The Saturday Evening Post 1906-07-07: Vol 179 Iss 1

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST In this Number 3 g

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CT es LS oe for fe be oo SP SHR THRE HH 2H REE Yyyrryyyy = 8 Scissor Book Free * The Recollection of Qual ity Remains Long After the Price is F rgotien 7 Scissor Book Sent Free. SIMMONS HARDWARE COMPANY St. Louis and New York, U.S.A. LINAALL tw 6 x 1 © cea wo Oar _— = ‘W, j; € - ASK FOR HORLICK'S a age Horlick’s Malted Milk Co., Racine, Wis. U.B.A L Montrea England Canada rer mm oe . ee he Sk CHAMBER OF FO 60600 OS OO Ot OE GEO OG OE OF G0. OF Ge Ot Ot OSG OS OF. OFF. FOF OOS. OF OPO wt OF OF OF OP OE OF OF OF Gt OP Ot OF OF OF OF OF OF we OOF SOOISOCIOICICIK UMMER HOMES in Green Hills of Vermont and Lake Champlain Terms $4 to $10 per week Southern California t tt COMMERCE, Los Angeles 1), 0 6 6 CD GS OD DU HD OD OD OD UD UD ED UD OD OD OD HE ED U0 6D UD 5D OD OD 6 UO 6D OD 0 U0 U0 Ud UO OO OD UD OD ED U8 UD OD OD OD UD UDG OD UD OD OD I U0 UD UD OD OD OD EDU US WD 1 OO Ot The all-wool standard The most important tact a man can know about his clothes is what they are made ot. Just now that’s the one fact that many clothiers and manutacturers don’t want to tell Vou. « Mercerized cotton” and other cot- ton-mixed tabrics are common; anda lot of the talk you hear and read about style, tailoring, what's «becoming to you,” and the rest, 1s merely head 5 you off trom asking, “Is this all-wool ?”’ It probably isn’t; it may be eighty per cent cotton; you can’t tell until you wear it; when you buy clothes, ask that question. he all-wool standard is not too high a standard to set for the clothing business; the style and the honest tailoring easily go with it. We believe in this standard in our business, and we encourage } it in others. Every man who cares for honest merchandise ought to do the same. Hart Schattne Good Clothes r & Marx Makers New Boston York eed will not wash ¢ NEW: SKIN" ‘ t ki 5 t. “Paint it 2 with ‘ New- Skin’ and forget it, § CAUTION WE GUARANTEE our r’ NEW- 2 SKIN.” No one guarantee t Q t 1 r re $ Always Insist on Getting ’ ew Skin"’ Get acquainted with the Peck-Williamson hater page Furnace. We want to & Samedi pe Saye el y= ments tt t illustration wil l enable you to id what Scien onstruction really means, and why The Peck- Williamson inden Furnace Saves = to 2-3 on Coal Bills - y e a eat fe eas ef f Underfeed Fur- kiet FREE t gives f The PECK-WILLIAMSON CO., 329 W. 5th St., Cincinnati, 0. It will PAY Dealers to write for our very attractive proposition Candy Floss Machine Just the t for nmer resorts, fa 2 I 1 Ly = a oS Liquid Court: Kol “New-Skin”™ relie Saccsione: H ang- Nails, Chapped and Spl it Lips or Fingers, Burns Blisters, ete nstantly re- lievesChilblains, Frosted Ears, Stingsof Insects, Chafed or Blistered Feet, Callous Spots, etc., ete \ t el | P ves Cuts ECHAN on SPORTSMEN, BICY- CLISTS, GOLFER fact a t “NEW ¢ 10¢ I 25¢ r 50c AT THE DRUG! 6 1st, r ‘ y “ t of price Douglas Mig. Co. 102 Church Str Cx ts SAVE THE WAGON Increase the Capacity VICTOR STEEL SPRING BUFFER Indianapolis Bolster Spring Co. Dept. 2 Indianapolis, Ind PPPP LLL nr “A Chance For You 8 r— To Make Money — ‘ can hand it ont M “The Empire EMPIRE CANDY FLOSS MACHINE CO., Fisher Bldg., Chicago, Hl. Gov ernment Positions 8. 427 Appointments 2 $ ; ; Ornamental Fence Che ree) WARD FENCE CO. Box 90, Portland, Ind me CK IKK AKKKIAAIIIIS AA Swe | LNs OER ee * ~ (eee eww we ee : he a a aa a) a =

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Shines like a new dollar and costs but a quarter Crockett's varnishes never vary Standard in color and quality FREE PAINT BOX free water cc THE DAVID B. 21st Street, lor paint box CROCKETT CO. Bridgeport, Connecticut Is YOUR Beautiful Lawn distigured by ugly leaning clothes posts Hill’s Famous Lawn Dryer More than 2 million people use them. 1 Roof D 1 t t ( DRYER CO. Ww RIL. 366 Park Ave orcester, Mass Hotel \ Finest Hotel on the Great Lakes Chicago Beach Mer., Box 23, CHICAGO BEACH HOTEL Sist Blvd & Lake Shore, Chicag« as LINCOLN did The Home Law School Series The L AW at Home sP = t pecial Price ——" FREDERICK J. DRAKE & CO. 3 © B Wabash Ave, Chicag Young, Hand-raised rPARROTS a Only $3.25 IOWA BIRD COMPANY, DES MOINES. IA Transform your Row Boat into a Launct e make it easy f eo install | Do it now in yc idle m ments $33.50 | Weusheongines or all es of Boa LL. Dept. B- DETROIT ENGINE WORK Detroit, Mich. _ Sense and Nonsense “Boys, Neep Up the Fire” Whe 1 Winter was doi level be A Fresh-Air Epicure PARTY of the New York Tribune 4 fresh-air children was sent to Geneseo, New York, one immer, and the good who took them a dinner before they sep women in charge gave them arated to the var ous farms where they were to stay for two weeks One of the tl ings to eat Wa Die fine Livingston County pie, thick and ( \ smalil ple away. What's the matter, my son?” asked ar anxious matron who was waiting on the children. ‘‘ Why don't Hully chee, replied th: ‘‘where's Ce cheese ? and tattered youngster pus ju eat your pie mall epicure, Bate on Debates HE late Tennessee, Confederate ciled himself he was an able and effi la J Bat« of Was a majo neral in the army and never quite ' , to the defeat of the South Soon after he came t the Senate he formulated a set of rule which he called Rul s for My P roper I ot lative Cuid- Cc Whenever a roposition came up undecided, he would about which he wa take the printed slip containing from his we ket and stud it carefull ‘Bate said a colleague one da wha is that slip of paper to which you refer Tha replied Senator Bate is a little reminder of my beliefs on econstiti tional questions.,”’ Where did you get it? Think i yoursell ‘*‘No, suh,” replied Bate with muct Vv; ‘‘l found most of those sintheConstitution of the Conf States of America A pie in Disguise | yal E r* aan brother were born on a ana I'wo of them are now Bh omen P Federal dge in Chicago, one 1s Super r of 1 penne , one 1 a clan In Cineinnati iad to work from daylight to dark on that farm,’’ says Charles Landis, one of the Congressional Landise ‘Father had a team and it took us all our time to get enough off that farm to support that team We were working ight and day to get provender for those es es : Fortunately, one of the horses died and a couple of us got awa\ Then the other horse died and that let the rest of us out, ind since then we have hopped along a best we could.” Pals of the Set ee ees HALL vriter, was in Londotr and writ President the orator , riding on Lior No Hall replied lam an Americar Hamerica is a fine piace, ir con- ied the driver Hi lived there Where?” asked HH ill Why, sir, Hi ngte Wi oachman for Sir Frederick W. Bruce, when ‘e was Minister there, sir We was most familiar with the hold Grant. si when he were President, most familiar that?’ Inquires nished arster wa s pertickler t pertickler. Many’s the driven ‘im to the White House and ‘im on the hinside an’ me hon the for ‘ours at my n night l ha ‘ at there houtside, a time.’ The Whitt freigh THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Vu Just a AN a There w NGLISHMAN, smok L pipe, sat he I hma Douglass and | ! | i rave ny ma il i ¢ ty} eo \ eM rit. SEAM | J . bh.” the Englishma ori past " oO North A ~ if OF npr v3 ] contractor, | i beautiful t edge of H } 1ed i ‘es ‘ nk heasa A Leap-Year Plunge The C. A. Edgarton Mig. Co. 551 Main Street Shirley, Mass ae ae * oad a) Y 0 \ we, ‘ tc) Bite of a Cherry cu ( Wi ‘ n ere several trave t _~ a In Warm Weather , B } aiiians ' ' l ‘Not 1AM Yet, But J AMES ¢ Soon’ ONNERS, the J. A. SCRIVEN CO., 16 East 15th St, New Vork : ‘ : L ~ 3 is 4 ey ara : ne WANTED DRESS GOODS : Fall and SHEER FABRICS : Winter Wear CLIMAX" ma _ mH \ \ } L o \G MAP OF THE WORLD : 25 cts ~a & North-Western Railway

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The WHY of— “The Ham What Am!” \T Ham, Mandy, sho’ com ‘Aint no salt-pork taste to dat ttma Corn-sed Hog! far kind never Cause, dat Meat am Canse, daf Ham's sure-enouch mt e ¢grTal IPM) «i ] \ cu dl | A Heol | rhe ” \ t i Bar } Hlog, tow itvo’ heard o' dat, Mandy ? Cause vo dont get ul Well, dats jus’ a tine mild p Havor f'm yod | ) right enough , S ' tf u Suga )

H ) a rut { st at t \¢ rs We int t ich ai | rk d ‘ \ ( (?) e Fl S ' Sins Da | le *Ham< | le know eH “ \1 MM ‘ ty \ i'm de Ham t Aint it never! I? ( \ hey I ( {i m “7 li B \ Hams a day t e dat O Jes’ One H ' fis 1 at Arm H / \ H t + rent Sta? rk « ) 1 ade ft t SO, Vi ee, Mandy t eve 1 Me ( Sfar mark means mighty mucl Co'se it costs a few cents more t e knowin’ folks ‘But, My Sakes, Woman!-— what \re you listenin’ yet, Mandy? de-leecious Eatin’ fo’ de Folks.”’ Lrmours “STAR” Hams and Bacon

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_ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Copyright 1906, by THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, Founded A°D' 1728 by Benj.Franklin Entered at the Philadelphia Post-Office in the United States and Great Britain as Second-Class Matter | | Published Weekly at 425 Arch Street by THE CurTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY Tendon: Hastings House.10, Norfolk Street. Strand,WC. Volume 179 PHILADELPHIA, JULY 7. 1900 acho A 1 | GA Y N O R The Man Who Holds a Brief for the People By Alfred Henry Lewis \ t / ~N ~ — er ~_ . a. Sep Uh ae SPRL SE. el a aed ROM among the utterances of Judge Gaynor, in a recent conversation, I take the wish to avoid an inspection 1 close and too long f what puppets they put up above and set it at the head of this article as atext. It of right belongs there, Judge Gaynor, in one part of my talk with him, accurately described these puppets since it strikes the Gaynor keynote —the key in which he thinks and talks and “Commonly,” said h the iy nothing, do nothing now nothing They are acts. The Gaynor views are important; for what Judge Gaynor thinks he will say, and — studiously negative, and this condition of vacuity is supposed to augment their strengt} what he says he will do, and just now many of the most cogent New York influences The theory of the Machine is that as a candidate grows k he grow trong, and are demanding him for governor. Politics in New York isin Vesuvian approache the invincible as he ay upheaval. There is mutiny among Republicans, mutiny among proaches nothingne Democrats. In my time there has not been witnessed such ferocity In the faceof those usual late. deferent of sentiment. At that it isan admirable ferocity; for it comes to be October tacties of the Machines, this no more no less than a ferocity to clean house a New York iproar over a { ernor ha It was the recent disclosures of corporate villainies that set the hn broken out In connection with the public to filing its teeth. One need not go over the evil roll-eall q - \ overnorship, two name ure mothe It runs from the insurance swindles, stripped bare by Mr. Hughes, y J, } popular = liy Judge Gavnor and M to the railway rottenness now being laid open to the general eve 4 ‘ j Hiearst The latter recent Irprising and nostril by Mr. Glasgow. Also, incide ntally, it comes to light that Se sail nvass for the mavor and the fact the robberies disclosed have had and still have the countenance, the protection — nay, the aid—of Congresses, legislatures, courts and pros- ecuting officers. The black story unfolds a tale of perjury, larceny, embezzlement and bribe-giving in high places, publie and privates and so the popular bloed has been fired to fever heat. The New York temper is set iron-hard to force radical reform The people are resolved upon a change They will supplant dis- rance with honesty with honesty, cowardice with courage, ign intelligence, incompetence with competence. As usual, the Machines, being corrupt, have aligned themselves with the corruptionists Machinely speaking, there is in New York no difference between the parties, Both Machines t and receive and obs a the orders of those interests whose hundred black flags are fly pillaging the people. These vultures tear at the communal vitals, and a bleeding public grows weary of its Promethean role This attitude of the Machines—those political janizaries of pirate wealth —has provoked the public to independence The honesty of men is in rebellion. By thousands they have turned their backs on the old Machine-ruled parties, and, laying aside partisanship for patriotism, are demanding a governor who, emanat- ing from neither party, is footloose of both. Usually such commodities of politics as tickets, such trinkets of party as candidates, gain no New York mention before October. The Machines bring forward their candidates slowly. They ake their impulse and direction from ving over what corporate cormorant things are

