U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [50]
-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.
The same day that the papers carried the murder of
Madero in Mexico City, Mac got a wire from Mil y that
-121-Uncle Tim was dead and please to wire money for the funeral. Mac went to the savingsbank and drew out $53.75
he had in an account for the children's schooling and took it down to the Western Union and wired fifty to her. Maisie didn't find out until the baby's birthday came round, when she went down to deposit five dol ars birth-day money from brother Bil . That night when Mac let himself in by the latchkey he was surprised to find the light on in the hal . Maisie was sitting half asleep on the hal settee with a blanket wrapped round her waiting for him. He was pleased to see her and went up to kiss her. "What's the matter, baby?" he said. She pushed him away from her and jumped to her feet.
"You thief, " she said. "I couldn't sleep til I told you what I thought of you. I suppose you've been spending it on drink or on some other woman. That's why I never see you any more."
" Maisie, calm down, old girl . . . What's the matter; let's talk about it quietly."
"I'l get a divorce, that's what I'l do. Stealing money from your own children to make yourself a bum with . . . your own poor little . . ."
Mac drew himself up and clenched his fists. He spoke very quietly, although his lips were trembling.
"Maisie, I had an absolute right to take out that money. I'l deposit some more in a week or two, and it's none of your damn business."
"A fat chance you saving up fifty dol ars; you aren't man enough to make a decent living for your wife and children so you have to take it out of your poor little