A Cool Million by Nathanael West Read Free Book Online Page B

he said, “I urn temporarily without funds. Are you able
to meet the obligation we will incur in this place?”
    “No,” replied Lem ,
sadly, “I am penniless.”
    “That’s different,” said Mr. Whipple
with a profound sigh. “In that case we will go where I have credit.”
    Lem was
conducted by his fellow townsman to an extremely poor section of the city.
After standing on line for several hours, they each received a doughnut and a
cup of coffee from the Salvation Army lassie in charge. They then sat down on
the curb to eat their little snack.
    “You are perhaps wondering,” Shagpoke began, “how it is that I stand on line with these
homeless vagrants to obtain bad coffee and soggy doughnuts. Be assured that I
do it of my own free will and for the good of the state.”
    Here he paused long enough to
skillfully “shoot a snipe” that was still burning. He puffed contentedly on his
catch.
    “When I left jail, it was my
intention to run for office again. But I discovered to my great amazement and
utter horror that my party, the Democratic Party, carried not a single plank in
its platform that I could honestly endorse. Rank socialism was and is rampant.
How could I, Shagpoke Whipple, ever bring myself to
accept a program which promised to take from American citizens their
inalienable birthright; the right to sell their labor and their children’s
labor without restrictions as to either price or hours?
    “The time for a new party with the
old American principles was, I realized, overripe. I decided to form it; and so
the National Revolutionary Party, popularly known as the `Leather Shirts,’ was
born. The uniform of our ‘Storm Troops’ is a coonskin cap like the one I am
wearing, a deerskin shirt and a pair of moccasins. Our weapon is the squirrel
rifle.”
    He pointed to the long queue of
unemployed who stood waiting before the Salvation Army canteen. “These men,” he
said, “are the material from which I must fill the ranks of my party.”
    With all the formality of a priest, Shagpoke turned to our hero and laid his hand on his
shoulder.
    “My boy,” he said, and his voice
broke under the load of emotion it was forced to bear, “my boy, will you join
me?”
    “Certainly, sir,” said Lem , a little unsurely.
    “Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Whipple. “Excellent!
I herewith appoint you a commander attached to my general staff.”
    He drew himself up and saluted Lem , who was startled by the gesture.
    “Commander Pitkin,” he ordered
briskly, “I desire to address these people. Please obtain a soapbox.”
    Our hero went on the errand required
of him, and soon returned with a large box, which Mr. Whipple immediately
mounted. He then set about attracting the attention of the vagrants collected
about the Salvation Army canteen by shouting:
    “Remember the River Raisin!
    “Remember the Alamo!
    “Remember the Maine!”
    and many
other famous slogans.
    When a large group had gathered, Shagpoke began his harangue.
    “I’m a simple man,” he said with
great simplicity, “and I want to talk to you about simple things. You’ll get no
highfalutin talk from me.
    “First of all, you people want jobs.
Isn’t that so?”
    An ominous rumble of assent came
from the throats of the poorly dressed gathering.
    “Well, that’s the only and prime
purpose of the National Revolutionary Party—to get jobs for everyone. There was
enough work to go around in 1927, why isn’t there enough now? I’ll tell you;
because of the Jewish international bankers and the Bolshevik labor unions,
that’s why. It was those two agents that did the most to hinder American
business and to destroy its glorious expansion. The former
because of their hatred of America and love for Europe and the latter because
of their greed for higher and still higher wages.
    “What is the role of the labor union
today? It is a privileged club which controls all the best jobs for its
members. When one of you applies for a job, even if the man who