experience, and the burden of it rested upon him.
All the balance of his life he had done nothing but
try to make it understood. When he talked he caught
his victim by the buttonhole, and his face kept coming
closer and closer—which was trying, because
his teeth were so bad. Jurgis did not mind that,
only he was frightened. The method of operation
of the higher intelligences was Tom Finnegan’s
theme, and he desired to find out if Jurgis had ever
considered that the representation of things in their
present similarity might be altogether unintelligible
upon a more elevated plane. There were assuredly
wonderful mysteries about the developing of these
things; and then, becoming confidential, Mr. Finnegan
proceeded to tell of some discoveries of his own.
“If ye have iver had onything to do wid shperrits,”
said he, and looked inquiringly at Jurgis, who kept
shaking his head. “Niver mind, niver mind,”
continued the other, “but their influences may
be operatin’ upon ye; it’s shure as I’m
tellin’ ye, it’s them that has the reference
to the immejit surroundin’s that has the most
of power. It was vouchsafed to me in me youthful
days to be acquainted with shperrits” and so
Tommy Finnegan went on, expounding a system of philosophy,
while the perspiration came out on Jurgis’ forehead,
so great was his agitation and embarrassment.
In the end one of the men, seeing his plight, came
over and rescued him; but it was some time before he
was able to find any one to explain things to him,
and meanwhile his fear lest the strange little Irishman
should get him cornered again was enough to keep him
dodging about the room the whole evening.
He never missed a meeting, however. He had picked
up a few words of English by this time, and friends
would help him to understand. They were often
very turbulent meetings, with half a dozen men declaiming
at once, in as many dialects of English; but the speakers
were all desperately in earnest, and Jurgis was in
earnest too, for he understood that a fight was on,
and that it was his fight. Since the time of his
disillusionment, Jurgis had sworn to trust no man,
except in his own family; but here he discovered that
he had brothers in affliction, and allies. Their
one chance for life was in union, and so the struggle
became a kind of crusade. Jurgis had always been
a member of the church, because it was the right thing
to be, but the church had never touched him, he left
all that for the women. Here, however, was a new
religion—one that did touch him, that took
hold of every fiber of him; and with all the zeal
and fury of a convert he went out as a missionary.
There were many nonunion men among the Lithuanians,
and with these he would labor and wrestle in prayer,
trying to show them the right. Sometimes they
would be obstinate and refuse to see it, and Jurgis,
alas, was not always patient! He forgot how he
himself had been blind, a short time ago—after
the fashion of all crusaders since the original ones,
who set out to spread the gospel of Brotherhood by
force of arms.