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to see in office. ‘ No Gas grabs or Ramapo grabs would be presented to him as governor for his signa- ture they would not get his signature.” On this question of Judge Gaynor for governor some curious conversations are held. I listened to one the other day. The first speaker, given to pessimism, feared he would refuse He has been offered the nomination three times,”’ said he; ‘‘once by Boss McLaughlin, once by Boss Croker, once by the Sheehan-Taggart-Belmont clique when Parker ran for the Preside ney And he refused each time.” Boss McLaughlin! Boss Croker!’’ exclaimed the other » he refused He would not take a Machine nomination, coupled with that subserv lency to the Machine which it implies. As for 1904, those influences which sought the use of his name were tenfold worse than any regular Machine. Give him an independent scornfully. ‘Of cor nomination and he'll have to take it.” Have to? Yes, have to! right to refuse Che latter patriot then laid down the rights of the public with lucidity and force. The public, he declared, is its own Warwick —its own king-maker. The public is the potter; the individual but clay, and the public may mould him into governor, or President, or what it will. The office should seek the man; finding the man, it does not lie in his mouth to say that he will or will not And,” concluded our patriot, ‘Judge Gaynor would This with emphasis. ‘ He will have no admit the correctness of what I state Early Battles With the Bosses JECAUSE William J. Gaynor, just now a judge of the Supreme Court, is of New York importance, and may become of national importance, to study him and his career worth while, His years are in the middle fifties. He was born on an Oneida County farm, and the acres which reared him were won from the wilderness by his grandsire, axe in hand. Isit not strange how so many of a world's Jeffersons and Jacksons and Websters and Clays and Lincolns come ip from the farm It would seem that Judge Gaynor originated of a stubborn strain; for his father shone forth is an abolitionist long before it was the fashion, and back rties upheld the free-soiler, James G. Birney. ige Gaynor’s appearance one discerns traces of his ng ancestry. His face, fine, sensitive, of a quick interest, the home of hone sty, 1s re ple te of an old- fashioned forces It belongs with a day a sincere day, when every male American could say a prayer and shoot a gun, and did. There is thought and courage in his face, and the refinement that comes of scholarship and the much reading of books And yet, behind the look that tells of aleoves and libra- s is the look militant A great thinker, Judge Gaynor would make a greater soldier. Among the best as a jurist, he would be a better executive Judge Gaynor's education began at a r, the country district s¢ hool. Later he went to the Whitestown Seminary, which institution in those days was of much Oneida celebration W hile yet be ardless he jour- wellspring of rning neved to Boston taught school—a striking case of arrving coals to Newcastle He studied law in Utica, and later in Brooklyn, after a brief splash into journalism on the Brooklyn papers. This was thirty years ago Being commissioned to practice law, Judge Gaynor a judgeship— settled in Flatbush, of Brooklyr There were twenty thousand inhabitants who presented the usual per cent and corruption. Young G: then long vears from of tin carelessness yvnor aity, le plore d the timidity, denounced the care le ssness, attacke d the corruptior There were forty saloons, and only one lice nse d license among them. Young Gaynor haled the ur irt and convicted them. Thereupon arose wailing and gnashing of teeth, especially among venal officials who had been taking blackmail from the unlicensed To put a cap-sheaf on their grie f, voung Gay nor compelled the rum-shops to iock their Sunday doors A Man's House His Castle | spemtinton' to kill bosses as the mongoose is to kill snakes, > voung Gavi declared war on the Flatbush Machines There were two of these organization in defense of their lives they combined against him. Thev combined n vVair both fell; and a reform town board marked in remiation Dy appoint py him commi ghty force of twenty-five men he gave first expression to those views touching the police ind their powers which he has, in later years, so often voiced from the bench. He taught his bluecoats that a policeman's earliest duty is to keep the law, not violate it Particularly were they nstructed against unlawfully entering a citizens hou ‘ ; The right of the indivi I brought up those talents for house-invasion so prom- inent in the New York police, ‘to be secure in his house against invasion by the police, is parcel of our common law "said Judge Gaynor, when THE SATURDAY EVENING POST inheritance. When the powerful and great built castles, surrounded them with wall and moat, and haughtily for- bade even the king himself to enter without their consent, a whole people, instinct of liberty, were quick to declare that ‘an Englishman's house is his castle.’ The declaration was a revolution in human liberty. It obtained foothold, and is still as pregnant as when it emanated from what Coke called the ‘unpolished genius of the people.’ It is as vital as when Chatham said: ‘The poorest man may, in his cot- tage, bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England may not enter. All his force dares not cross the threshold of that ruined tenement.’ All of which,”’ con- cluded Judge Gaynor with a resentful gleam, ‘‘sounds now in the city of New York like an empty boast. This is a government, not of men, but law —something which many besides the police forget.” There were six road houses—noisy, drunken dens of disrepute, the Flatbush eyesore! The uncompromising hand of the young police commissioner fell upon them, and they perished. When young Gaynor moved to Brooklyn, in 1885, he left Flatbush as cleanly quiet as a church. Following some anti-graft exploits, the pleased tax- payers put forward Mr. Gaynor for a place on the Supreme Bench. John Y. McKane was chief of police and ex ojficio boss of Gravesend. There were ten thousand inhabitants in Gravesend. McKane, as boss, never failed of a false registration of full seven thousand. At every election he cast them where he would. Fat with successes, Boss McKane waxed rich and insolent On being nominated for judge, Mr. Gaynor warned him that if he attempted his customary frauds he would put him in stripes. Boss McKane laughed, and cast his seven thousand fraudulent ballots as of arrogant yore. In spite of those Gravesend frauds, Mr. Gaynor was elected by thirty-five thousand majority, and a former “ring” majority of twenty thousand was overthrown. Judge Gaynor did not sit idly down with his triumph. There was that Sing Sing promise made to Boss McKane; it must be kept. He went to the prosecuting officer, who did nothing. He went to Governor Flower, who did nothing. As a corrective to gubernatorial apathy, Judge Gaynor wrote an open letter to Governor Flower, The latter—for the thumb of the ring was heavy upon him—still did nothing. Judge Gaynor wrote a second open letter EXCESSIVE ly open It placed the hot coal of publicity on the back of the turtle governor. Under its burning influence he protruded his gubernatorial head and selected two special attorneys-general to prosecute Boss McKane. With Judge Gaynor showing the way they prosecuted; and Boss McKane—boss no longer—went to prison for seven years, With sixteen of his thugs to keep him Sing Sing company The People’s Officers in the Interests’ Pay \ 71TH Railroads and Insurance and Sugar and Standard Oil and Steel and a score or more of kindred trust expressions in my mind, I asked Judge Gaynor how far, if at all, these creatures of a vulture commerce spread their dark wings over legislation. “This may give you some hint,’’ said he. ‘‘ We will not ay ‘New York,’ since it might seem invidious to name any State when describing conditions which surround July 7, 1906 the legislatures of many States. You ask if these great corporations influence legislation. Think of a State where the chairman of the legislative committees on railroads, on insurance, on any or every thing that have to do directly with these corporations, and after the chairman the influ- ential members, are paid salaries by those particular inter- ests which the committees have in charge! Think of the railroads paying their committee so much a year—the chairman, $25,000; the insurance companies paying their chairman a similarsum; andsoon! ‘Their committees,’ I said. Certainly, they pay them, although the people elect them.” “There is a deal being printed and said,”’ I observed, ‘about the public being educated to hate wealth. What is your opinion of the public feeling toward wealth and those who possess It i Robbers that Cry “Anarchist!” “MNHERE isno popular hatred of wealth — honest wealth,”’ replied Judge Gaynor. ‘‘The public honors a man who by honesty and industry piles up a fortune. The public has been just inevery age. It seeks the injury of no man, no company. Itrobsno one, pillages noone. It opposes none, makes war on none, save the criminal man or criminal cor- poration found plundering the people. I have been both angered and amused at the brazen tactics of these criminals. They pillage and loot and rob and plunder, and take the public into their villain laps and pluck it as a Dutch woman plucks a goose. Then, when the pillaged goose protests, they ery ‘Anarchist!’ It is they, robbing the people in the teeth of law and justice, who are the anarchists. They fill their thievish pockets and fly to Europe with the swag. If an investigation is ordered, they secrete themselves from the officers of the people. What would an honest man do if he heard that an officer of justice was looking for him to subpeena him to give testimony? Would he hide in his house and have his wife and children and servants lie and say they did not know where he was? And yet all this was done by an eminent personage who has lately put the ocean between this country and himself. Would an honest man, knowing his testimony was wanted, hurry aboard ship and put to sea, or skulk to another State to escape service of a subpcena? Is such a man fit to mingle with law-abiding people? No; he is dishonest, disreputable. No amount of church or Sunday-school teaching can make him re- spectable. And it is such as he who ery ‘Anarchist!’ against honest men. I say that it is he and such as he who are the anarchists; and they will destroy our Government unless checked in their criminal career.”’ ‘You spoke .’ said I, ‘‘of the people’s objection to being plundered. Can you give me a concrete example of such plundering?” ‘ “Tt lies open,”’ returned Judge Gaynor, ‘‘in a hundred, nay, a thousand instances. Take a specimen case: the traction roads of New York City. Their story is the story of most of the railway and gas companies and other public service corporations throughout the nation. Also, you should not forget that public service corporations are on a vastly different footing, in the eyes of the law, than are trading corporations, such as dry-goods companies and grocer companies, which possess no public element and are not in their foundations based upon public grants. A trading corporation is entitled under the law te make what honest profit it can. A public service corporation is legally entitled to no more than a fair return on its investment, which fair return should be what interest per cent. is usual on a loan. “To return, then, in this hunt for an example of what corporate pillage excites the anger of the public. Let us take up the tale of traction—underground, surface and overhead—on Manhattan Island. What is the story? Let us commence with the overhead roads. They began existence under an inflated stock and bond issue of $33,000,- 000, and paid large interest charges and dividends thereon. The profits grew with the city’s growth. Yetit would not do to let the public know. The latter might then insist upon its legal right to,a reduction of fares. The stock must be watered. To do this in such covert fashion as to escape t he public eye, a new company was formed, and the original companies which owned the roads were turned over to it for 099 vears, The new company agreed to pay the interest on the bonds of the old companies, and from seven to eight per cent. on their stock. The rest of the earnings were to become dividends on its own stock. What was the stock issue of that new company? It was $60,000,000 nearly all water. Thus did our traction financiers arrange to fool a numskull public. “Still the earnings kept growing. To match it, more water went into the stock. But the water did not, could not, keep up with the profits. The dividends were again becoming too big. Then comes a third move. The second company, the Manhattan, turns itself over to a third new company, the Interborough, for 999 years, the latter to pay all obligations to the original roads, and seven per cent on those $60,000,000 of Manhattan stock. This new company, the Interborough, owned the just completed (Continued on Page ec

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~) THE CANDIDATE ri { A Story of the Cabinet Minister, the Insurance Tables HE Secretary of the Mins hscggs Piguet and the Buzzing of the Presidential Bee ting with portly - Senator Winkle when extended hat iH , ’ the door burst open and Vaited t Assistant Secretary Adams B bg W t L I P A N E e: then ex entered in a hasty and Cra is a il highly indecorous manner. He pa The Assistant Secretary's pompadour Too bad I bad f th | seemed fairly to bristle with excitement. His ; n the Depar ] extended hand held an open book, fresh from Too ba hed Ada S the press and bound in official pasteboard e wondered ha ‘What's this? What's this?”’ he cried, and iy plumped the book down before his astonished ba , } chief, an agitated forefinger upon a certain halts } \) ‘ passage. " \ Secretary Plainfield caught up the volume peak bs | \ His eye fell upon the paragraph. Good f th , | gracious!’’ he breathed; and, an instant later i the | with deeper feeling: ‘‘Great Heavens!"’ He ul ef] l | ! sprang up, a horrified gaze still fixed upon the Seer H } page. “Stopit! Stopit!’’ he gasped. ‘Call \\ H up the printing office! Send for Foreman! ‘ ft) Send for Tothero! Holdup the report! Have Ser } all copies recalled!” H ‘ t Where all had been impenetrable official ibruy calm, all was now confusion. Adams frantiec- H and W I} ally jiggle d the telephone lever rhe two aides ‘ | } ‘ hurried in, and rushed to other telephones } ‘lled eact } j | Ros Messengers came and sped away. Secretary I I had beet Plainfield paced the floor, anon cracking the wcute wa ‘ tha knuckles of his left hand; anon gnawing the Repul pa i la rth viciously at his gray mustache. He had tossed Presider ul ta Ther the exciting book to hisdesk. Senator Winkle, is no pa ir reasor I I he i fatly placid as ever, picked it up and turned, I 1 not | ‘ pt that the othe with a cool curiosity, to the mysterious pas- is rath the wa sage. He had no difficulty in finding it, and he read it through, undisturbed by the ex- citement about him. When he arose his broad, } ruddy face was the same imperturbable mask | asever. ‘Well, see you later, Joe,” he called \ f M Piaintield | 1 amiably from the door. | Father, il ht ! At the moment the Secretary scarcely no- ir! ich ‘ t ‘ ticed the departure of his caller. He was too rh unk, 1 i-sk ered, lo nted intent upon the work in hand. ! ' he Ca id por Half an hour after the original disturbance ul thrust | the Secretary and Adams were alone in the ffend I nt ‘ pocket room ind t é h | r nely and ‘*Well,”” said Adams nervously, ‘‘I guess vounded r nm ‘ t we've got it stopped now. All copies sent out Avenu ng, | Her have been recalled. I guess we've got it bot- tall } tled up.” “Whee ore A man, | Jove, that 1 I i friend The Secretary wiped his moist brow; picked en Gubenek ike for ur Tha it | up the book and looked at it again. It was Time of Night? ple f } i } ‘ 1 er | no chimera; no creature of their fancy . hould You know, Martha,” he pleaded There, interpolated in his annual report, was a as he paced back to ther that he would i solemn recommendation that the Government have had any! e chanes be Senator thar finance the construction of the Panama Canal by going into of fifteen dollars,"’ he continued That eq to a to be Pope if | hadn't pitel n al ped him! A the life-insurance business—all elaborately set forth in year's interest on 81000 at one and a half per cer | } the way he repays! I lown, dirt cold type, over his signature, without, so to speak, cracking Government is willing to pay two and a half per cent There's William Winkle f i, Martha! | asmile. ‘‘But how on earth could it have got in there?"’ interest on the Panama Cana t | ir pla | Joe, } } ' i | Plainfield demanded, in sheer bewilderment Government will issue one per cet ! ind } iM | 1 Adams shook his head. ‘‘Of course, Gessler had charge will be a life-insurance poli r $1000, good for twent He has done r!”’ the Se tary declared wit! of the proofs as usual,’’ he said. years. The life-insurance feature will cost the Governr hea rhe ng t hict I ame! | **Fetch him here,’ commanded the Secretary fifteen dollars a year per thousand, bringing the tota 1 we've ck « f th esslerized report A minute later Adams returned with the chief clerk. up tothe two anda half per cent., which it is willing to } except on \ 1 have th ne py except Wit { Mr. Gessler was a very lean and stringy person, of middle for the mone) People will fall over each other to | And what'd Wir I age. His complexion was decidedly sandy; his neck the one per cent. bonds, with Government life insurat ! hen he thir hurt worst hold me up fora f very long. He had a bold nose, but a mere morsel of chin. attached. But, according to the American Experiet J ala ! te f me I can sec He wore a thick, red mustache and his hair was combed Table of Mortality, out of SI,S men aged thirty-t usted fat face l'da i side of bacor up high ontheside. Thus he looked like arooster who had who insure, ony 732 will die the first year rt th f i face, a H t e | lent about it lost the feathers off its neck. The Secretary regarded him Government's insurance receipts the first vear will be rea Of course t'd be the f I sternly, but said, ‘‘Take a seat,’’ quite mildly, for he saw _ losses, roughly, as 12 t With five million people eager to unde ne me he A nistra } ' only fidelity and affection in Gessler’s mild, blue eye. to buy one per cent. bonds, with the insurance feature, t i the Preside At the Cabinet , j ‘Do you know anything about this?’’ Mr. Plainfield Government can not only build the Cana ' began, a bit awkwardly, from the conflict of emotions, and national debt, double the navy and put all the N \ handed Gessler the report. ym panic it of busir I f The chief clerk did not even look at the opened volume. demonstrative foretinge I ‘ ff } \ I Mitel { He turned redder with modest pride. ‘So you found it iay be urged that the Govern: ha and half already!’’ he said, and his eye beamed still more fondly. power to insure lives. Under our plan that obje t Jove, like blasted Cheshire H ‘Of course, it’s my plan, Mr. Plainfield. 1 worked over met by issuing Treasury certificate 1 WW \\ } it for months. But the credit is all yours. I wanted all Mr. Gessler,”’ said Adams softly 1 paida good The Secretar f | the credit to be yours!’’ He still beamed, and his voice deal of attention to life insurance lat haven't pened to « h } sughter t I trembled slightly with honest emotion. *T've read everything that's been printed, Mr. Adar r Jar The Secretary and the Assistant Secretary simply stared said Gessler, ‘‘ verifying all calculations, and at each other. every mathematical hypoth: Miss I ‘I worked over it for months,’’ Gessler repeated. ‘‘ And “Ah —er—thank you, Gessler; thar 1 aid th n her toe r} | yet, after all, it’s absurdly simple: a child can understznd Secretary That will be all just 1 Adar und | | want Mr it." He looked at them in triumph, but not vaingloriously want to go over it a bit P t “To insure a man aged thirty-five for twenty years for The credit will be urs, Mr. Plainfield uid the chief hich ma the & I $1000 the old-line companies charge an annual premium

