--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Dobson, Will collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 32 number: 12 published: 1929-10 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Will Dobson, “From Within,” *Improvement Era* 32, no. 12 (October 1929): 1011–1017." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32012unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera32012unse start_page: 1011 end_page: 1017 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1929-10) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32012unse publication_year: 1929 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1929, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # From Within From Within By Will Dobson "So at last we are ready to act," Bryce Van Wyck finished. There was satisfaction in his tone. "And Peace Day is the time," Jim Sherman added. "Just a week from tomorrow," Van Wyck affirmed. Van Wyck, whose prematurely whitening hair lent distinction to his powerful frame and aggressive features, had achieved fame as the most in- fluential figure in Wall Street. Jim Sherman, well known railroad mag- nate from the Middle West, whose lean, dyspeptic aspect hid an amazing capacity for organization, was no less potent. These two, with the other six seated about the table, repre- sented a staggering total of invested billions. Van t Wyck seemed to be chairman of the meeting. There was no secretary. Apparently, the de- liberations were not of the sort that should be reduced to writing. They were in the office of Preferred Industrials, a corporation so little known that an accurate account of its activities and holdings would have astounded the financial world. Small, struggling corporations gladly pay for publicity. Preferred Industrials shunned it. Its inconspicuous office was hidden among hundreds of others on the ninth floor of the Hanna Build- ing, in a crowded section of New York's financial district. It was rearing midnight. The business of the evening had been fin- ished, but was still the subject of in- formal discussion. "It is estimated that all of six hundred thousand people will be gath- ered at the capital for the Peace Day program," Van Wyck stated. "This president from the deserts of the Wild West seems to hypnotize the mob. Van Wyck as- Howard Ware, They flock like sheep to hear his fanatical rot. Ought to be a radio announcer. In fact, his radio cam- paign, and nothing else, put him in the White House. But it can't keep him there, thank heaven." "Elected a voice for president!" Jim Sherman betrayed the bitter recol- lection of a disastrous presidential campaign. "His Peace Day speech will be relayed to every broadcasting station in the nation. A big day for this hog-caller!" "A big day for Vice-president Marsh- all," Van Wyck meditated, "when he becomes President Marshall." "If nothing slips," the canny Sher- man amended. "Nothing will slip, scrted with finality. "But if he suspects, the world's richest pessimist, objected. "Suppose he is shadowing us." "When he winks an eye, it is re- ported to me," Van Wyck stated flatly. "He doesn't suspect and he isn't trail- ing us. The entire personnel of the secret service is on our payroll. We have them watching not only him, but each other." "And his wife?" Ware persisted. "And his wife," Van Wyck an- swered. "We are taking absolutely no chances." "Ought to work out according to plan," the cautious Ware conceded. "It will," Van Wyck replied with emphasis. We have spent close to a year and very nearly ten million dol- lars on this reorganization — as we'll call it. Every detail has been worked out with mathematical precision. As I have already explained, we will let this 'Cowboy President' reach the climax of his Peace Day speech; then the confusion of the final applause and 1012 IMPROVEMENT ERA Oct.. 1929 the breaking up of the crowd will enable us to create a panic that will cover our every movement. Nothing can be traced. All clues will be lost, swallowed up in the milling mob. The instant this gunman, 'Bearcat Benny,' has done his part, he will drop in his tracks, his gun still smoking in his hands. Two of Chicago's specialists have been imported to take care of that." Van Wyck went on, "This will divert suspicion from the president's bodyguard, keep Bearcat Benny from doublecrossing us later on, and rid the earth of a criminal who should have been in the electric chair long ago." "But how about Marshall? You're sure we'll have no trouble with him?" the apprehensive Ware asked. "We have Marshall where he can't squirm." Van Wyck answered with a grim smile. "He'll be good. Under him the administration will return to sanity. Enough senatorial statesmen and congressional patriots have been taken care of so that no laws can be passed over Marshall's veto. This has been the most expensive item in our operations, but it's worth the