343
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
July 1930
! i I YCeart to YCeart H&itk Our 'Young Readers | g 5 „— .>—<>—<—»— » By Fl or ence Ny e Whi lwel l — «H
Red "And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood” (Rev. 19:13).
S JEMILEH and Kaimakov walked rapidly along |j» Sixth Street, and turned to the left at Main. They ||kcrossed the Plaza, an early center of the city in |iits Spanish days. Men were using it now as a W sort of forum; and, at regular intervals, the two came upon groups of people massed about speak ers, who had for their platforms the great, international, well-known and justly celebrated soap box. Suddenly Djemileh’s hand closed on her brother’s arm. “ Kaimakov,” she whispered, “ there is Nikolai!” Kaimakov paused and looked intently at the shouting, gesticulating central figure of one of the groups, a large, red-bearded foreigner. “ Yes, it is he! Let us wait and listen a little,” he replied. “ You men! The boys and girls of Russia shame you !” the man'on the soap box was shouting in an ear-shatter ing voice. “ What have I here in my hand ?” “ A very dirty card, apparently,” murmured Djemileh under her breath. “ It is a Moscow notice from Besboznik,” continued Red-Beard, “a magazine which you would call in your country The Atheist. -Their register was crowded last April with the names of boys and girls of the city o f Mos cow who had valorously signed the pledge:— ‘I will fight the observance of Easter in my home.’ As a reward to these brave young pioneers and foes of capitalism who are trying to show up the folly and superstition of all re ligious belief and observance, this noble publication gave each girl a red scarf and each boy a red necktie.” The murmur of approval which ran through the crowd might better have been termed a growl of approval, Djemileh reflected. These people were so in the habit of growling at—shouting at^j-and gnashing their teeth at all organized society and all religion (which they mistakenly identified with society), that when something came along unexpectedly which demanded their just appreciation, they could hardly readjust their vocal organs on such short notice. Red scarfs! Red neckties! The Reds! How striking was this tide of color that was flooding the old world! “ There’s only one thing red that they won’t accept, and that’s the blood of Christ,” she thought. “ And that is the one panacea for all their social ills and sufferings, did they but know it.” Djemileh suddenly remembered the lament o'f the Saviour over the crowded, teeming city, with its social evils and abuses, which He had plainly shown His power to control and correct, if they would have had Him. “ O Jerusalem, Jerusalem! . . . . how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gath
ereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.” Djemileh’s mind returned to the speaker. • They had known Nikolai in Russia. What hours had been spent around the General’s samovar while they lis tened, breathless, to his tales of Nepal, and the “ roof of the world” ! Djemileh breathed again, in imagination, the frost-cold air of that far away country as she recalled his stories of the preposterous, cloud-splitting pinnacles of the Himalayas and their sky-hung snows. “ But I was a child then. He has forgotten.” And then to her brother, “ Come, Kaimakov,” she said, “ Elise and Pauline and Airmand are waiting. Althea and the Greek and Lawrence will be at the hall.” Kaimakov aroused himself with a start. He, too, had been remembering. As they turned to go they were unex pectedly halted by the man on the box. “ Pause, Comrade Kaimakov!” he exclaimed, “ And that is little Djemileh. I knew her even before she turned about in her old swift way. Stay now and hear the in struction of your old friend Nikolai. Perhaps it is not too late to win you for the greatest cause for which men have ever fought, the World Revolution of the World Proletariat!” Kaimakov and Djemileh stood nonplused, for a mo ment. Kaimakov’s heart went up within him. . “ O G od ! Be with us and guide u s !” He was slower in many, ways than his sister, who suddenly spoke in her clear charming voice with its slightly foreign shading. “ Yes! We knew you too, friend Nikolai! And if we stay to hear you, will you come to hear us? That is fair, is it not? An equal chance for all— is not that what you communists stand for ?” The attention of the entire crowd was now focused upon Djemileh, who, in her old fearless way, was entirely unconscious of their presence. “We have near by,” she continued as calmly as if in a drawing-room meeting, “ a little hall where we have lately started a mission for the people among us from the Near East. We shall welcome all who are open-minded enough to come to hear. W e call ourselves the Thin Red Line— we young people. But it is not your red! It is the red of the precious blood that was spilt on Calvary’s cross by Christ the one Saviour of the world— ” And there Djemileh’s maiden street-speech was drowned by a bedlam of roars, yells, whistles and cat calls. Nikolai restored order with some difficulty. He then laboriously tried to explain that these friends of his had changed since last he saw them. But he was inter rupted by a choleric individual who appeared to have per manently discarded his coat, and taken unto himself a
Made with FlippingBook - Online catalogs