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6 “| Wanted All the Credit to be Yours!"’ with running the Department and running for President, too You can’t fool me, father! I know su too well. Your nervous dyspepsia has been forging right ahead ever since you took the idea of getting the nomination. This Gessler business is simply meat and drink for it. You're ready to’ chew wire nails this minute. What do we care about being President? Let’s go back to Grassville and e like folks again Plump, wholesome Miss Plainfield leaned forward and hooked her finger in his coat pocket Come on, daddy. What do we care about being President?’’ she coaxed. You're getting awfully seedy! the Secretary bit his mustache, but only meditatively, I don'tcare anything in particular about being President,’’ he said, ‘‘except If Winkle’d come to me If he’d come to me like a as his weary eves dwelt uponthem that mv friends expect it of me like a man | might step out man the waning flame suddenly caught again but, by Jove. I ain't goin’ to make a sneak President of the I nited State Later that day. at the end of an earnest consultation hich, on the woman’s part, was solicitous almost to the point of tears an eminent family practitioner really opened his mind a little to the Secretary's wife ‘Frankl Mrs. Plaintield aid the man of science, ‘‘it is a difficult case The bromides quiet his nerve but, on the other hand, they upset his digestion The most important point is to keep him from thinking of anything that irritates him.” Wa SECURE in his office, the Secretary was indulging in one n of the forbidden but momentarily soothing long, black cigars, when Adar entered There was an odd sort of rapt, yet flickering, look in the Assistant Secretary's eye The Secretary laid down his cigar. ‘“‘The situation,” he said, ‘‘is just as I thought. Mitchell is on the fence, and won't come off until after the election The Mitchell he mentioned was then Governor of the State of losota- and admittedly a master mechanic at polities The Presidential aspirations of Seeretary Plain- tield and Senator Winkle were, of course, open secrets which influenced all political movements in the State Mitchell’s reéjection as Governor, in November, was a foregone conclusion, and as vet he held a beautifully adjusted bal- Plainfield had rather made him politically, and, if there were any gratitude in ance between the rival candidates legation with the Governor's But one of the things that helped on his nervous dyspepsia was the idea that fat, smooth, polities, should get the State de decisive assistance treacherous William Winkle--the man he'd been a friend to for thirty years, by Jove! — might win the Governor away from him. Mitchell wasn’t a man to tie up with a loser rhat ed report might be the very fulerum wherewith the villainous Winkle hoisted Mitchell into his own camp De you know what Winkle’s doing with that copy of he demanded abruptly ie saVing it up to use with Mitchell the day after the election!” He nodded balefulls say Look a’ here: I can laugh Plainfield out of the race!’ That's what he'll do! He's used it with the ’ Mr. Plainfield’s face turned a deep fernal Cess the report he’s got ‘He'll take it to the Governor and President already THE SATURDAY EVENING POST red and his eyes glistened. ‘*‘When I went to the White House to-day the President he-hawed out loud, like a blasted ass, and slapped me on the back! Of course he’s seen the report.”’ Mr. Adams seemed only half attentive. ‘‘l had a letter from Gessler to-day,” he said. ‘*He wrote that he was enjoy- ing Porto Rico very much, but didn’t see that he could accomplish much by staying I cabled him to stay until ordered home, and go farther into the interior.” Plainfield nodded apprecia- tively. ‘‘ How did he write?” ‘‘Oh, sane as a judge,’’ the Assistant replied. He blushed slightly and laughed a little in a nervous and apologetical way. ‘‘It’s odd, you know but if you come to work over that proposition of his, it’s certainly mighty plausible.” The Secretary looked up in- credulously. ‘Yes, sir,’’ Adams asserted stubbornly. ‘Of course, it’s ~ perfectly ridiculous in a way. Yet if you sit down to it and study it all over earefully, you see that it’s certainly mighty ingenious.”” He took a pencil from his pocket and pulled up a pad of paper. ‘‘In the first place, fifteen dollars a year is the old-line cost of carry- ing $1000 insurance for twenty years for a man aged thirty-five an average age, say. Also, fifteen dollars is the interest at one and a half per cent. on $1000 for a year. Hence, if the Government sold bonds at one per cent., it could affprd to give $1000 insurance for twenty years, for that wolild be equal to its paying only two and a half per cent. gn the money. Now, the old-line premium consists of three part the premium proper, the reserve and the loading. The Government wouldn't need any loading to speak of, and the premium proper is too high, because deaths are really fewer than the experience tables show. According to the American Experience Table of Mortality -I don’t remember the figures exactly, but Gessler had it right. I’ve looked it up.” He took a memorandum from his pocket and spread it on the table. An hour later Adams Was saying: ‘‘And when you come to figure on the steady increase in population as shown by the Census Bureau--so many new men reaching an insurable age every year—why, there’s no end toit. You could fund the debt, build a navy that would beat Great Britain all hollow, abolish the internal revenue taxes if you wanted to—although that, I suppose,” he added tively, ‘‘would get the temperance people down on you. And the greatest thing of all would be cheap, ro conserv: safe life insurance for the peopl Plaintield rubbed his brow perplexedly and stared at the sheets full of figures. ‘‘But Gessler was nutty, Adams.” Well, that’s true,” Adams admitted. ‘‘He was cer- tainly nutty. Yet it is mighty plausible.’’ He hesitated July 7, 1906 a moment. ‘‘It has sort of interested me—purely as a theoretical thing, you know. I’ve wired for a copy of the Armstrong Committee’s report on life insurance.” A week later Mrs. Plainfield resolutely opened the door of her husband’s study and marched in. ‘Joe! Joe!’’ she expostulated. ‘You ought to have been in bed two hours ago. What are you doing at this time of night?” Her husband’s table was cumbered with tomes of so dry an appearance that one’s bones fairly ached with looking at them, and with many sheets of paper containing figures. ‘‘As near as I can figure it out,’’ the Secretary replied thoughtfully, ‘‘the loading amounts to about twenty per cent and the experience tables of mortality are too high by abc you apply that toa billion of insurance, say She sat down beside him and spoke accusingly: ‘It’s ut eight per cent. Now, if that miserable Gessler business! ““Why, Martha, it’s just here,” he explained. ‘* Winkle is bound to spring that Gessler report on me some day when he thinks | ain't lookin’. He’ll give it to the news- papers, you know—-about my report being all in print and ready to go out with this insurance business in it. He's bound to do that. I propose to be ready for him. I'll just say to ’em: ‘It’s true Gessler was nutty and put the stuff in there without my knowing it; but just figure it over for yourself and see if it ain’t plausible!’ A bold proposition attracts people, you know. By Jove, I believe I can turn the laugh on him! If the President wasn't hidebound and conceited I'd go to him right now and say: ‘Just figure it over for yourself.’ The fact is, Martha,’’ he added confidentially, ‘‘that if they start to turn the laugh on me, and I ean only get ’em started to figuring this life insurance, they'll be so all-fired balled up in no time that they won’t know whether they ought to laugh or not!’’ He rubbed his brows again. ‘‘And it mighty convincing, Martha—in away. You see, the old- line cost of carrying $1000 insurance for twenty years for a man aged thirty-five-—-—” She took both his hands. ‘*For goodness’ sake, Joe, goto bed! You’re working yourself all to pieces! You'll get as bad as Gessler!”’ The Secretary colored. ‘‘If it wasn’t for that skunk Winkle I wouldn’t be doing this, Martha!”’ he said. ‘‘A man, by Jove, that I've been a friend to for thirty years and now his low, underhand course is forcing me to wear myse lf to the bone to protect myself from him! I'll get something on him some day. You see if I don’t. And then, let him look out!” iv -_ 1U don’t say so! You don’t say so!"’ the Secretary exclaimed, round-eyed with a shocked surprise. ‘Well, well!”’ ‘So I'm told,” Adams repeated as one who would not flinch from the truth, however disagreeable. ‘I’ve heard it from two different sources.”’ ‘‘Well, well!’ the Secretary exclaimed again. ‘And Billy Winkle! Poor devil! I hope it ain’t true, Adams! I hope it ain’t true. By Jove, those foreign fellows will ! Thopeitain’ttrue! Winkle has been running around a good deal, though, for a man whose wife is an invalid.” ‘‘He was in her box at the theatre last night,’’ the Assistant observed. ‘‘She’s certainly a beauty.” Continued on Page shoot, too “I Don’t Care,” He Affirmed Flippantly a ee

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eee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “GETTING THAT HOME” (Told by Jan, the Big Polish Laborer) B Y WILL not marry him!” cried little Marie, very ex- cited. ‘Jan! I will marry you!” I jumped back a little. I am a very slow man But then I began to smile down at this young harder and harder | and | glad all over! Because this was exac tly what The other fellow was Franz ago he had left this Polish village and gone to America Then I had come here to help build a house and a barn, for 1 was a carpenter. And once | little Marie come dancing down the road; I just looked — till she danced out of sight and after that I tried to see her eve ry day, mostly when I thought she did not see me But I have found since that little woman felt warm, shaking ] wanted! ke a fool Two vears Saw “ You Poor Fellows Will Never Get a Job Till You Bribe a Foreman she always did Well, whenever I did speak to her I got all mixed up and anxious to get away; and the minute I was away | got angry, thinking of some good thing I might have said — sometimes even a joke. But I was slow and had only thirty dollars saved, so 1 decided to work harder and get some money, and in two years | would ask her to be my wife. But in only two weeks some fellow told me Marie had promised long ago to marry Franz in Chicago. Then I stopped sleeping at night. At first I was only angry; in my head I made a picture of this Franz—a very ugly fellow, smiling--and my arms were round his chest till his ribs began to crackle! But after three nights like this, one night I walked over the fields till the day, and decided to go to America. I told her, and I said I hoped she would be very happy with Franz. But now she cried ERNEST FPOOLE Jan fou It ) her ttle held it t i tighter, and all r I rushing round But she looked uy “Well she cried angril Why don’t vou d Wha hat abx Fra gr laugh cried He think quick and he can joke Bu ou y ‘ ire terribly slow, Jan! lerribly slow! All at once | saw In about seen but an old brown do Well, right here “Oh, no, you won't toChicago! Yourticket is bought and you must not wast« it. Besides— America is bes 1 made up my mind about that many weeks before you So I decided to go ‘*You must work hard,” train, ‘‘and get a to me how you are what she mez looked around us, no g, excited and barking America now! an hour, when we one had I said, laughing, *‘ no I will sta she cried. You will go right t for us. asked me she said the next week, at the and then | Write that home aor home, will come exactly getting you hide anything. In America every man can be ricl as a Polish prince, if he is only quick enoug! But are slow. Oh, Jan, try to be quick—quick as you car Now I held her tight, with my head down to hers, wh she cried: ‘‘Quick as you can!”’ she whispered Jar ' ] want that home Well, I tell you I wanted to be quick! And when th train moved she waved and her black eyes were shinit with the tears, but she laughed; and then I felt I « get that home in no time. But it felt harder soon. Other crowds were joined t ours, each of us had a big ticket tied to his coat, peopl pointed and laughed, we cows, and that better, for we hz me a game of cards, and we played all day But all the time I was thinking how to get it At last ; yellow wooden hous‘ hustled along like goats and the d no storms, and I met a fellow who taught were is how we felt Only on ship we came to Chicago l wa and |} iid a fat Polish man three | so | could were four other Polish and each of us had a n room had nothing else were dirty and broken and all scribbled up with bad my eighteen dollar In m) come, eat and sleep there a wee room who had t but cobwebs and swe: Only one fellow had made a fine of a Pol a woman, a cow and two bal written some words that in English w mean I was a fool! And I felt the same wav myself Weil, we all ate supper and then went out on the narro porch to smoke our pipes There were about twent he men who had been here longer and all had © th were talking But we five new fellow ist looked up a the big black steelworks. **It looks like a hell, doesn’t it iid a little Polis} i who came over to us. His vellow hair stood up stiff, | and had all the muscles tight: his eve ‘Yes,”’ he said, ‘‘ thi face Was narrow were bright the earth!” All Hoping to Get a Job The ny He laugt I looked slow, but | “Well I I brought the my game lantert but I kept other me The fe d ye r | wi } for a wal as ! idewal dirt le } ' Wi \{ The 1 } even the mo« l it do ‘ il ne Beea f our hon A] at ¢ int Iw \ThenIw et th hon ild rathe l would ge t} thir 1} ] have it ean al and blue fl nd blue or it il i ' r} | j ind me ‘ F } | “ ‘ I ma M tt 1} " i il Vi i al tt ed il aw ! hir ar it i ihe st I fe here ar t I 1 « l i | ‘ he pore r t} 1} \r i i rt he } Ar t} va in ¢ t than d tr ‘ } ‘ i lv a f I arden and ! t iW al 1 Tha Face was a Terrible ithe Dark! Vi mad lt ade the aA \ ] A Wil e of rd the fel ht qui aid tive img | t \ il ‘ ' u i ar da ine t at rier ‘ (nd paper ané ri nd | Mar hac ' n } i in hour i du l wouk le Ma ri cK t i h re the ‘ ward Morning

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 7, 1906 I had told a big lie and now I could not sleep at all. When the daylight began I walked to the works to get a job. Out of the *himneys the.fire was still pouring, but you could hardly see it, because, "way behind, the big round sun was rising hot and bright. At the gates I found already twenty-seven men, and by five- thirty there were about six hundred more --all hoping to get a job. Soon ali stopped talking and got very quiet. Every fellow just looked at that door. Some grinned, but most.did not. One tall, thin man near me shook all over and sat quickly down on a_ board. Because the big bell was striking six. Well, only thirty-two got jobs. And the rest of us walked around all day ha ( hopin | was looking at the new sights. About nine o’clock a rich, thin man me ina big, long automobile. This Vas a strange thing to me, and I wasa arpenter, so | wanted to see how it worked: but when I was bending to look beneath it something exploded right by my head and I fell over. 1 heard all the fellows laughing ; the driver had just done this like a joke. So I got up and laughed, and then he liked me and showed me about it. And all that morning I asked Polish fellows about other things. I heard about trusts and automobile races and fine hotels and yachts and divorces and murders. Most of these came out of a newspaper that one fellow read to us—from English into Polish It had big red letters and pictures. We listened and leoked But when I wrote all this to Marie, I said Don't believe them all. Maybe most of them are lies."’ Because in our part of the city I saw no rich things only that automobile. But I walked around-—a mile away, and at last ina week | found nine little houses that were clean, and one even had a garden and about ten flowers. So that first letter of mine was not quite a lie. But still | could get no job in the works. And outside, when I asked people in houses to let me fix broken shutters and other things, they said The big company ought to fix these things, but they never do Go to them.” this company, but they laughed and I got no job I heard that fellows laughed and said ‘You can't get a job like ours because you can’t vote I tried to think this out. I asked the iittie Pole, and at e me a loud and excited talk about he talked about grafters and capitalist i me to join the Socialist party. But I rive me a job?” I asked. And when he iid they could not. I walked off day I slowly learned a few more English this would help. Every morning at five o'clock I was by the works waiting. Hundreds of those fellows waiting looked thin and hollow and coughed, and some were fools and had mad it worse by drinking In our room none of us five had a ‘b, and the three weeks had taken most of our money I'wo had none left and three of us loaned them som: And the end. So at night we played my game of cards. We played hard and laughed like jokers. But it is no joke to have no job ‘ Now I got a letter from Marie. At first I could not make it out; but when I did, then I was excited! You see on that first night I had written too fast in the bad light of the lanter and instead of writing “‘I have s« ise,’’ I had left out this word ‘‘ seen.” I never thought you would get it so quick! Dear, big, old Jan—I thought you were slow! I love ich and soon I willcome! We will be so happy now we were coming very already a fine he she wrote. ! ‘ already —I can hardly wait! Jan—I am beginning to make some beautiful dresses!’"’ And then she wrote how she making these dresses, but this I did I walked and walked —- thinking I told the other four fellows and they thought it was a joke on me, but they were wrong ‘Look here!’’ Ishouted. ‘‘ You don’t know this woman! She is little, but she is able to be very angry!"’ You see, laApPDp\ not care about a How soon would she come? I knew her August, and the air was so thick it felt like breathing hot tobacco smoke without that good feeling. The noise was like trains of cars all around you; you had to shout to talk. Everywhere men were rushing to work fast, in the red light, half-naked like devils. One night one of the big bosses came up to a gang that was working round a tall hammer-bar. This was moved by steam and was always pounding and crashing. The boss swore a fine long bunch of words at the men, and then he cried: ‘This is the slowest gang I ever saw! The old gang used to bust this bar every six weeks! That’s your business! It’s here to be busted!”’ ‘‘No!”’ I shouted, suddenly raging hot inside. “No! No!” My English was not good, so I could only say a little. He turned slowly and looked at me surprised, ‘“What do you mean?” he asked ‘I am not here to be busted!” I shouted in Polish. Then they all laughed, and someone told him this in English ‘I said the bar!"’ he cried. ‘‘Not you!” But the men were Irish, and they all kept laughing at him —till he grinned, and then he laughed, too. Well, for a long time I thought we were there to be busted. Near the daylight the men got tired and sleepy and so they got hurt. I saw one killed and seven more hurt the first week This was their own fault. But at other times it was not. There was one blast- furnace where the fire had roared day and night for six years. I wondered how they could be sure the flames were not eating out through the thick brick walls. And, sure enough, one night they did—with a roar! The steel shot out like water from a fire-hose —a white, flaming stream that lit the blackness! You could just see the little dark men jumping and tumbling for their lives! Fourteen were killed that night. The company had a good, clean hos- And at last | found the office of some Polish fellows worked cleaning the streets—'way off in fine parts of the city But these We Saw No Fellow Here that Looked at all Rich Again I walked fast by myself to think. Then ! wrote ‘l have no fine house. I have only four dollars and thirty-eight cents."’ But this looked so bad that I tore it up; and I decided to wait and write nothing, because maybe I would get a good job soon Now I learned about graft. One night the little Pole The five of us had only eight dollars in the world, and for two days we had stopped tobacco, so We were all feeling cross. You poor fellows will never get a job,”’ he said, ‘till you bribe a foreman. There are so many men wanting came to our room unskilled labor jobs, and you can’t speak English. So you must buy a Jot We just looked at him }u Ln How much for one job?”’ I asked at last. Five dollars.”’ We kept looking. Soon he saw how bad we felt, and V ry and low You fellows have come to America, and what have you sell Only the strength of your arms. But what chance does one of you have in selling his strength to the Steel Trust? How can you get a fair price for your strength? You must take what they give, you must even pay a foreman for a job, or you will starve!” Oh, stop your noise!"’ I cried, jumping up. He looked at me surprised. Why?" he asked Don't I speak the truth?” “Yes!” Is i, shaking my fist down at his face. ‘Yes! And that’ I don’t want to talk about it! Here, let's have a game of cards.”’ the floor, and by the lantern we fast till my head got quiet and we stopped and looked at each Well,” I said In two hours more we decided to buy one job. And the one who got it would divide his money with the others till we all got jobs. Then we drew lots, and I was the one. The next afternoon I went to a foreman and quietly bought a job. I was on the night squad. We worked from six at night till six in the morning, with an hour at midnight for dinner I was in a gang that carried long bars of iron. This was ‘we will have to give it pital right in the grounds, where they took all accidents free. And I thought this was fine—till one little Irishman said to me ‘Tell me, Big One, what good is a hospital to a man if his wife is a widow?”’ I thought this out, and I saw that for such a man a hospital is no good at all. Now, all this looked bad. But soon I began to see the truth. You see, there were over five thousand of us, and only about thirty got hurt a week; so the rest of us were all right. And a lot of these accidents happened because the men were hard drinkers, so their nerve was not steady in exciting places. I did not drink, and soon I got used to the air and the noise, and the fire kept me awake. I began to like it! And, anyway, I was always thinking how to get that home. thought now that I could get it. I felt no longer likea fool. I had a job. I talked more and more with my foreman, and he liked me. Once, at dinner, I told him about Marie— just a little. And he told me all I needed was to work faster and soon I would be paid more. So I worked faster, and he paid me twenty cents more a day But then he swore at the other fellows because they did not keep up with me; and four of these fellows swore very low at me because I was making them work faster, so I swore back; and soon almost always some one was swear- ing. The foreman asked me if I had any friends who wanted jobs. He discharged these four slow fellows, and I brought in my four friends. Now I felt fine! I no longer had to divide my wages, and I was making eight dollars a week. I only spent three dollars a week for the mattress and food, and five cents a week for tobacco, and fifty cents for a new shirt. I wrote to Marie that I was doing so well I could get jobs free for my friends But in three weeks she wrote back: ‘You write to me nothing about that house. Jan, don't you buy it till lcome! The brick oven may be bad for baking, and besides there is the well and the wash-lines About such things you are stupid as two men put together I think I must come to you now so that we will spend the money right. And Jan —you must be lonely, too.” I was worried. Just now the foreman had stopped paying me the extra twenty cents, because the whole gang