money." "Then," sighed Ware dolefully, "I hope the infernal gloom that has blanketed Wall Street ever since this Robert Lansing's inauguration will be lifted." "Inauguration was when we should have acted," Jim Sherman growled savagely. "This moralizing Mussolini of ours wasn't nearly so strong. This wouldn't have caused half the fuss that it will now. I said so at the time." "I know," Van Wyck acknowl- edged. "You were right. But I had hoped to avoid extreme measures. I thought we could deal with Lansing. They all have their price — the others. But he fooled me. Doesn't seem human. Our best laid plan couldn't dent that fanatic's stubborn pre- judice." "He'll listen to the argument of an automatic," Sherman snarled. "This plan of ours," Van Wyck admonished, "we must supervise our- selves. It is practically automatic as worked out, and yet we must take double precautions. The final details can be discussed on the morning set, at some appointed place at the capital to be determined later. Are there any questions?" There were none. "There seems to be nothing more, then," he announced after a brief pause. "We are adjourned." "Hands up!" The sharp command cut through the stir of adjournment with startling suddenness. An unmasked intruder stood back of the chair Van Wyck had just vacated. The two wicked look- ing automatics in his hands were con- vincing. The hands went up. "Line up!" With an awkward shuffling a ragged line was formed. "Back against the .wall!" The line backed. "You there," one wicked looking muzzle pointed to Van Wyck, "take two steps this way." Van Wyck obeyed. "Now then," the bandit addressed the group in a threatening tone, "keep the hands well up. Don't get me nervous." With a moment's grim sur- vey of the dejected looking line, as if to see that his words sank in, he pocketed one automatic while his left hand explored Van Wyck's clothing. First satisfying himself that his vic- tim had no weapons concealed on him, he appropriated a fat wallet and let him step back into line while an- other took his place. He was suc- ceeded by another, and so on until all had been searched and relieved of their pocket books. "Huh!" the robber grunted his con- tempt. "Not a gun in the bunch. You're the kind that hire their work done." Eight rifled pocket books lay on Oct.. 1929 FROM WITHIN 1013 the tabic. Their contents, mostly bills with lovely yellow backs, had disap- peared into various pockets of the bandit's cheap blue serge suit. Again both guns were trained on the gloomy line. There came an uncomfortable pause. Their captor seemed to be studying. The silence seemed age-long while he was making up his mind. "Open that door back of you," he commanded Hammond at last. The door was opened, disclosing a closet. It had only the one outlet. "Just the thing," the gunman growled with evident satisfaction. "Crowd in. Go on — shove in! I've no time to waste." The tiny room was a tight fit for eight. The jamming process took time. Van Wyck, the last one in, had seemed to loiter deliberately. "Hey, you!" the impatient yegg admonished him, "what do you think this is, a plumber's reunion?" The heavy fireproof door, built to protect records, slammed on the gloomy group. The light switch was outside, so they were left in a suffo- cating black night. To sit would have been impossible, even had there been anything to sit on. "Sweet time ahead!" Hammond grunted sourly. "Say, Van, where is that ring of guards you were sup- posed to have around this place?" The light of day would have shown a furtive gleam of amusement in Van Wyck's eye, showing that he did not share the general gloom. "Still around it, I hope. Jim," he answered mildly. "Hmph!" Hammond snorted. "A hundred men and can't keep out a common holdup!" "Was he a common holdup," Van Wyck queried, "Suppose he was a smooth detective." "Detective!" Hammond howled as if he had been stung. "Why, you just got through telling us we were not suspected!" As if in answer to this outburst, there came the sound of the turning of the spring lock on the closet door. The door was opened, disclosing a panting guard. "Good work, Hart!" Van Wyck complimented. "I call that service." "Mr. Barlow sent me as soon as he got your signal, sir," Hart answered as soon as he got his breath. "They're all on the lookout, inside and out." Van Wyck took time to explain to his mystified friends with a smile of satisfaction: "I was able to push the alarm button while you were all crowding in." Hart's eyes bulged at the sight on the table. Van Wyck was already at the telephone. "You, Barlow?" he demanded. "Caught anyone yet? * * * Yes: held us up. Keep that line tight. Be- gin a search of the building. I'll be right down." Barlow met Van Wyck at the ele- vator door in the basement. There was suppressed excitement in his man- ner. "Tried to call you again, Mr. Van Wyck. Think we've got him. Come and look at this