 'Evening Blare'." Now, of course, I had known this must come; I had realized that I would be getting myself in for it, if I went to join Carpenter that morning. I had planned to warn him, to explain to him what our newspapers are; but how could I have foreseen that he was going to get into a riot before breakfast, and bring out the police reserves and the police reporters? "Excuse us," I said, coldly. "We have something urgent--" "I just want to get something of this gentleman's speech--" "We are on our way to the Labor Temple. If you will come there in a couple of hours, we will give you an interview." "But I must have a story for our first edition, that goes to press before that." I had Carpenter by the arm, and kept him firmly walking. I could not get rid of the reporter, but I was resolved to get my warning spoken, regardless of anything. Said I: "This is a matter extremely urgent for you to understand, Mr. Carpenter. This young man represents a newspaper, and anything you say to him will be read in the course of a few hours by perhaps a hundred thousand people. If it is found especially senational, the Continental Press may put it on its wires, and it will go to several hundred papers all over the country--" "Twelve hundred and thirty-seven papers," corrected the young man. "So you see, it is necessary that you should be careful what you say--far more so than if you were speaking to a handful of Mexican laborers or Jewish housewives." Said Carpenter: "I don't understand what you mean. When I speak, I speak the truth." "Yes, of course," I replied--and meantime I was racking my poor wits figuring out how to present this strange acquaintance of mine most tactfully to the world. I knew the reporter would not tarry long; he would grab a few sentences, and rush away to telephone them in. "I'll tell you what I'm free to tell," I began. "This gentleman is a healer, a man of very remarkable gifts. Mental healing, you understand." "I get you," said the reporter. "Some religion?" "Mr. Carpenter teaches a new religion." "I see. A sort of prophet! And where does he come from?" I tried to evade. "He has just arrived--" But the blood-hound of the press was not going to be evaded. "Where do you come from, sir?" he demanded, of Carpenter. To which Carpenter answered, promptly: "From God." "From God? Er--oh, I see. From God! Most interesting! How long ago, may I ask?" "Yesterday." "Oh! That is indeed extraordinary! And this mob that you've just been addressing--did you use some kind of mind cure on them?" I could see the story taking shape; the headlines flamed before my mind's eye--streamer heads, all the way across the sheet, after the fashion of our evening papers: PROPHET FRESH FROM GOD QUELLS MOB _ |
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