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———— ee was working faster, and he said if he paid it to me he must pay it to all. Then the work slackened a little and he discharged two of my friends, and I loaned them a little money. I had very little left. So I wrote her: ‘Please Marie —don't come too soon. I am not lonely. I have many good friends. So stay for about a year.” I knew she would be angry at this, but what else could I do? She would beeven angrier if she came and saw that all the house I had was 4 mattress, and that I had told big lies. But in a month she wrote a strange letter. “‘] am very glad you are not lonely,” she wrote. ‘I am not lonely either. Iam having a fine time. 1 have been getting many nice letters from Franz. He wants me to come to Chicago and marry him. I don't know what I will do. But I am not lonely.”’ She was not angry at all, she was glad! So now I myself got angry and even lonelier than ever, and when I felt how lonely I was I got angrier still. While | worked I swore! I must find this ugly-faced Franz! 1 tried a long time, and at last I found him in one of the mills. And at once I stopped and stared at him. I have never felt worse than I felt then. He was notugly. He was very tall—nearly as tall as me; but he was not like me, he was a finely cut-out man; all the THE FIGHTING CHANCE Vil — ( Continued B y R O HEN Siward came out of his dressing- roam Sylvia was apparently still in the hands of the maid. So he sauntered through the house as far as the library, and drawing a check-book from one pocket, fished out a memorandum-book from another, and began to cast up totals with a view to learning something about the various debts contracted at Shotover. He seemed to owe everybody. Fortune had smitten him hip and thigh; and, a trifle concerned, he began covering a pad with figures until he knew where he stood. Then he drew a considerable check to Major Belwether’s order, another to Alderdene. Others followed to other people for various amounts; and he was very busily at work when, aware of another presence near, he turned around in his chair. Sylvia Landis was writing at a desk in the corner, and she looked up, nodding the little greeting that she always reserved for him even after five minutes’ separation. ‘I’m writing checks,” she said. ‘‘I suppose you're writing to your mother.”’ ‘“Why do you think so?”’ he asked curiously. ‘You write to her every day, don’t you?”’ “Yes,” he said, ‘‘but how do you know?” She looked at him with unblushing deliberation. ‘‘ You wroteevery day. . . If it was to a woman, I wanted toknow. . . . AndI told Grace Ferrall that it worried me. And th fession of my own pettiness that I can make to you.” ‘Did you really care to whom I was writing?’’ he asked slowly. “Care? I—it worried me. Was it not a pitifully common impulse? ‘Sisters under our skin,’ you know I and the maid who dresses 1 Grace told me. Is there any other con- She would have snooped THE SATURDAY EVENING POST moves of his arms and legs were quick He was running “Don't you come and marry Franz I wrote I ar a machine very fast, but still he had time to joke and laugh sure I can make you as happy as he ca f you will only with the fellows round him And when he laughed he had_ wait! I! will never marry any one el nly u. So fine teeth. I hated to look at him don't you marry Frat Just then his dinner-hour began, and soon we got talking And in the shed back of our house | began to make tl I told him I was from his village. And he was gladtotalk furniture | borrowed me t nd hbougt about the village people, till one of his American friends lumber. Soon I found these varnished American cl came up and shouted in English were very badly made, so | made mine in the good ol ‘Hello, Frank! How about that Sunday picnic Polish shape And | wrote to Marie about the fine be Then at once he turned and got talking about some furniture | was ng for our house | began to like th American girl He k aid he loved two or lying three of them at oace At my job 1 worked so fast that I got up to nine dollars I got angry hot all over! Why had he asked Marie to And outside of work-hours | hunted all through th come? What did he mean to do with her? I must stop a better b, but I found that the better vere all at this quick; I must keep her from coming! But I must not machine Ni I ild 1 Sa ind a plane verv we tell her how poor I was, or she would think I could never but these quick machines | hated Che first one | tried marry, and so she might come to Franz 1 decided to li off the end of one finger, because mv hand was too big and again. low So I went back tor old laborer jot l went to see this fellow at home. He had two rooms ina One morning, at a quarter of six, I had a big hook and fine, clean house. Some one took care of his rooms and arried one end of a long red-hot bar i was tired from the : cooked good meals, and he had beer. I noticed all his all-night work and from thinking about this little womar furniture and I| asked all about his picnics and dances and what she would cd So I dropped my end —and Then | went home and wrote to her all about my two © struck the ground ver e tomy fe The gang jumped rooms and my furniture, my picnics and my dances ( i iD & ue Pesan ig BERT W. CHAMBERS pis: } | hip H O R Oo F (Oo b & ETC he had had notaing to n his lett in fact recer he had nothing to say ab OVivia at all, reser ng that ital lence for tt ( I didn’t; that’s the only generic difference I wanted to ympathy and understanding which he looked forward t know justthesame. . . But — that was before when he should see her, and which, throug irk d ‘* Before what?"’ and bitter aftermaths, through struggle and defeat | ‘Before 1 — please don’taskmetosayit. . . . Idid, his master-vice, had never failed him yet—never faltered once, when you asked me for an instant ‘* Before you cared for me Is that whi me » he broug! eLler it ChOSE n a er al “Yes. You are so cruelly literal when you wish to’ uneasy inquiry concerning her health, which, she had ir punishme. . . . Youareinterruptingme,too. lowe timated, was not exactly satisfactory, and for that reason that wretched \emp Ferrall a lot of money, and I'm trying he had opened the house in town in order to b ar Doctor to find out how much seven and nine are, to close account Grisby, their far pk cia! with Marion Page.”’ Sealing and dire« r the letter, he looked up to se Siward turned and continued his writing And wher Sylvia st ling at | the little sheaf of checks was ready he counted them, on | houlder for a second ouchit laid them aside, and, drawing a flat packet of fresh bar fugitive care notes from his portfolio, counted out the tips expected of as the shy tenderne n her him below stairs These for, he straightened up More k and glanced over his sho t ( a er ha parently absorbed in counting somethi: n the ends of One mor I her fingers, so he turned smilingly to | le a long letter to his mother— the same tender, affectionat« | boyish letter he had always written her, full of confidences full of I i! or pat i antk I iting I wn ret irn to her i 1 the heels of the letter In his first letter to her from Shotover he had spoker el casually of a Miss I s mie I ( familiar enough to his 1 } whe ad als " he had replied in a her letter or " I in his praise o! her, because Irom |! mother letter KI ‘. \ j Le ¢€ i t i ne U i “i deal cer r vy unconventional affairs of S a's far

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10 ‘‘That means all that is bestina woman. . . . The old fashion of truth and faith; the old fashion of honor, and faith in honor; the wld, cldfashionof—love. . . . All that is best, Stephen; ali that is worth the love of a man. _ Some day somebody will revive those fashions.” “Will you?” ‘‘Dear, they would not become me,” she said, the tenderness in her eyes deepening a little; and she touched his head lightly in humorous caress. ‘* What shall we do with the waning daylight ?”’ she asked. It is my last day with you. I told Howard it was my last day with you, and I did not care to be disturbed.” ‘You probably didn’t say it that way,” he commented, amused. ‘I did.” “How much of that sort of thing is he prepared to stand?”’ asked Siward curiously. ‘How much? I don’t know. I don’t believe he cares. It is my uncle, Major Belwether, who is making things un- pleasant for me. I had to tell Howard, you know.” ‘*What?’’ exclaimed Siward incredulously. “Certainly. Do you think my conduct has passed without protest?" “You told Quarrier!”’ he repeated. ‘‘Did you imagine I could do otherwise?”’ she asked coolly. ‘‘l have that much decency left. Certainly I told him. Do you suppose that, after what we did what I admitted to you— that I could meet him as usual? Do you think I am afraid of him?” ‘I thought you were afraid of losing him.’ Siward ‘I was, dreadfully. And the morning after you and I had been imprudent enough to sit up until nearly daylight, | made him take a long walk with me, and I told him plainly that I cared for you, that I was too selfish and cowardly to marry you, and that if he couldn’t endure the news he was at liberty to terminate the engagement without notice.’ ‘‘What did he say?"’ stammered Siward. ‘‘A number of practical things.” ‘You mean to say he stands it!” “It appears so. What else is there for him to do, unless he breaks the engagement?” ‘*And he —hasn’t?”’ ‘‘No. I was informed that he held me strictly and precisely to my promise; that he would never release me voluntarily, though I was, of course, at liberty to do what I chose. ' My poor friend, he cares no more for love than do I. I happen to be the one woman in New York whom he considers absolutely suitable for him—by race, by breeding, by virtue of appearance and presence, eminently fitted to complete the material portion of his fortune and estate.” Her voice had hardened as she spoke; now it rang alittle at the end, and she laughed unpleasantly. ‘‘It appears that I was a little truer to myself than you gave me credit fora little truer to you—a little less treacherous, less shameless, than you must have thought me. But I have gone to my limit of decency; . . . and, were I ten times more in love with you than I am, I could not put away the position and power offered me. Yet I will not lie for it nor betray for it. . Doyou remember, once you asked me for what reasons I dropped men from my list? And I told you, because of any false- hood or treachery, any betrayal of trust —and for no other reason. You remember? And did you suppose that elemental standard of decency did not include women even such a woman as |?” She dropped one arm on the back of his chair and rested her chin on it, staring at space across his shoulders. ‘That's how it had to be, you see, when I found that I cared for you. There was nothing to do but to tell him. I was quite certain that it was all off; but I found that I didn't know the man. I knew he was sensitive, but I didn't know he was sensitive to personal ridicule only, and to nothing else in all the world that I can discover. I —I suppose, from my frankness to him, he has concluded that no ridicule could ever touch him through me. I mean, he trusts me enough to marry me. He will be safe enough, as far as my personal conduct is concerned,” she added naively. ‘‘It seems that I am capable of love; but I am incapable of its degradation.” Siward, leaning heavily forward over his desk, rested his head in both hands; and she stooped from her perch on the arm of the chair, pressing her hot cheeks against his hands--a moment only; then slipping to her feet, she curled up in a great armchair by the fire, head tipped back, blue gaze concentrated on him. “The thing for you to do,”’ she said, ‘‘is to ambush me some night, and throw me into a hansom, and drive us both te the parson’s. I'd hate you for it as much as I'd love you, but I’d make you an interesting wife.” ‘I may do that vet,”’ he said, lifting his head from his hands. You'vea yeartodoitin,” sheobserved. . . . “By the way, you're to take me in to dinner, as you did the first night. Doe you remember? I asked Grace Ferrall then. I asked her again to-day. Heigho! It was years ago, wasn't it, that I drove up to the station and saw a very muttered THE SATURDAY EVENING POST attractive and perplexed young man looking anxiously about for somebody to take him to Shotover? Ahem! the notorious Mr. Siward! Dear, I didn’t mean tohurt you! Youknowit, silly! Mayn’t I have my little joke about your badness—your redoubtable badness of reputation? There! You had just bettersmile. . . . How dare you frighten me by making me think I had hurt you! Besides, you are probably unrepentant.”’ She watched him closely for a moment or two, then, “‘Are you unrepentant?” *‘About what?”’ “About your general wickedness? About ” she hesitated —‘‘about that girl, for example.” ‘What girl?’’ he asked coldly. “That reminds me that you have told me absolutely nothing about her.” “There is nothing to tell,’”’ he said, in a tone so utterly new to her in its finality that she sat up as though listening to an unknown voice. Tone and words so completely excluded her from the new intimacy into which she had imperceptibly drifted that both suddenly developed a significance from sheer contrast. Who was this girl, then, of whom he had abso- lutely nothing to say? What was she to him? What could she be to him—an actress, a woman of common antecedents? She had sometimes idly speculated in an indefinitely innocent way as to just what a well-born man could find to interest him in such women; what he could have to talk about to persons of that sort, where community of tastes and traditions must be so absolutely lacking. Gossip, scandal of that nature, hints, silences, innuendoes, the wise shrugs of young girls oversophisticated, the cool, hard smiles of matrons, all had left her indifferent or bored, partly from distaste, partly from sheer incredulity ; a refusal to understand, an innate delicacy that not only refrains from comprehension, but also denies itself even the curiosity to inquire or the temptation of vaguest surmise on a subject that could not exist for her. But now, something of the uncomfortable uneasiness had come over her which she had been conscious of when made aware of Marion Page’s worldly wisdom, and which had imperceptibly chilled her when Grace Ferrall spoke of Siward’s escapade, coupling this woman and him in the same scandal. She took it for granted that there must be, for men, an attraction toward women who figured publicly behind the footlights, though it appeared very silly to her. In fact it all was silly and undignified — part and parcel, no doubt, of that undergraduate foolishness which seemed to cling to some men who had otherwise attained discretion. But it appeared to her that Siward had taken the matter with a seriousness entirely out of proportion in his curt closure of the subject, and she felt a little irritated, a little humiliated, a little hurt, and took refuge in a silence that he did not offer to break. Early twilight had fallen in the room; the firelight grew redder. ‘“*Sylvia,”’ he said abruptly, reverting to the old, light tone hinting of the laughter in his eyes which she could no longer see, ‘‘ suppose, as you suggested, I did ambush you say after the opera seize you under the very nose of your escort and make madly for a hansom?”’ “IT know of no other way,” she said demurely. ‘*Would you resist, physically?" “IT would, if nobody were looking.”’ “Desperately?” ‘“‘How do | know? Besides, it couldn’t last long,” she said, thinking of his slimly powerful build as she had noticed it in his swimming costume. Smiling, amused, she wondered how long she could resist him with her own wholesome supple activity strengthened to the perfection of health in saddle and afoot. **T should advise you to chloroform me,” she said de- fiantly. ‘You don’t realize my accomplishme:n‘s with the punching-bag.”’ “‘So you mean to resist ?’’ “Yes, I do. If I were going to surrender at once I might as well go off to church with you now.” **Wenniston Church!”’ he said promptly. the auto.” She laughed, lazily settling herself more snugly by the fire. ‘‘Suppose it were our fire?’’ she smiled. ‘‘There would be a dog lying across that rug, and a comfortable Angora tabby dozing by the fender, and—you, cross- legged, at my feet, with that fascinating head of yours tipped back against my knees.”’ The laughter in her voice died out, and he had risen, saying unsteadily: ‘‘Don’t! 1—I can’t stand that sort of thing, you know.” She had made a mistake, too; she also had suddenly become aware of her own limits in the same direciion. **Forgive me, dear! I meant no mockery.”’ ‘IT know. After a while a man finds laughter difficult.”’ “Il was not laughing at tending to be happy.” ‘*Your happiness is before you,”’ he said sullenly. “I'll order anything. I was only pre- July 7, 1906 ““My future, you mean. You know I am exchanging one for the other. And some day you will awake to the infamy of it; you will comprehend the depravity of the monstrous trade I made. And then—and then--—”’ she passed one slim hand over her face —‘‘ then you will shake yourself free from this dream of me; then, awake, my punishment at your hands will begin. . ; Dear, no man in his right senses can continue to love a girlsuchasIam. All that is true and ardent and generous in you has invested my physical attractiveness and my small intellect with a magic that cannot last, because it is magic; and you are the magician, enmeshed for the mo- ment in the mists of your own enchantment. When this fades, when you unclose your eyes in clear daylight, dear, I dread to think what I shall appear to you— what a dread- ful, shrunken, bloodless shell, hung with lace and scented, silken cerements—a jeweled mummy-case—a thing that never was! Do you understand my punishment a little, now?” ‘If it were true,” he said in a dull voice, ‘‘ you will have forgotten, too.” ‘*T pray I may,” she said under her breath. And, after a long silence: ‘‘Do you think, before the year is out, that you might be granted enough courage?”’ he asked. ‘‘No. I shall not even pray for it. I want what is offered me! I desire it so blindly that already it has become part of me. I tell you the poison is in every vein; there is nothing else but poison in me. I am what I tell you, to the core. It is past my own strength of will to stop me, now. If I am stopped, another must doit. My weakness for you, being a treachery if not confessed, I was obliged to confess, horribly frightened as I was. He might have stopped me; he did not. And now, what is there on earth to halt me? Love cannot. Com- mon decency and courage cannot. Fear of your unhap- piness and mine cannot. No, even the certitude of your contempt, some day, is powerless to halt me now. I could not love; I am utterly incapable of loving you enough to balance the sacrifice. And that is final.’ Grace Ferrall came into the room and found a duel of silence in progress under the dull fire-glow tinting the ceiling. ‘‘Another quarrel,’ she commented, turning on the current of the drop-light above the desk from which Siward had risenat herentrance. ‘‘ You quarrel enough to marry. Why don’t you?” ‘“‘I wish we could,” said Sy!via simply. Grace laughed. ‘What a little Zool you are!”’ she said tenderly, seating herself in Siward’s chair and dropping one hand over his where it rested on the arm. ‘Stephen, can’t you make her --a big, strong fellow like you? Oh, well; on your heads be it! My conscience is now clear for the first time, and I'll never meddle again.”” She gave Siward’s hand a perfunctory pat and released him with a discreetly stifled yawn. ‘‘i’m disgracefully sleepy; the wind blew like fury along the coast. Sylvia, have you had a good time at Shotover — the time of your life?”’ Sylvia raised her eyes and encountered Siward’s. ‘‘T certainly have,” she said faintly. “C'est bien, chérie. Can you be as civil, Stephen conscientiously? Oh, that is very nice of you! But there’s one thing: why on earth didn’t you make eyes at Marion? Life might be one long, blissful carnival of horse and dog for you both. Oh, dear! there, I’m meddling again! Pinch me, Sylvia, if I ever begin to meddle again! How did you come out at Bridge, Stephen? What—bad as that? Gracious! this is disgraceful—this gambling the way people do! I’m shocked, and I’m going up to dress. Are you coming, Sylvia?” The dinner was very gay. The ceremony of christening the Shotover Cup, which Quarrier had won, proceeded with presentation speech and a speech of acceptance faultlessly commonplace, during which Quarrier wore his smile — which was the only humorous thing he contributed. The cup was full. Siward eyed it, perplexed, deadly afraid, yet seeing no avenue of escape from what must appear a public exhibition of contempt for Quarrier if he refused to taste its contents. That meant a bad night for him; yet he shrank more from the certain misinter- pretation of a refusal to drink from the huge loving-cup with its heavy wreath of scented orchids, now already on its way toward him, than he feared the waking struggle so sure to follow. Marion received the cup, lifted it in both hands, and said distinctly, ‘‘Good hunting!’’ as she drank to Quarrier. Her brother Gordon took it, and drank entirely too much. Then Sylvia lifted it, her white hands half buried among the orchids: ‘‘To you!’’ she murmured for Siward’s ear alone; then drank gayly, mischievously, ‘‘To the best shot at Shotover!’”’ And Siward took the cup: ‘‘I salute victory,” he said, smiling, ‘‘always and everywhere! To him who takes the fighting chance and wins out! To the best man! Health!’"’ And he drank as a gentleman drinks, with a gay bow to Quarrier and with death in his heart. Eee ~ Q