bird." He led his chief back to a supply room in the rear. They found a prisoner hand- cuffed to a guard. "That's the man!" Van Wyck exclaimed with a vast relief. "He's changed his clothes, but it's the lad. Where did you pick him up?" "At this hour," Barlow explained, "the janitors are emptying the waste baskets. This egg, it seems, ties the tenth-floor janitor in a closet and takes his coveralls and cap. Then he loads the big cans of waste paper on that floor onto the freight elevator and shoots down to the basement with 'em. The boys pick him up the min- ute they spot him. There's a chute for waste paper. A regular janitor would know it. He'd dump it down the chute." "Find anything on him?" 1014 IMPROVEMENT ERA Oct.. 1929 "A wicked pair of weapons, some keys and things." "Better have the boys take a look around. He cleaned us out." "I'll see to it myself." "No; you and I have something more important to do." He led Bar- low into another room. "It's possible this holdup covers something worse — worse for us. I'm afraid this man was here to shadow us. We will assume that at any rate. We must take no chances. We shouldn't lose a second getting him out of reach of his aides, just in case he has aides. They would likely have instructions where to look for him if he doesn't return to them within a certain time. We must get him away from here at once; in fact, get him beyond the twelve-mile limit. We're not safe as long as he is within the jurisdiction of the Federal government. I have a steamer, the Orion, clearing for Rio in a few hours. We must get him aboard." Fifteen minutes later, Van Wyck's powerful car shot out from behind the Hanna Building and turned its nose toward the docks, making a sleepy policeman sidestep as it sped through the almost empty streets. In it were Van Wyck, his driver, Barlow, the fake janitor and two guards. "I set the boys looking for the kale," Barlow told his employer. "Right." Van Wyck answered ab- sently. "We can just make the dock in time if nothing stops us." "Say!" The man in coveralls sud- denly demanded, seeming to realize for the first time that he was not on his way to jail. "Where's this bus taking me? You can't get away with stuff like this. I got my friends. They don't stand for nothin' like this." "Don't worry, friend," Van Wyck assured him. "A pleasant sea voyage and a nice long rest won't hurt you. You'll love it." It was the day before Peace Day. Van Wyck had found a room in a quiet Washington hotel. He went to the telephone. "Hello; Jim?" He had called another modest inn. "Be over in a few minutes. I've some good news." Hammond was in his room waiting. He met Van Wyck at the door. "I can see it's good news," he greet- ed his friend. "Must be about the janitor we sent on his vacation." "It is," Van Wyck rejoiced. "More than just good. I have never decoded a more comforting message. Here, read it yourself." He handed Ham- mond a typed memorandum. "Passenger listed by your -special instructions under the name of John Smith swept overboard in fog last night stop attempts at rescue futile." It was signed by the captain of the steamship Orion. Passing it back, Hammond looked at his friend thoughtfully for a moment. "Good as far as it goes," he pro- nounced. "One of the casualties of this war of ours. We had to do it." "It goes a long way, Jim. You'll say so when I tell you what goes with it." "Shoot. What does?" "I had them fingerprint him and send me the prints. That was an escaped lifer named Charley Pace. He belonged in Joliet." "Great!" Hammond rejoiced. "That cleans the slate for action tomorrow. He was not on our trail at all." "I feel safer with him at the bottom of the Atlantic," Van Wyck con- fessed. "He'll tell no tales." "The only place for him," Ham- mond agreed callously. "We can't help a few casualties." "No; but I'll be glad when we're through," Van Wyck sighed. "I don't like them." "Now Van, don't get sentimental," Hammond chided. "The main casualty is yet to come. You can't afford to get soft-hearted until after tomorrow." "Don't worry, Jim," Van Wyck Oct., 1929 FROM WITHIN 1015 assured his friend, "I had all the sentiment knocked out of me long be- fore I came of age. Heaven knows I was soft-hearted enough as a boy. But it didn't fit into my particular life plans. When casualties are necessary, casualties go." "That's the talk," Hammond ap- proved. "You're in charge of this civil war of ours. No lettting down now." "Nothing could turn me from it," Van Wyck declared positively. We are to seize the most powerful govern- ment the world has ever known. It appeals to my imagination." "Absolutely!" Hammond applaud- ed. "What are a few casualties?" It was early morning of that im- pressive national anniversary, Peace Day. Van Wyck had just dismissed his colleagues from their final meeting. He stood now surveying himself be- fore a mirror. "That will have to do," he told