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en Later, the irony of it struck him so grimly that he laughed; and Sylvia, beside him, looked up, dismayed to see the gray change in his face. What is it?’’ she faltered, catching his eye. do you—why are you so white?” But he only smiled, as though he had misunderstood, saying: ‘The survival of the fittest; that is the only test, after all. The man who makes good doesn’t whine for justice. rhere’s enough of it in the world to go round, and he who misses it gets all that’s due him just the same.” Later, at the aromatic odor from Alderdene’s decanter roused him to fierce desire, but he fought it down until only the deadened, tearing ache remained to shak« and loosen every nerve. And when Ferrall, finishing his usual batch of business letters, arrived to cut in if needed, Siward dropped his cards with a shudder, and rose so utterly unnerved that Captain Voucher, noticing his drawn face, asked him if he were not ill. He was leaving on an earlier train than the others, having decided to pass through Boston and Deptford. So he took a quiet leave of those to whom the civility ‘Why cards, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Strange periods of calm intervened; sensation seemed The shock of deadened; and he stood as a man who listens arcel distant, dull rem daring to breathe lest the ene my) awake and seize hin Well, the affair He turned on the light, later, to look for his pipe, and that was all. H he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was a mar sick man who stared back at him out of hollow eyes, and the ild his mother physical revulsion shocked him into something resembling ( ontused fron self-command. fallen with a deader ‘T'll kill you vet before I've finished with \ i!’ he said but his half-stupefied acquis fiercely, setting his teeth and staring back at his reflected a painful recoil when he face. the disyrace wou t Then he filled his pipe, and opening his bedroom window always be, and the keene sat down, resting his arm on the sill A splendid moor appa silvered the sea; through the intense stillness he heard letter, beginning to real the surf, magnificently dissonant among the reefs, and he mother A passion of listened, fascinated, loathing the tides as he feared and © hi She be spared t loathed the inexorable tides that surged and ebbed with me punishment f his accursed desire. her through him! It wa Once he said to himself, weakly for he was deadl\ ne » st r ‘ Wh tired: ‘‘What am I making the fight for?’’ And, “W/ | x about—a are you making the fight for?"’ echoed his heavy pulse to the horritied snobber might not prove an in- terruption—a word to Alderdene and Voucher as he passed out, a quick clasp for Ferrall and for Grace, a carefully and cor- dially formal parting from the Page boys, which pleased them ineffably. Kileen and Re na, who had never had half a chance at him, took it now, delighted to disci- pline their faithful Pages; and he submitted in his own engagingly way, and so skillfully that both Eileen and Rena felt sorry that they had not earlier understood how civilly anxious he had been to devote himself to them alone. And they looked at the Pages, exasperated. In the big hall he passed Marion, and stopped to take his leave. No, he would do no hunt- ing this season either at Carysford or with the two trial packs at Eastwood. Possibly at Warrenton later, but probably not; business threatened to detain him in town more agreeable or less. He'd come to see her when she re- turnedtotown. ... Andit had been a jolly party, and it was a shame to sound “lights out” so soon! Good-by. night. And that was all. And that was all, unless he disturbed Sylvia, seated at cards with Quarrier and Major Belwether and Leila Mortimer—very intent on the dummy, very still, and a trifle pallid with the pallor of concentration. So—that was all, then. Ascending the stairs, a servant handed him a letter bearing the crest of the Lenox Club. He pocketed it unopened and continued his way. In the darkness of his own room he sat down, the devil’s own clutch on his Good- shrinking nerves, a deathly “ desire tearing at his very vitals, and every vein a tiny trail of fire run riot. He had been too long without it, too long to endure the craving aroused by that gay draft from Quarrier’s loving-cup. The awakened fury of his desire appalled him, and for a while that occupied him, enabling him to endure. But fear and dismay soon passed in the purely physical distress ; he walked the floor, haggard, the sweat starting on his face he lay with clenched hands, stiffened out across the bed, deafened by the riotous clamor of his pulses, conscious that he was holding out, unconscious how long he could hold out. Crisis after crisis swept him; sometimes he found his feet and moved blindly about the room. It Seems that I am Capable of Love; but I am Incapable of its Degradation” He had asked that question and received that answer ‘*T denied the charge, | before. After all, it had been for his mother’s sake alone. You remember And now — and now? — his heart beat out another answer and before his eyes twe other eyes seemed to open, fear- And I wa lesslv, sweetly, divinely cender. A sligt ne i After the second pipe he remembered his letter. It corroborated | gave him something to do, so he opened it and tried to Now aid i ira read it, but for a long while, in his confused physical and hall teil inofficial mental condition, he could make no sense of it rover! t Ar Little by little he began to comprehend its purport face flushed, tl the feat that his resignation was regretfully requested by the ert, and | governors of the Lenox Club for reasons unassigned

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 7, 1906 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN Human Documents in the Case of the New Slavery By Mrs. JOHN VAN VORST So Weary that the Very Instinet of Maternity was Perverted in Her HE ‘Gentlemen's Agreement” made in Georgia f 3 among employers affects only the cotton industry. In all other manufactures no laws, written or unwritten, exist to protect the laborer. How frightful!’’ we hear the patriotic American exclaim. “How dreadful that there should be a State in our gloriously free country where the working people can be reduced to serfdom without recourse to the law!” There is not one State, gentle patriot, there are thirty- our States and Territories in which no limit whatever is set to the number of hours which an employer can force his male employees to work for him. You may find the proof on page S82 of the Eighteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of Labor Statisties of the State of New York. Frightful"’ indeed is the abuse made of this lawlessness. At a bag company works in Atlanta there are, in the spinning-room, the usual one hundred “ kids”’ out of a total of one hundred and sixty hands. The sweepers and doffers whom | questioned gave their ages as seven, nine, and one little waif responded apologetically: ‘I'm five—I'm only he’ pin’.”’ Indeed the overseer himself volunteered this conclusive testimony There's children in here, lots of "em, that I'm morally satisjied are under twelve years old; but when the parents swear, what can you do about it?” (Why-—and this would be a tempting point for some ethical society to discuss —should a man feel his responsi- bility at an end because another man swears to something they both know is a lie?) Bad as are the conditions in this company’s spinning- rooms, it is nevertheless not here, but in the bag mill, where there is nothing to restrain employers, that the worst conditions obtain. The foreman, a kindly man, remarked, as he accom- panied me to this section of the factory: ‘The dust here keeps me with a cold in my head about the whole time.” Fine, pernicious, it rose, this dust, in snowy clouds, filling the air. As I looked into the workshop it seemed as though a veil had been drawn before my eyes -a merciful veil that softened the image of desperate activity behind it There were one hundred and thirty hands in the room—seventy of them were little children, the rest were women. Here and there were percep- tible, in the ghastly artificial light, the wooden frames upow which the bags must be stretched and turned. Like two rigid branches of a tree they lifted their prongs high above the heads of the tallest child laborer Yet with an upward gesture that carried him almost off his feet, he must fling one bag after the other over this instrument; turn them and slip them free again with frantic speed. The women, meanwhile, provided with electric sewing-machines whose insistent “* burring’’ produced a pecul- iar bedlam, were “running up” the seams on these same long and narrow bags which we are accustomed to see used for flour, meal, and the various “I'm Five I'm Only He'pin’” grocers’ provisions. The material they are made of is stiffened with a dressing of white clay which, at the first touch, is seattered from the coarse meshes of the loose- woven cotton cloth, and begins to fly about in the air, forming a cloud, settling over everything, filling gradually the lungs that inhale it at every breath. We are often told how necessary fresh air is for those who exercise and who, consequently, with an accelerated circulation, need more rapidly to purify their own blood. What, it is difficult to imagine, must be the physical con- dition of the children at these mills! In such an atmosphere as we have above described, one boy turns in a day jrom 3000 to 6000 bags! Everything, as well as the law, seems to further this voluntary destruction of so many innocent lives. The public schools in the neighborhood of the mill close at two o'clock, so that the youngest children can go into the factory for a half-day’s work. And the company offers an extra twenty-five cents in a week’s wages for the boys who, ambitious beyond their force, succeed in daily re- peating thousands of times the gesture which twists their little bodies out of shape, and makes the workroom look like some part of Purgatory where those who enter must expiate a sin for which they have been damned! There is, in the neighborhood of the mill, a Methodist social settlement, directed by four residents, who are doing admirable work among the mill hands. Out of forty boys who attend one of their gymnasium classes, there are just two boys who have reached the age of twelve! Baedeker’s Guide to the United States, speaking of Augusta, says: “‘Its cotton mills, run by a system of water power canals, produce more unbleached cotton goods than any other city in America (value of manu- factures in 1900, $10,000,000).”’ The canais are broad and peaceful, and as they wind along between sloping green banks they reflect, together with the images of tall chimneys and austere walls of brick, something of the blue skies above. So it is with those who labor: in the midst of the grimy evidences of toil they give us now and then a glimpse of the Infinite mirrored in the clear beauty of their souls. At one mill, as I visited it, within also suggested a far- away past. The rooms, many of them, were dingy and dark, opening on an inner courtyard; the woodwork and stairways were old and stained with the brown tobacco slime, and one other fact contributed freely to make the general aspect of this factory dull and unalluring. There had been a strike during the previous summer, and a strike is to the mill what a blight is to the crops: it leaves sterility and ruin in its train. Out of fourteen hundred looms, a thousand only were crashing their noisy way through the warp in the trembling frames; the other four hundred stood idle, covered over with cloths which suggested the shroud. In this dreary mill there were children at work, spinning, rolling yarn on to shuttles, preparing it for the dye-room; but as I was accompanied by a clerk from the office I had no chance to question these toilers. Perceiving a number of colored men in the picking and carding rooms, I said to my guide: “You employ colored help?” In a word, he repeated the verdict which was everywhere given me on this subject of working the negroes in the mills. “We have just one part of the factory where we use niggers,” he said. ‘‘We can’t mix em with white folks —the white folks won't stand it. In order to keep thirty negroes at work,” he went on, ‘‘we have seventy engaged on the lists. They lay off about half the time. As soon as they've made enough to live a few days they quit, and they don’t start in again until their money gives out. Of course, there's some exceptions, but as a rule they haven't got the intelligence to do the work, and when they have they're so irregular you can’t count on them.” It was approaching the noon hour, and as I left the mills, walking along in the direction of the village which lay across the peaceful, winding canal, I came upon a small boy whose clothes, flecked with cotton, betrayed him as one of the child- labor brigade ‘**Do you work at the mill?’’ I asked him, having first commented on the “ prettiness”’ of the day. “TI quit,”’ he affirmed. “Why?” I queried again. ‘Well,”’ he said, looking me over as though he doubted that I could understand him, ‘‘they made me work till twealuve o'clock ‘cause they-all got behind.” “Till twelve at night?” ‘*Yes,meum. An’ I had tocome home alone, so I thought I might as well quit.” A little farther along there was a group of boys, varying in age between three and ten yearsold. The oldest, a mere wraith, had an iron stave in his hands; and there were, on the lapel of his tattered coat, a number of political badges. His face was pale to ghastliness, and his hair had grown long and sparse with a vitality that contra- dicted the lifelessness of his flesh and skin. I put the usual question, and he answered : “I did work tothe mill. But I took chills an’ so I quit.” it was Annoying that After Eighteen Years of Service She Should Fail Them It was Thanksgiving Day, though the steady activity of the mill little suggested a holiday. Yet there was in the brilliant sunshine and clear air something festal, and I asked, addressing the group, sorry at once that I had put an unanswerable question : “Have any of you got anything to be thankful for on Thanksgiving Day?” Immediately the boy who had “ quit’’ because he ‘‘ took chills” smiled at me. “I’ve got this,” he said, rapping the iron stave. “I found it under the heouse this mornin’.”’ And a second voice responded almost as promptly: “‘T've got lots of things io be thankful for. I’ve got him for one.” Him was a miniature brother of the age and obstrep- erous tendencies which might have been considered as anin- cumbrance had not this older pilgrim, himself not more than eight, chosen to look with gratitude upon the little com- panion which life and poverty had thrust into his keeping. How many of us are unselfish enough, when the day of Thanksgiving comes, or in the intervening hours of prayer, to bless God because we've got “him jor one”’ ? There was a cold wind blowing, and aside from the group I had passed near the canal there was not a soul in sight, which somewhat perplexed me, for I wanted to see what was beyond the monotonous facades of the frame houses, stretching in rows along the avenues that constituted the “* village.”’ Presently a window opened in one of these mill homes, and a woman's head appeared. Seizing my cpportunity, I called out to her: ‘‘Where are the children?” - nae — ——— eee Ie eee ret ee ee

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She might have thought me slightly mad, and treated me accordingly ; but mill folk are indulgent, and the dreariness of their lives bids them welcome as a diversion the passing stranger. So the woman in the window answered : “Our children ‘ll be back from the mill right soon neow. Won't you come in and rest?” Accepting this proffered hospitality 1 went in. The mother of the household, in anticipation of the bread- winners’ arrival, was preparing their dinner. She dragged back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom where the rest of us—a married daughter, her baby, an elderly neighbor, and a little girl friend —sat and “ visited” by the fire. This glowing hearth was the only bright spot in the room, which, for the rest, was as miserable a lodging as one could imagine. Two double beds, placed end to end and covered over with dark, untidy quilts, filled a good share of the floor-space; and the furnishings were completed by one or two chairs, a trunk, a clothes-rack, and some colored chromos on the wall, toget her with two crayon portraits, one of the sister and one of the father, who had the soonest gone their way to “dusty death.”’ Crouching by the fire, with an old soap-box drawn under her for a chair, the ‘‘ married daughter" leaned her elbows on her knees, her pale face on the palms of her hands; and it seemed to me as I looked at her that some fever had smitten her with an overwhelming listlessness. Only now and then, when the baby became too impetuous in his demands, did she rouse herself and strike out at him, exasperated by fatigue, and so weary—this young mill mother of twenty-three who had been at work for fifteen years —so THE SATURDAY EVENING POST las, fatigue was an all too jealous rival of the appet Without speaking, these three children took their place at the table and, as though with an effort, they swallowed this meal which ‘“‘sure did seem like it had no tast« They did not touch the bacon— their throats, dry and parched from the overheated atmosphere of the spinning-roor refused the nourishing food and craved some stimulant like the clear black coffee of which they greedily partooh Poor to destitution as was this laborer’s home, the hosp tality was of the best Ag: mother urged me to take my dinner with the childrer the same generous proposition was made to the neighbor child who had come in to “ visit.’ “We pay $2.25 a settlin’ for a side,” the mother teered, which, being interpreted, meant $ ») every weeks for three rooms, or one-half of the house There's « very-day school,”’ she went on, “and there night school three times a week, where I try to send the children, but it sure seems like they wuz too tired when night comes.” How much did they make, these three breadwinner. Fifty to sixty cents a day. Enough, you might object, to give them a better home than these bare, miserable rooms. Perhaps so if the mother had been a thrifty aousewife who had received some instruction in the ordinary details of housekeeping and hygiene 3ut this poor mother, cut off, like her family for generations before her, from contact with the world, and who herself “‘hadn’t been feelin’ very well for weary that the very instinct of maternity was perverted in her. The rest of the family consisted of the three children who would “ be home soon,”’ and the mother who was active in preparing their din- ner. Somewhat surprised that this woman, who did not appear more than forty-five years old, should not be at work in the mills herself, I questioned her regarding their general circumstances, and her own health in particular. ‘*‘We moved deown from the mountains,”’ she said, ‘‘when my husband died. He'd been sick a right smart spell with several dis- eases.” *‘And you,” I asked: ‘‘are you fairly strong?” She shook her head in a melan- choly way, and answered : ‘I ain't beun feelin’ very well for twenty-one years.” The mill had rung its bell some moments before, and a noise of approaching footsteps on the porch now announced the arrival of the children. The children? Toil-worn and haggard, silent, dogged, they resem- bled in no way the little folks who are yet on the side of life which is all expectancy and hope. The oldest of the trio who returned to this miserable home of which he was the mainstay, was fourteen; j he had been nine years at work, and during that interminable existence among the whirling bobbins of the spinning-room, some- thing of the machine’s monotony had reflected itself irreparably in his jaded eyes. He was dressed, this child laborer, with a self-respecting neatness: his hair was brushed back against his gray, wrinkled forehead —it seemed, indeed, observing his ghastly pallor, as though he were, by his own hands, made ready for the grave, waiting only the final blow which would carry him hence, with his cotton-flecked coat hidden away by the enveloping shroud that entitled him at last to that sleep from which not even the ‘‘old mill’s”’ bell could rouse him more. The other two hands were a girl of eight, who kept still some of the buoyancy of childhood, and a boy of eleven, who looked like so much formless clay which had been carried as débris from the potter's wheel. Silently this little trio filed into the kitchen: there wa not half an hour to spend at home, to dine, and to return again to the greedy mill. Hastily, therefore, the dependent mother spread upon the table the food of which her bread- winners were to partake. There was a plate of hot bread without butter, a few meagre slices of bacon, a mess of dried apples stewed in water, and a pot of coffee, served with neither milk nor sugar. You might think, you who have watched your own rosy- cheeked children devour, with normal appetites, the hot and savory food set before them at noon, that these little laborers, who already had accomplished a six hours’ day of work, would have fallen ravenously upon their dinner. Fatigue was an All Too Jealous Rival of the Appetite! twenty-one years,’’ resumed the sum of her wisdom and her philosophy when, in looking at the three children who wer supporting her home, she said, with a smile which implied affliction: ‘‘There’s my livin’.” When her “‘living’” had, slowly and iF swallowed the tasteless dinner prepared for them, they put on their wraps, and set out again, silent, dogged, for the mills. And no exception were they. From the rows frame houses along the canal there came other “living making their way, silent, dogged, toward the great br fabrics which produce manufactures to the value of ] with diff lex meee dot yearly. As the doors of another mill stood open for the returning hands after the dinner hour, | profited by this occasion to enter with a group of *‘ doffers.”’ Not knowing alwa upon what grounds to begin conversation with these minor toilers, | had provided myself, in case of emergency, wit! book of fairy stories, illustrated, and, as there were a few moments to spare before the one o’clock whistle ble soon as we got up into the spinning-room | spoke to or of the boys about this bool lo you like fairy stories?’’ I asked Do 1?” was his response, as he bent over the open page unable to read, his eyes searching the pictures with an eagerness which broug a gi several little spinners to see what was the fus There was no chance to tell a story, for the book had only gone one round among grasping hands when a was not of nherseil n threads of the spools on to tl th pinning ‘ ie } ul the ct times accumulate in soft ement among my ghed, the smile on I fe me iv ii ‘ le When the bevar rk rn ’ ok ti wh ! reck I'd } teil! did lo t n’ | beet ive her the ! I ame cheap! ie Hans Chi an nm tt) } t ry} ine ol in ‘ ne the ' han One a work

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 7, 1906 Mollie and the Opera Game Sweet On its ‘T WAS Mollie Brown sing- in’. Ole ingine Number 9’d jus’ pulled outen Briggs City, haided south- wes’ with her freight of tender- feet, an’ with Dave Reynolds _ stickin’ in hisspurs tomake up for los’ time. Dave'd had a min- nit with Mollie ata side winda of the eatin’-house whilst the passengers was grubbin’ up. An’ now, as the little gal helped the balance te of the Harvey ' as bunch t’ clear off An’ Long-hair Like to Break the lunch-counter. Hisself in Two Bowin’ she was chirpin’ away like she'd plumb bust her throat. I was outside, sittin’ on a truck with Up-State He was watchin’ acrosst the rails, straight afore him, an’ list’nin’, an’ | could see he was swallerin’ some, an’ his eyes looked kindaas if he'd been ridin’ agin the win’. When | shifted my position, he turned the other way quick, an’ co ighed that pore little gone-in cough of hisn. ‘The Mohawk Vale!" he whispers. He allus whispered eouldn't talk out loud no more, y’ savvy, bein’ so turrible / shy on lung. Is it a bony fido place?’’ I ast, ‘‘or jus’ made up a-purpose for the song ?”’ ‘It's my country,”’ he whispers back, slow an’ husky, an’ begun gazin’ acrosst to the sage again. ‘‘An’, Alec, it’sa beautiful country!” I reckon,”’ | agrees. skinned t’ death.”’ Up-State, he didn't say nothin’, too polite. Oh, he was a gent, all right! Minnit or so, Mollie struck up again: It’s likely got this Terrytory Dearer by far than all charms on earth beside Is that fair, windin’ valley to me. Up-State lent over, elbows on his knees, face in his han’s, an’ beguntremblin’. W’y, y’ know, evena hoss ‘ll git home- sick. Now, | brung a flea-bitten mare fr’m down on the lower Cimarron oncet, an’ blamed if that little son-of-a-gun didn't hoof it all the way back, straighter’nastring! Yes, ma'am. An’ so, a-course, it’s nat’ral for a Wal, I seen how things was with Up-State, an’ I moseyed. After that, whenever | come in sight of the station, seems like I'd see Up-State. He'd be on the truck, say, or maybe on the edge of the platform. If it was all quiet inside at the lunch-counter, he'd be watchin’ the sage, an’ sorta swingin’ his two feet tut if Mollie Brown was singin’, he'd be all scrooched over with his face covered up— an’ pretty quiet. When Mollie sung it was allus The Mohawk Vale, an’ fora long time that seemed funny t’ me. Then it didn’t seem so funny. One of the eatin’-house gals tole me, confidential, that Up-State’d been knocked down t’ Mollie, an’ that The Mohawk Vale was *‘ by reques’.” Jus’ "bout then folks begun t’ talk of how crazy-wild Mollie was gittin’ to be on the singin’ question. It leaked out that she'd been tole she'd got a’ A-1 voice (an’ 1t wasn't no lie, neither), an’ that her warblin’ come pretty clost to bein’ as good as Melby’s. Nex’, it got ’roun’ that, when Mollie wasn't totin’ fancy Mulligan to the pilgrims that come through, she was tackin’ up photygrafts of big singers an’ actresses in her room, an’ practicin’ bows in front of a glass. The gals at the eatin’-house seemed t’ think that was all O. K., but the res’ of the town didn’t — nota /ittle bit. Dave Reynolds was turrible well liked —not another ingineer on the Sante Fee so blamed pop'lar, or so sandy, by jingo! If they was a special t’ go through on chain-lightnin’ time, it was Dave took it; if they was bad roads, an’ other ingi- neers wouldn't risk no wreck, Dave'd go, feelin’ along for How a Desert Star Rose in an Eating-House and Set in Manhattan By ELEANOR GATES is the vate where the Mohawk gentiy fair, windin’ way t’ the sea-—-— sof’ places in the track. An’ they was no drinkin’ t’ Dave an’ a bunch of soaks have a/llus got respec’ for a feller like that. W’y, say, the hull of us jus’ nat’ally loved him. An’, we figgers, Mollie Brown, gone loco on the stage proposition, ain’t xo kin’ of a wife for any man out here. Would she camp down in a’ Oklahomy shack an’ cook three meals a day an’ wash out blue shirts when she’s set on gittin’ up ‘fore a passel of highflyers an’ yelpin’ ‘*Marguerite’’? Nixey. Nex’ thing, Dave was in, he'd heerd the talk-—-an’ was sore on Up-State! Now, he wasn't jealous—not on you’ life! He couldn't be that. Dave was the fines’-lookin’ feller in the Terrytory an’ shore solid with Mollie. An’ Up-State— wal, Up-State was pretty clost t’ crossin’ the Big Divide. No, this was the way of it: Oncet Dave’d brung a theater company called The Way to Ruin on his trip down fr’m Wichita. ‘Nother time it was The Wild Wes’ Opery Troupe up fr’m Gold- stone. It wasn’t Wes’, the gals was Noo York direc’, but y’ can bet you’ boots it was wild, all right. By thunder, you couldn't ’a’ helt nary one of the company on a hoss-hair rope! So Dave, he didn’t go shucks on the singin’ an’ actin’ breed. An’, somehow, he’d got it into his haid that Up-State was responsible for Mollie goin’ cracked on the subjec’. Dave didn’t say nothin’ to Up-State "bout the business for a week of Sundays. But he boiled inside like the water in Number 9’s tank. Then one day, when he'd got ’nough steam up, I reckon, w’y, he opened wide an’ let her go. ‘*Up-State,” he begun, ‘‘I’m sorry for you, all right, but Ps Up-State looked at him. ‘‘ Reynolds,” he whispers, ‘‘] don’t want no man’s pity.” ‘Listen t’ me,” says Dave. ‘Mollie Brown’s my gal —I reckon you know that ——”’ “Te.” **Wal, we're goin’ to couple up soon. An’ I warn you not to go talkin’ actress to her.” ‘Don’t holler ‘fore you git bit,’ whispers Up-State, smilin’. Dave got mad jer’n thunder then. says, ‘‘don’t give me none of that. You know you lie Up-State shuk his haid. ‘‘I’m not a man any more, Reynolds,’ he whispers. ‘‘I’m jus’ w’at’s lef’ of one. I didn’t use to let nobody han’ out things that flat to me.” I stuck in my lip. ‘‘ Put on the brake,” I says to Rey- nolds, ‘‘or hike back to you’ cab.” Reynolds got a holt on hisself then. ‘This ain’t no josh to me, Alec,” he says, the sweat drippin’ down acrosst the dirt on his face. ‘‘They’s only one thing could ever make me jump my ingine —that’s Mollie. An’ do you know w’at she’s been doin’ lately? — passin’ slumgullion to them pas- senger cattle all day, then goin’ over to Silverstein’s an’ workin’ half the night fixin’ up his books. An’ it’s for singin’ lessons she’s savin’ —an’ to got’ Noo York !” Jus’ then Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin’ way t’ the sea **Look a-here,” he Up-State lent over, his elbows on his knees an’ his face in his han’s. Dave looked at me, an’ pointed with his oil-ean. ‘Y’ see ?”’ he says, grittin’ his teeth, an’ walked off. It seemed to me I could hear Up-State whisperin’ into his fingers. I stooped over. ‘‘ W’at is it, pardner?”’ I ast. “It’s full of home,” he says, ‘‘it’s full of home. Alec! Alec !"’ (Ll wish them lungers wouldn’t come down here, anyhow! They plumb give a feller the misery. Doe Trowbridge stopped by jus’ then. ‘‘How you’ makin’ it t’day, Up-State?”’ he ast. Up-State got t’ his feet, slow though, an’ put a han’ on Billy's shoulder. ‘The nex’ san’-storm, ole man,” he says; ‘the nex’ san’-storm.” “‘Up-State,” says Billy, “buck up! You got more lives’n a cat.” “No show,”’ Up-State whispers back. He was funny that-a-way. Now, mos’ lungers fool they- selves. Allus ‘goin’ to git better,” y’ savvy. But Up- State, he kne “Come over to my tent t’night,” he goes on to Billy. ‘I got somethin’ I want to talk t’ you. An’ two haids is better’n one if one is a sheep's haid.”’ giides That night I happened to go by Silverstein’s ‘bout ten o'clock, an’ | seen Mollie Brown way back towards the en’ of the store, a lamp an’ a book in front of her, workin’ for further orders. Beyond, a piece, I passed Up- State’s tent. A light was burnin’ inside it, too, an’ Doe Trowbridge was sittin’ in the moonlight by the openin’. Behin’ him | could see Up- State—writin’. I trailed home to my bunk. But somehow I didn’t sleep good, an’ way late | had a dream. I dreamed the Bar Y herd stampeded through Briggs, an’ after ’em come ’bout a hunderd bull- whackers fr’m the Little Rattlesnake Mine, all a-layin’ it on to them steers with the flick of they lashes — zip, zip, zip. Nex’ mornin’ I woke quick with a jump, y’ might say. I looked at my nickel turnip. !t was five-thirty. I got up. The sun was shinin’, the air was nice an’ clear an’ quiet, an’ the larks was jus’ singin’ away. But outside, ‘long the winda-sill, was stretched a’ inch-wide trickle of san’! In no time | was hoofin’ it down the street. When I got to Up-State’s tent, Billy Trowbridge was inside it, movin’ ‘roun’, puttin’ stuff in a trunk, an’—wipin’ the san’ outen his eyes. ‘He was right?” I says, when I goes in, steppin’ sof’ an’ whisperin’. Billy turned to me an’ kinda smiled, for all he felt so all fired bad. ‘‘ Yes, Alec,” he says, ‘‘he was right. One more storm.” Jus’ then, fr’m the station Jus’ Stood There Like She'd Been Run to Groun’ Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin’ way t’ the sea Billy walked over t’ the bed an’ looked down. ‘‘Up- State, ole man,” he says, ‘“‘you’re goin’ back t’ the Mohawk.” Up-State lef’ two letters behin’ him —one for me an’ one for Billy. The Doe didn’t show his’n; said it wouldn’t be jus’ profesh’nal— yet. But mine he ast to read to the boys an’ Mollie after Up-State was gone. ‘‘Dear Alec,” it run, ‘‘you’ll fin’ a’ even thousan’ in greenbacks over in Silverstein’s safe. It’s for Mollie Brown. Tell her I want she should go to Noo York an’ buck the opery game.” (Somethin’ /ike that, anyhow.) ‘‘Ast Dave Reynolds not to come down too hard on me for it. The little gal says she wants the chanst more’n anythin’ else.” Dave was on his run south when it all happened, an’ so Mollie was ready to light out by the time he come in. Mad? Wal, say! I never seen a man take on the way he done. Said things that didn’t go so nice when a feller remembered that Up-State couldn't talk back. But Mollie was off with her photygrafts of actresses an’ her duds, an’—could y’ hole it agin him? None of us could. “The gal won't forgit y’, Dave,” we says, or ‘‘ Never min’, Dave, it'll all come out in the wash.’’ Nothin’ done no good. He jus’ cussed blue blazes, an’ I’d never heerd a swear outen him afore. But when his stop was up he clumb on to his perch an’ pulled out. Afterwards, when he come through, he was allus jus’ as qui-i-et. Not a cheep "bout Mollie, wouldn’t ’a’ laughed for a nickel, an’ never’'d go anywheres near the lunch- counter. Then we noticed he was gittin’ peakeder’n the dickens, an’ his eyes looked nigh as big as saucers, an’ bloodshot. Poor Dave. The postmaster said he was gittin’ letters fr’m Mollie all right. But they didn’t chirp him up much, an’ we didn’t ES eee