himself. "I must avoid anything that looks like a deliberate disguise." The loose, cheap-looking single- breasted coat and baggy trousers he had donned were in such utter con- trast to his usual faultless attire as hardly to need the ragged white stubble on his chin and the somewhat battered hat over his eyes to make his disguise almost complete. When he assumed a slouching pose the effect was all he could ask. "Not one chance in a thousand," he thought, of being seen by anyone who knows me — not in the part of the crowd where I am to be stationed." In the gathering throng and wedged between jostling shoulders of men mostly taller than himself, he felt safer than ever. He had other feelings, too, unaccustomed feelings, these. It was his first contact in years at such close quarters with men who sweat for their living. He now saw his fellow-citizens from a new angle. The close physical contact awakened dim, unsuspected herd instincts. He felt most powerfully drawn and held to this swaying, murmuring jam of humans. An unaccountable sense of adventure possessed him, and a feeling of buoyant, irresponsible youth. It was hard to keep his mind on the day's work. He realized that a great event depended on his nod — that he must keep himself in hand, alert for every detail of the task. What he had to do was perfectly simple. It had been well planned and carefully rehearsed. It was in such competent hands that he felt no doubt of its success. It was now merely a matter of seeing that certain ones were posted at certain points in readiness for a certain signal at a certain moment, and that when he gave the signal they obeyed. He studied the crowd until he was sure every man was in his place and had seen him. The crowd was becoming as dense as he desired. Every factor seemed favorable. By standing on tiptoe, Van Wyck could manage to look out over the heads of the crowd. He could see and be seen clearly enough for his purpose. So he was content to remain hidden in his place, having no interest in the parade and other features of the Peace Day program. It was more interest- ing to listen to the murmur of conver- sation about him. Two Westerners just in front of him were especially interesting. They proved to be father and son. The father's stature was such that he could easily look out over the heads of the crowd, but the son's head and should- ers towered yet higher above the sea of faces, like a sunburned, wind-tanned human lighthouse. "There he is!" Van Wyck heard the father exclaim as a vast roar of applause indicated that President Lan- sing had taken his place on the bal- cony from which he was to review the parade. "Same old Bob!" Van Wyck gathered that the speaker had known the president in the West, judged that 1016 IMPROVEMENT ERA Oct., 1929 he must be an old friend come to visit him. "Most bowing I ever seen Bob do," the voice resumed, after the applause had died away. "But that smile of his I'd know in Jericho. Bob must hate being cooped up in a city. Don't see how he stands it. All this noise and excitement. Especially on a day Tike this. Would drive me crazy." "They learn to like it, I guess," the son responded. "They couldn't live without all this handclapping and fuss. It turns their heads." "Not Bob's!" The father declared positively. "Never in the world. Too much of the sap of the sagebrush in his blood. He's worked too hard and lived too clean." "Guess he's human, Dad." The young giant smiled cynically. "Well, he might be, Bert," his father conceded thoughtfully, "but I've seen times I doubted it." Van Wyck found the pair most in- teresting. They felt uncomfortable, he could see, in business suits, as well as out of place in a crowd. But to see "Bob" they would undergo anything. These products of desert sun and hard- ship were entirely new to Van Wyck's experience. When for a moment the son, Bert, had turned his head to gaze back over his shoulder, Van Wyck had been struck by the look of utter fear- less honesty he saw. It was alien to Van Wyck's present world. It took him back ta ideals of his own youth, buried many years ago. "A boob for a day!" He told him- self. "These clothes and this crowd will be the ruin of me if I don't watch my step. All sorts of fool fancies." He tried to shake off the strangely new state of mind, but it was annoyingly persistent. He found himself looking at life from a different viewpoint, that of a friend of Robert Lansing — a view- point that could not possibly fit in with the day's work. He resented the power these sons of the desert had over him. They put him in the wrong. It would not do. Van Wyck could not see the parade, but as he did not care to, he contented himself with the comments on it. Be- fore he could realize it, the other events of the day were over and the time had arrived for President Lansing's speech. Van Wyck smiled to note how the father and son in front of him stiffened to attention as if afraid some syllable of their president's words might escape them. He knew when the president rose to his feet by the roar of applause that shook the vast assemblage. It was followed by a solemn hush. After a moment, potent with suspense, there came to Van Wyck's ears a mild and amazingly pleasant voice. Penetrating, too, a little more than a whisper, it seemed at that distance, yet it carried to his very soul with a sureness and force he could not undertsand. "Oratory!" was his mental sneer. "Theatrical! He has a gift for sound effects." Yet, the hypnotic power of that "oratory" caught and held his rapt attention. "My fellow-citizens," the voice began. "It is my earnest desire that my words today may come to you, not so much from the lips of your president, as from the heart of your brother. Only so can they reach into your souls and awaken the flame of your con- science. "Today, Peace Day, belongs to one man. It is peculiarly his. That man has been called the Prince of Peace. We know him best as Jesus, the Son of Mary. We call him so because he gave us the Golden Rule: 'Do ye unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.' In these words is em- bodied the whole philosophy of Peace. * * * Another sentence of his con- tains the entire philosophy of govern- ment. Just one short saying — seven magic words. They contain the en- tire body of the law, merely that quiet, unassuming statement: 'The Kingdom Oct., 1929 FROM WITHIN 1017 of God is within you.' Not new — yet, not old. Simply eternal. I would write them in the heart of every American citizen in letters of living fire. "For in those words lies the only possible cure for the ills that afflict our political life. The cure that comes from within. * * * As your presi- dent, I have sworn to enforce the law, to uphold the sacred Constitution that stands back of the law. This I shall do to the best of my ability. And yet, after all, the burden of this en- forcement is not on me, your president, but on each of you as citizens. Nor is it possible for me to relieve you of it. "Obedience to law is from within. God himself cannot change this eternal dictum. True government is from within. Unless it be from within, you are slaves, officials are tyrants. No man can be truly free if his freedom does not come from within. He must know and live these words of Christ: 'The kingdom of God is within you.' They do not abolish the civil law. They give it the power and dignity that is its due." So the president's words swept on. carrying that spellbound audience by an indefinable power that melted the heart, rather than by any mere human logic. "Trying to impress the lowbrows," was Van Wyck's feeble attempt at scorn. "Doing it, too," he was forced to admit. He tried to keep his mind off the theme — to hold it to the com- ing drama. But he must be alert for the closing word, ready to give the fateful signal. To listen, yet not to hear — that was his problem. He laughed at himself, a child — letting this maudlin stuff affect him. Another sentence caught his ear. "No man is indispensable; no official but can be very easily replaced. This is a corollary of democracy. The man is not important." "Not even a president," Van Wyck thought with a smile. "Not even a president," the voice went on, as if in answer to Van Wyck's inward thought. "Suppose that today, for example, some powerful group among you has planned to seize this government. That to this end conspirators have decreed my assassination, that they control the secret service, even these trusted few who guard their president. Suppose that at this very moment a hired as- sassin stands waiting for the agreed signal, his finger on the trigger of his automatic." These words brought a dramatic hush. The silence was electric. Breath- ing was suspended. The crowd seemed too tense under the strain of an im- pending crisis. The president stood as if really challenging an assassin. "Dad, he knows something! There's a plot!" Van Wyck's bemused brain caught from somewhere beyond the daze that held it. "Ssh! Listen!" came the father's monitory hiss. "It is my serene faith," the presi- dent's voice resumed tranquilly, "that should I be carried from here today, my last breath drawn, this government of yours would still go on to a truer justice; that the American ideal would still stand supreme in your hearts; that the old corrupt order could not rule again; that you as citizens would stand invincible, freed by that ageless dictum: 'The Kingdom of God is from with- in.' " Bryce Van Wyck's mind came back to earth with a jar. The speech was finished! The signal! He must give the signal! He did — an unmistakable nega- tive. There was an instant's silence. A ripple of applause gathered, swelled, deepened, broke at last into a mighty roar. A band began a march, but the strains were drowned in the frenzy of a magnificent ovation.