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Se eee But fr’m them that come to the gals at that Mollie was havin’ a way-up time. She was seein’ all the shows, she said, an’ meetin’ no en’ of folks, an’ had a room with a nice, kinda middle-aged lady, in a place where a lot of young fellers an’ gals hung out t’ study all kin’s of fool business Some of ’em she liked, she said, an’ some she didn’t took her for a greeney an’ some was fresh. But she was learnin’ a pile—an’ ’d heerd Susy’s Band! Then, seemed to me, she changed her tune— jus’ a little Said Noo York took a turrible lot of money —clothes an’ grub an’ soforth an’ soon. Said they was so blamed little oxyjun in the town that a can’le wouldn't burn —an’ they'd got to use ‘lectricity Nex’, fora long spell, the letters eased up When one come, she tole the gals she’d been under the weather a few days, but was O.K. again. A-course, Noo York was lone- some when a person was sick. But her opery prospec’s was jine. Wal, then —no letters (leastways to the gals). An’ ev'ry run Dave showed up lookin’ more an’ more down in the mouth. ‘‘ How’sshe, Dave?’’ last oncet. ‘Oh, tol’rable,”’ he answers, face glum as all git out. ‘‘ He looks nigh as bad as Up-State did,’’ says Buckshot Milliken ‘But his nerve’s all there,’ says Johnny Bishop (Dave's fireman ‘You oughta seen him bring his train down this trip. The track was flooded, an’ he druv the ole ingine’s snoot through water plumb up t’ the fire-box almos’. Full steam, by thunder, an’ how'd he know they'd be any track under him?” It was jus’ a week after that Dave got his dose. The water was high all through Kansas, an’ rain still fallin’ in bucketsful. Trains all stalled t’ the north ‘twixt here an’ have no look at ’em. the eatin’-house we drawed, at the first Some Kansas City THE SATURDAY Never min ‘bout forty-'‘leven steps an “Wy, Alec Llovd!"’ she says “That's my name, of hern “Oh, I'm York? ‘‘Wal, I got turned this way glad to see vou she goes on follered my nose an’ two gents bottom side of a watermelon, the other ‘bout fifty, with a long coat, a ves’ all over coffee, an’ no more chin’n a gopher that An’, ‘ ring was on her finger ‘Oh, alive an’ kickin’,”’ She ast me in. How's the gals an EVENING I answers, shakin’ them litt But w'at you doin an’ Dd His | all right l answers, cautious They was a lady in one corner, cookin the one young, with a complexion like the ‘**Mrs. Whipple,’’ says Mollie, ‘‘ Mister Lloyd **Ma’'am Hair Von Don't wonder she called him * a mane two foot long! name 0. K ‘Mister Lloyd,” says the ole lady, breakfas’?"’ only answers this mornin’, I sit down on a trunk (it had a tidy over it, but I knowed it was a trunk, all right), an’ Mollie, she sit byside me “you're Jus’ I felt like sayin’ they'd likely be ‘cause them two gezabas was jus’ h ‘Thank y’, I et on a bong-tong dinin’-car ma’am, an’ my bread-basket’s plumb full Alec,”’ she begun (say, in time I’m tickled t’ death.” somethin’-or-other) , Mister thunder } 7 ‘*An’ Mister Jones.”” (I will you ha blame littl ppin’ it into ’em she looked mighty T’night is the turnin’-point of n Dave come through, goin’ East. Lef’ r his passengers south of a trestle that uv Ht runs acrosst alow stretch, an’ went on, >) try the track. Roadbed was bad — weather’d washed it out, y’ an’ the ingine keeled over on to a mud flat. Bishop jumped clear. Dave went down with her. Wal, he was pinned. They got help quick as they could, a-course, dug hin out, an’ brung him here. He wasn't dead—but hurt turrible, an’ sealted Say! y’ never seen a town look solo, t’ Say v\ J some so blamed sorrowful! Nex’ day he ast for me an’ I went t’ see him. He was layin’ on his back, haid tied up like a sore finger I says an then POST In two wiggles of a lamb’'s tail I'd clumt n the sprir howdy do, Mollie! i at Lloyd he had ketched ve some fort But | happ) “W'at y’ been tryin’ to do, Dave?” he I ast “Gittin’ tony,’’ he whispers, jus’ like Up-State used t’, an’ it made me goose-flesh —** been steamin’ my face ‘Two minnits,” says the nuss ‘‘An’ don’t you ex- i cite him. J/nclined ‘ t’ be a little luny ‘*Dave,”’ I says, he “‘w’at can I do for \ you? Speak up.” / ‘ I} “ Alec,” he whis- in oe eee 4 K pokong hd Jus’ Plumb Petryfied Watchin’ Them Two Gents Shovel Pein don’t you let none at of that Harvey lay- life ‘ve been a-studyin’ with Hair Vor kr in’ loaded for t out tell Mollie ‘bout an’ now I’m goin’ to have a reecital w'at d l Li hai this. Y’ see, she think? Seenyer” (I forgit who, this m the here they v ain't forgot me, an’ grea-a-at impressyroa, is comin’ to hear me An’ he hard ot now that she’s doin’ to put me into gran’ opery!”’ ! he had ‘en so good “6 You don’t sav!” r “T won't let ’em ‘Oh, ves!"’ says Long-hair, swellin’ up The Seenyer in a cornet teli her,’’ I says is my frien’, an’ any little favor If (Cause I could doit That kaflummuxed me! How was I to come out t I righ la myself.) Less’n a’ Dave jus’ when she was goin’ to make her big stab? Wal,I at ea t hour I was haidin’ couldn't har they my brone towards Mollie,”’ I says, ‘*I] wish you luc! hem as they wa Medford to take \ Then I took another look at that Perfessor. An’ of a Say!’’ I sa train on a clear line. } suddent | begun to wonder if all the cards was on the tabk up this passel of I savvy Noo York ; ‘Cause he was too oily to be genuwine. An’ I'd seen |} Ssh!"’ she wh was in it afore ‘\~ stripe afore even up on the red an’ white, five to one or M f ‘em are | oncet, an’ when | = — the blue, an’ ten to one on the numbers N I hit it this whack it Cota. 1) Oo But Mollie was watchin’ me. “You don’t seem gla mprums didn’t skeer me for Begun t’ Sing Like a Dyin’ Calf Alec,”’ she says She laugt acent. But’ jus’ **Oh, I'm glad, all right,”’ lanswers, ‘‘ only I been a-hoy But the samee, as I got offen the cars at the Gran’ Central, I you'd come Wes’ for a visit.” ndid didn’t waste no time huntin’ which way t’ go. I walked ‘**Wes’!"’ she repeats When I'm goin’ to be a grat Wa I over to one of them sunbonnet keeriges. The feller that opery star!"’ ash-he owned it was histed 'way up on top an’ he had a face like A second Patty,’’ says Long-hair, puttin’ out a bread That wa th a cured ham. last him w’at'd be the damagetotakemeto hooker for more feed f Harry rigl Mollie’s. He said two plunks'd do the trick. So I got in, I'll take another slice of toas’,”’ says Melon-face, ‘‘an'a W'at think he give his broomtail a lick, an’ we was off in a bunch. aig an’ a third cup (it’s so good, Miss Brown, I'm r va r them f Mollie’s street was turrible narra. An’ her house! It ashamed, yes, I am).”’ pocket-handkerchie was nigh as dark as the inside of a cow, an’ I judged they'd After that I didn’t say much—jus’ plumb petryfic “ ff'd been a las’ year’s cabbage wanderin’ 'roun’ somewheres watchin’ them two gents shovel. Talk "bout you’ gri Stumpy Flopped His Ears He Bowed an

Page 18

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D‘ 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 421 TO 427 ARCH STREET GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR PHILADELPHIA, JULY 7, 1906 The Plea of the PacKers HERE is «-kind of pathetic naivete in what the packers put forward as their most effective plea. They say, in effect: “If you attack the way in which we manage our private businesses, you thereby injure all the cattle, hog and sheep raisers of the country '’— without, apparently, perceiving that a condition which puts the interests of all the cattle, hog and sheep raisers at the mercy of a half- dozen private business men would be extremely absurd even if those private business men were the most merciful of human kind. It seems to us quite unnecessary to discuss the degree in which they may have fallen short of that ideal state The mere fact that a v gorously stated question of their merey disturbs a great agricultural interest on the one side and, on the other, causes a universal quatin ver the breakfast bax m, appea quite suffi- client to prove the necessity of government intervention, Some of the packers, it will be remembered, replied to the President tr ires from Europe apitals where the were pleasantl journing; and on behalf of all of them it was urged that, in the press of business, they wer unaware of certain noxious conditions in their packing- houss TI iirl raise i’ quest as to what is the busine f these half-dozen gentlemen who derive immense profits from the meat trade and occupy so peculiar a position in it that an attack upon them injures the whole industry If the plea of ignorance, which their friends put forth, is a valid xeuse, then we must cor cl » that it is not the business of the packe rs to see that their establish- ments are kept clean; and we begin to speculate as to what it is that the half-dozen individuals contribute to the meat industry which is so important that they must not be interfered with. They do not take the industry to Europe with them. It does not languish when they fall ill; but food-animals continue to multiply on the fertile Western plains and a great population continues to arise of mornings with the appetite and the price for beefsteaks We think it makes people tired to hear the ever-iterated ery about governmental ‘‘interference’’ with private business. The private business of the packers is to in- crease their individual fortunes, and nothing else. This, in itself, is an honorable pursuit; but of all the by-products of the meat industry it is the most incidental and the least important The Pennsylvania's Case HERE is some truth in the argument of a powerful journalistic friend of the Pennsylvania Railroad Com- pany that it is unfai of the shocking disclosure r to condemn that concerr on account f official graft that preyed upon it. Of course, the railroad itself is blameless. A loco- motive cannot graft. Steel rails have no prehensile fingers. The bridges and trestles were not holding anybody up for bribe To this extent one may heartily declare the innocence of the road; but it is rather difficult to trace the snow-white line any further.. The petty employee who took ten-dollar bills may h 1 | anction in the fact that his immediate superior was tal bills or coal stock certificates of larger denominations; but that merely distributes responsibility for the fault without had a comparative less ning it Probably we have been going a bit too fast. The life- insurance revelations suggested as much. The life com- panies increased in size and power so rapidly that nobody could really find time or inclination to look after certain detail which, in consequence, got very badly out ota THE SATURDAY EVENING POST proper alignment. The real leadership in Pennsylvania, as in many other roads, seems to have been quite exclu- sively intent upon working out the great strategical schemes which have made it so tremendous a factor in the railroad world. A successful pursuit of such strategy is not always compatible with regard for the nicer points of ethics as, for example, in the case of the Standard Oil rebates. Sometimes, also, the most splendid strokes of greater rail- road strategy happen sensibly to augment the private fortunes of the strategists: if, for instance, as not infre- quently befalls, they deal in the stock of the road when it is about to make some important move which will enhance the market price of the shares. This concentration of superior managerial attention upon the greater policies leaves the underlings free and unhampered to work out some profitable little strategies of their own. It would not be surprising if a thoroughgoing railroad investigation should show that freight rebates, stock-market deals and petty graft by subordinates were simply varying phenom- ena of the same general condition. We have been getting big very fast, but certain details of the growth need over- hauling. The Presidential OutlooK J)LITICS, with us, has been transformed, with sur- prising rapidity, from the easiest of all known pro- fessions to one of the most difficult; and the full weight of the difficulties will devolve upon the head of the man who was foremost in demanding the change if Mr. Bryan becomes the next Democratic nominee for the Presidency. Perhaps the crux of the difficulty is discoverable in the single fact that the Bryan influence first put a demand for railroad rate regulation in a party platform—and that President Roosevelt put it into law. Putting things into platforms is easy statesmanship. Putting them into law is difficult. Mr. Bryan—not so much in formal utterance as by the spirit which sensibly animated him did as much as any man to vitalize the idea that what the common people want must be got beyond platforms and into law. In his essence ' progress; and we have progressed so cons he must refill his sails for the campaign. The tariff issue lies readiest to his hand and absolutely bulgs vith difficulties of its own. Before him Mr. Cleveland stood for tariff-revision very valiantly, but with absolute ineffectiveness against the his own party. This again runs to the heart of what makes politics trying nowadays. The thing in the platform will not count finally, but the thing in law and in actual visible being. Probably Mr. Roosevelt stole Mr. Bryan's thunder about dominant Senatorial clique within railroad rates; but such lightning as has appeared was all his own; and as a political asset thunder is visibly de- preciating in the market every day Anybody may own it who chooses. It is in the nature of the very cautious- minded to dread any change that is not absolutely cal- culable and decidedly to their interest. They take polities most complacently when it is mostly a matter of platforms and speeches, and, whichever candidate wins, there will be no perceptible disturbance in any direction of the estab- lished fabric. People with quick blood, however, feel themselves more alive because of the new condition of polities. They look forward with uncommon eagerness to the campaign which is already beginning to show upon the horizon. Oil and Freight Rates HE most surprising thing about the Department of Commerce and Labor's oil report is that it provoked Messrs. Rogers and Archbold to the indiscretion of a reply. Probably they were shocked out of their wonted wariness by being hit on the nose at the precise moment when they wished particularly to look pleasant. Two sample paragraphs from the report read: ‘‘The Pennsylvania Railroad has given the. Standard a rate of nine cents a barrel from Olean, New York, to Rochester, while the independent refineries situated in territory adja- cent to Olean were given arate of thirty-eight cents. ‘ The saving to the Standard during 1904 by the secret rate from Olean to Rochester was $115,000. The Standard has for ten years shipped oil from Whiting, Indiana, to East St. Louis at six to six and a quarter cents. The only published rate has been eighteen cents. The saving to the Standard amounted to about $240,000 in 1904." In sub- stance the report restates the story already told by Miss Tarbell and many other unofficial muck-rakers. The President transmitted it to Congress at what may have been the crisis of the effort, in the Senate, to pass a rate- regulation bill. His message made good use of this additional argument for the need of some power in the Government to regulate freight rates and stop the oil, sugar and other trusts from fattening off the favors of the public carriers. We think the need had been illustrated with sufficient viv- And almost simultaneously with the trans- mission of this report to Congress it was given out that a compromise had been reached, between the Administration idness before July 7, 1906 and the ‘‘railroad Senators,’’ which would result in the Senate's passing the Hepburn rate-regulation bill— with a court review amendment so obscurely worded and of such uncertain meaning that, admittedly, nobody could tell what its effect would be until the Supreme Court had passed upon it; but with the chances, obviously, in favor of the judiciary interpreting it in that manner which would confer the broadest powers upon itself. The President’s letter, transmitting the oil report, says: ‘‘It is impossible to work a material improvement in conditions such as above described merely through the instrumentality of a lawsuit.”” In view of all of which, it is quite possible that Messrs. Rogers and Archbold got excited without cause. Over-Legislation N FINANCIAL centres the assembling of Congress is, commonly, regarded as ‘‘ bearish,”’ and the adjournment of that body as ‘‘bullish."”. Generally speaking, a prospect of the national will getting itself enacted into law disturbs the stock market. It is natural, therefore, that financiers should regard law-making as rather a nuisance, and sigh for a state of alleged Jeffersonian democracy in which government would strictly confine itself to foreign affairs and the maintenance of order. They say we suffer from ‘‘over-legislation.’’ But the main defect in the over- legislation idea is discoverable in the fact that the more intelligent the legislation is the less the Jeffersonian financiers like it. Formerly they could say: ‘‘ All these anti-trust, anti- monopoly acts that you are passing, based on the outworn common-law theory that competition is the life of trade, are quite ineffective and merely vexatious, because trade has discovered that competition is not its life and will go on consolidating no matter what you say about it.”” This was true. But the important acts at Washington recently have not been at all based on the archaic anti-monopoly theory. On the contrary, they have, in effect, frankly recognized certain businesses as substantially monopolistic, and have sought, not to disorganize, but simply to regulate them. Thus these acts have been economically sound. Yet leading interests have been much less pleased with them than with those which were economically unsound, and therefore, ineffective. If this sound policy of aiming at possibli re culat ion instead of IM poss ble disorganization is followed it will be only a certain few of us who will really suffer from over-legislation. Moderating the Shivers 1 pt aga the New York or Chicago papers } report the arrest of somebody who has engaged in sell ing cocaine to the wretched victims of that awful drug minors of both sexes being usually included among the culprit’s patrons Then the reader's blood runs cold, and he marvels that any creature in human form would deliber- ately pursue a traffic hateful. Occasionally, also, the papers report the death of a cocaine victim who has achieved self-destruction by doping himself with a quack catarrh or consumption ‘‘cure.”” The maker and many of the retailers of the ‘‘cure’’ knew they were selling cocaine. Yet the reader’s blood does not congeal; at most there is a passing shiver. The course of the sin, from inception to result, has been elaborated. The very magnitude in which it is committed gives it a certain respectability. Not long azo an important religious body gravely debated whether its organs should be prohibited from advertising quack “cures’’ containing deadly drugs. Here there was not even a shiver. It was considered a debatable point of morals — considerably tinctured by plain business. It would be easy to adduce volumes of evidence that, in the common judgment of men, the wages of sin are held to be purged of their deadly and damnatory quali- ties if the sin is performed with sufficient circuitousness and yields a sufficiently large profit. More Western Revolution WESTERN grand jury, having performed the dis- agreeable duty of indicting a number of fellow-citizens for running a rotten, fly-by-night bank, makes the following astonishing recommendation: ‘‘The issuance of a charter to do a banking business should be dependent as much upon the character, experience and standing of the men applying therefor as on any amount of capital put in.” Probably the grand jury’s recommendation, even as concerns banking corporations, is quite impractical. True, in most States a man is supposed to be of good moral char- acter before the State will license him to be a lawyer or doctor or dentist or barber or chiropodist; but our whole theory of granting corporation powers rests upon the propo- sition that in business nothing counts except money; that if aman has the money he must be licensed to engage in any form of commercial activity he pleases, no matter how intimately his conduct of it may affect the community. Whether or not this theory originated in the fact that some- times the men with the most money have the poorest characters we cannot say

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

WHO'S WHO—AND WHY Serious and Frivolous Facts About the Great and the Near Great The Eagle’s Keeper VERY time Jonathan Prentiss Dolliver gets up to speak the eagle screams. The Bird of Freedom broods on his desk day after day, and when Dolliver goes into action the bird goes too, ‘ Mister-r-r-r Pr-r-r-r- res-i-dent!’’ he rumbles, and they are off, flinging them- selves down the broadest oratorical highway that leads from the Senate to the pee-pul. Demosthenes Dolliver, they call him, but no Demos- thenes who ever barked against the combined roar of all the seven seas could hold a candle to Dolliver. Moreover, he has no pebbles in his mouth not one Instead, he maintains there a silver tongue, stamped sterling by lowa, or, as Dolliver would say, by I-o-way. No State is so lost to pride as not to maintain one silver- tongued orator, and some States have two or three Dol- liver is lowa’s—the Silver-Tongued Orator of Fort Dodge, which adds lustre to Fort Dodge, but none to Dolliver, for Dolliver needs it not. He talks— ah, it is more than talk! It is a grand, golden, gorgeous, glister 1g, glorious (certainly it is golden; silver-tongued orators always produce golden eloquence) illumination of the subject that happens to be on tap. Words are mere playthings to Dolliver. He ties incandescent lights on them and keeps forty of them in the air at one and the same time. When he reaches into the empyrean he never grabs a star. He clutches a planet and with it writes his sentiments across the sky in letters of living fire. He is the Senatorial set-piece. They touch him off as the finish to the show —crackle— spark -- flash — the battle of Bunker Hill, the surrender at Appomattox, Dewey going into Manila Bay, the fight at Kettle Hill, a just and reasonable, but not confiscatory, rate and a few thoughts on the tariff! It listens well, as Sam Bernard would say smart old music masters who wrote songs without words but no smarter than Dolliver, mark you, no smarter. For he has perfected the art of using words —but, pshaw, Those were

even a deep, resounding noise may have its attributes and advantages! Dolliver talked himself into the House of Representa- tives, talked himself out of the House of Representatives into the Senate, and there, where there are no rude barriers to speech like Uncle Joe Cannon and his Committee on Rules, he will talk, splendidly, so long as the free men of Iowa will let him. They are the only ones who can put the muffler on. Thesporting editoralways wants to be a dramatic critic; the Dutch comedian thinks he is a Hamlet and so with Dolliver Nature made him to declaim He was so framed that the only punctuation mark he can use legitimately is the squawk. But he wanted to be a leader. He aspired. Ambition steals into us all from time to time Dolliver’s chance came with the railroad rate bill. He snatched it. The President was looking for volunteers. Dolliver took the shilling and put the ribbon on his coat. Then he got stripes on his sleeves and, soon, stars on his col- lar. He was there to hurl himself into the breach, to hold the walls against the attacks of the railroad Senators. wee se Then, for eighty-one days, he The Siest-Dreesed Men led, in company with The Black

in Washington Eagle of Fergus Falls—to wit, Senator Moses E. Clapp, of Minne- sota—and the sad-eyed Long, of Kansas. It was a par- lous job. The asphalt smoked beneath the hurrying feet of Dolliver, who chased from Capitol to White House and back again. He is built on square and sturdy lines, and these were no deliberate days. It would be sad to se« a Percheron entered in a steeplechase. It was sad to see Dolliver trying always to keep ahead of the procession, but falling, always, a few furlongs to the rear. Then, at the end, the wily Aldrich chose Allison, the colleague of Dolliver, to present the compromise amendment, and Dolliver was left clinging to the wreck of the limited court review. Butrotund bodies rebound gayly when thrown down, and back came Dolliver, sweeping a palm across his eyes to brush away the haze

— es ee eo ee > ee > ee o eae - eee

the debate on this bill without Ar | he pr meet lt 1 ! int it some of the best silver-tongued brand for the President, whooped it whooped it up for the | for ar , and for the proletariat. He retires dizzy with the ech a if } n

put stars from his collar in cotton batting eighty-one days when he led from an imy position behind re rsonall) , Dolliver i pleasing tf » the ey broad and looks full of red bh

contingent in the Senate, gradua sentatives, and if lowa follows traditiot Allison, he will Spend many year trun duty beneath the stained glass in the Senat: His long suit is sti among the

mers il! brakes and go full spe« it into their teeth, crams it down theirt

their faces, points with pride heaven to witness that the Republican Part dium of the liberties of the people, and roll hours and hours They put him out under a tent once an got his first reputation. He was free as alr As a rally-boys ral] peaker he country afiords. They used to stick him uy when a policy needed defending Th could do lake it from him, and, alway who dallies is a dastard; he who doubt

They are calmer in the S« te oO hip-hurrah methods once or twice, and, had looked around for a minute or two to sat and waited until he had soared to the red back Then Senator Bailey gay lou flute and he did not experiment again for some Still, it is a great thing to be abl advantages Earlv prospecting showed vas a language-mine and he has deve He is of the West, bree ttosay wv Senat ind that is n Journalistic Rewards Weis HAWKES, now one of th Frohman theatrical orgar atior Donough, who has a ought othet

repor DY virtt é I McDonoug! under his protecting Was next to crat’s confidence When McDonough had been striving for six months he sought out Hawkes and

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litor and enjo

— ' \\ Ha t } 1 ind t will | } He p 1 drama MeD ned breat! 1 I ha t { Hawt a ul! 1 | i Holy Mose i iMeD I l ar ett thirteen a week n il A Bright Lad | bp ANKENY Senator from Washington He ha 4 been in the > Was at lu ena lor tw ear \ few da wo heon with Senator N f Nevada Nixor he said | ha i ! f those Panama Canal hearit Del ! ! ind It t been quite interested. TI ng fellow ther | Ke t i i H ! t il ju he make the I q ! t ! 1 good D } I suy ! me } but ly 1 } { Who h t N I dor \ " heard " WI there he is 1 coming tl h the door! Tha ing fel l ur 1) I N 1 looked Y I ud v hit Tha Philander C. I x, fort At ne neral and now » ator IT Penr inia The Hall of Fame @ Friends of Admiral Dewey say he is the best-dressed

An Oriental Convert

Page 20

i8 “Go Gs Bt es just in time. And the foreman jumped at me— swearing But a a iick, sharp voice in English eried: ‘‘ Le limalone!”’ Anda young American helped me get started age Just then the gong sounded and the night was over. The voung American had now put on some good clothe sand was light- ingacigar. | went and thanked him. ‘Oh, that’s all right!" he said. He looked hard to me, and then he smiled. “You must have a wife,”’ he said; ‘yo looked orned He seemed think thi was a joke, so | laughed. ‘ ~ Fecal t vor he asked Or won't you have one soon? , es,” I said at last “Perl aps. But if she comes over here too soon I won’t have her at all!” At this he laughed very hard. He said he wanted te hear about this queer woman. I saw he was so honest that I told him all my trouble. Well,” he said with a grin, ‘‘yvou want her to wish to come, but not to come.”’ es,” I said. Phat. is exactly it. He looked at me and we liked eac h other better still, He was thinking, with his derby hat 'way back, and his eyes half shut moking his cigar. ‘Well,” he said at last, ‘‘what you want to do is this: buy a suit of clothes, get a have, have your picture taken, and write on it: ‘1 am honest and I love you. You must wait and trust me.’ That will keep her. Any one can see you are honest the minute they see your face. So be sure you get a good pictur I stared at him and said nothing. I hated this scheme and | was disappointed in this man You don’t think much of } laughing, ‘‘but I tell you lL know! I havea wifet”’ Long after he had gone I kept thinking about this You see, this man was smart. He had one of the best jobs in the mills. So I thought he ought to know about other So at last I did it. nds went with me, and it took ‘o hours t¢ choose those clothes. Then I a good shave for five cents. But getting — vesthe worst. | felt likea fool, al d nd | looked like a fool--till | got thinking of Franz. Then Il grew angry. And the man cnied ‘Good!”’ and The American had t tafir he said, and womer dances. This he said wo ld make her want ! Then I tald her she must trust me and ; ved her, ait, because | was honest and I k This he said would keep her away. Now I thought I had fixed the whole hing. So 1 worked harder in the mills, an in the shed | began making a big square kitchen table I am glad you are having such a good time,”’ she wrote next ‘| am having a vod time, too, Frat z sends me fine pres- ents and Wants me to come. Hi wants to take me to all these dances and picnics | wasallmixedup. I wentto my Amer- an Look here!"’ I cried angrily. ‘‘l’ve done just the wrong thing! She want me and she iw coming! os he made me read the letter. And then he grinned. ; W ‘ “tl, ” he said, ‘“‘she’s coming right iit ng.’ Damn!” lL eried, very angry. ‘I don’t want her to come right aiong! No money! \o home for her! Only lies and a mattress But he kept grinning. ‘‘| mean,” he said, ‘she does want you sn ‘How do you know?” ‘Because,”’ he said, ‘‘I have a wife.” Then he told me about his wife. Hethought she was more beautiful than any woman on arth, and I let him keep on thinking this. The more he talked the more he said. | could only stare at him; | had never ought he was this kind of a fellow; I had only seen him at work. At work I had often watched him. All night he stood on a little platform with three tall levers before him. ‘V ay off at the other end of the big, dark Iding were three ‘converters "’—tanks, each one big as a house and full of me + iron being ch: into steel. Each one had a narr top, and from this top poured ames and narrow f ames, st and crooked flames, blue and red ; and all colors. He watched thane flames, and by their colors he knew exactly when the stuff was cooked. Then he jerked one of the levers, and at once off there in the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Coneluded from Page 9) dark a big converter tipped slowly and poured tons of s - el, like white soup, down into a tank. he missed the time by twenty seconds he spoiled over a thousand dollars’ worth of steel. He must jerk one of the levers every five minutes—from six at night to six in the morning. I never saw a man working so hard. Toward morning that was a terrible face in the dark. But he made ninety dollars a week! “*Yes,”’ he said now, laughing, ‘‘the more my wife gets, the more she wants. All women are the same. So the next thing to do is to send your girl some presents.”’ I went away and thought this over. At last I bought a fine pair of earrings and a carpet-sweeper ent her the earrings, and ld her about this new sweeping machine that I was keeping for her. I begged her not to give up this home I was getting. Besides, I sent her a big hat and told her how fine the American women dressed. My American friend said she would like to hear this, and I could tell her exactly, be- I had learned it from him, and he had cause a wife ‘The Polish clothes,” she now wrote me, ‘‘are the best in the world. I have made already two dresses—one black and one vellow and red. They are fine enough for any place. You know nothing about clothes and you write like a fool. The hat I have sent back, so you can give it to one of your very silly American women. I think I will come soon to Franz. He wants me.” I was now very angry with this little woman! I went to see Franz. Again he smiled and flashed his ugly teeth. But I did not. I was careful. “*T have heard,” | said, ‘‘from a friend at home that Marie is coming soon to marry you.” ‘Marie! Oh, she is 4 little beauty!”’ he said. ‘‘She will be a good wife for me some time. But now I am having plenty of fun and I can Jet her wait.” ‘Isn't she coming soon?" I asked. “No,” he said. 1 decided at once that he was lying — because why should she tell me he wanted her to come, unless he did? As I was thinking this out he suddenly said he would come the next day to see me. | saw his game. He had heard the lies I had written to her, and he wanted to find out if I really had all these things. ] d home and got my friends to help me. The four fellows in our room moved out for that day. I scrubbed the room and the walls very clean, I brought in all my furniture, and then I brought some big boxes nailed up tight. When he came in the afternoon | sat on a box and smoked and smiled to show I was happy —though this was a lie, for | had worked in the mills all night and scrubbed all day. *Weil,”” he cried, looking around, ‘‘ you are doing ine for such a green immigrant!”’ ‘Yes,’ I said, smoking and smiling, ‘I am doing fine.”’ ‘Is this room all yours?” he asked. “Yes,” ] said, smoking and smiling, ‘‘all mine. But it is too small. I have bought so many things for the house I will have when my girl comes from Poland. So I keep them in these boxes.’ But when he had gone I laughed hard. These boxes were full of bric ks. It wasa joke. Now I worked harder, but I found I could not get higher than ten dollars aweek. This would have been all right for me alone; I was saving a lot of money over fifty dol- lars. But this was not quick enough to live up to the big lies I had told Marie. 1 went to my American and asked him if he did not know any job where I could get further up. ‘Il am afraid you can't,”’ he said at last. ‘You are no good for the quick machine obs, and you never will be.” Well,” I said, after a few minutes’ thinking, ‘‘Franz can. Even since I came here he has gone up to eighteen dollars a nu week . Well,” he said slow] probably Franz q n That was it. I was slow and I always l ied so hard to be quick that now I knew. He put his arm on my shoulder. ‘Don’t you work too hard,” he said. ‘You k yut ready to bust. I know, because » busted once or twice myself.” I laughed and went awa. But the next week that American busted and they took him home in the ambulance. Ten days later = sent for me to come. “T was all wrong about women,” he said. “T’m busted now for maybe six months. But my wife won’t go out or do anything but stay with me and do things. The only thing she cares about is me, and the only thing I care about is her. I was all wrong about presents and money. You had better get her to help you. She knows.” So I told her everything—how we two had schemed together. ‘“‘What you must do,”’ she said, “is to write to little Marie and tell her everything. Tell her you told all these lies just because you loved her so hard and were afraid Franz would get her. Tell her to come to America at once and marry you!” So I did. Soon back come a letter. And now I was about ready to quit. For again Marie was angry! But when I took this letter to the Amer- ican woman and read it to her in English, she laughed at me. ‘Marie is not really angry ‘She only makes believe!’ Well—that woman was right. In a few days came another letter from Marie—she had started. Now I told Franz, for I thought I must do this to be fair. And anyway, I thought he might know already. But he didn’t know. He was very surprised andangry. Heasked why I knew this, and | told him I was her brother’s old friend. I liked to lie to him. I worked hard to finish that furniture. I rented two rooms and | scrubbed them every day for two weeks. Then I went to the train in the city. I got there two hoursearly. At last along came Franz in fine brown clothes and a gray derby hat, and his smile and his teeth. He talked much, but I could say nothing. In rolled the big train. I looked and got cold. Out came little Marie! And she was a beauty then! She had two big bags of lug- gage. She wore the fine yellow dress she had made, and on her head was a new white kerchief with red flowers. ‘Look at her clothes!”’ laughed Franz. Iturned; I saw him smile, and I shouted: ‘‘Get out of here!” Then 1 jumped t Marie. Just then she saw me. And all at once she dropped her bags and ran! And she cried in my arms. And I could not speak. You see, I had her! I think I saw Franz come and laugh and goaway. Butlamnotsure. I saw nothing k eyes shining so deep and so ’ she cried. but her blac sure. At last I could speak, and I asked her: ‘Will you marry me to-day ?” And she got even closer in my arms, and laughed and laughed, very low. ‘Oh, Jan,”” she whispe red, this country has made you!” Then we both laughed very hard, and after that she never stopped talking. I picked up all the bags, and off we went toa priest I had ready, and so we were married. Well, instead of not liking my big Polish bed and table and chairs, she laughed and cried when she saw them. And then came the queerest part. She looked out at those dirt y houses, those pouring flames and those chimneys. It was the dirtiest place in the world. But she turned and cried: “Oh, Jan, we will be happy sO happy ro ‘how quick That was five years ago. Now here is the thing I think about: 1 am thirty-six years old. And I know that almost every fellow in the works busts by forty-five. We call that ‘‘the dead line.” I am slow. I will never earn over ten dollars a week. And Marie tries to save, but we cannot. Something always happens. break my arm, or there is another baby we have three fine babies now. I begin to feel a strange ache in the back of my head. Sometimes it makes me half crazy; then it goes away for weeks— but it comes again. I know eleven fellows who have been busted by this pain. That young American died of it two years ¢ Can | keep on till Jan is rr enough ? That is what | think about. 3ut a man is a fool to worry too much. Anyway, in these two rooms we have a fine little home with flowers—and my babies! an is the oldest—he is four. He has big, Iping black eyes He climbs up on my head and jerks my hair to make me gallop quicker. He pulls my hair and squeals and squeals! Jan can grip hard —he can! ‘he little rascal—he likes pipe-smoke, too! FRAT 8 OME”! July 7, 1906 Making Dust ona Hill Every motorist knows that to “spurt” hill requiresa tremendous up along amount of reserve en to reach and ergy; that sustain high speed under such conditions an engine must be capable of devel Lhese oping great power. qualifications have made the Il-climber always to be depenar matter how ses an Oppor re about the our lustrated Bookle Model K, 10 h. p. Runabout, $750 Model M, Light Touring Car (shown above), $950. Mode! H, 30 h. p. Touring Car, $2,500 All prices f. 0. b. Detroit. Lamps not included Cadillac Motor Car Co. Detroit, Mich. Vember A. L. A. M. When the Celebrated a The ORIGINAL Granulated Plug wco smoked. WILL NOT BITE THE TONGUE. Money Cheerfully Refunded If You Are Not Entirely Satisfied. 1 ie ri 7 es not carry QBOID. 123 oz., 10 cts 34 0z., 20 cts. 8 oz., 45 cts. Address Larus & Brother Co. Manufacturers Richmond, Va ir dealer d — Pil \TENTS that PROTE CT a BL Ac cEY. Washington 0. Cc. c stab. 1809 |

Page 21

An’, by thunder, some of ‘em was smokin’! Smokin’! An’ they wasn’t a greaser gal amongst ‘em, neither. “W’at kin’ of a place I got into?” | ast her Gee! I felt turrible. ‘Ssh! Long-hair is goin’ to play a piece he made up a-a-all by hisself An’ he did. First, he goes sof’. fingerin’ up an’ down, an’ movin’ fr’m side t’ side like his chair was too warm. Then he t arunnin’ jump at hisself an’ worked harder But they wasn’t the sign of a tune is’ iggles. Nex’, by thunder, it was help youself to the gravy! He everlastin’ly lambasted them keys, an’ knocked the lights plumb outen that pore instrument Jumpin’ buffalo! 1 got t’ laughin’ so I kinda tipped over agin a’ iron thing that was set clost to the wall, an’ come blamed nigh burnin’ the han’s offen me. When I come to he was done an’ down, an’ a bleached lady, so whitewashed an’ painted she was plumb disguised, was sittin’ afore the pyannie. Then up gits a tall gal, skinny, long neck, forrid like a fish, hair that hadn’t been curried since week fore las’. She begun t’ sing like a dyin’ calf —eyes shut, an’ makin’ faces. But pretty soon she took a new holt, an’ got to goin’ up hill an’ down hill faster’n Sam Hill, then ‘roun’ an’ 'roun’, like a dawg after its tail, then hiccuping, then she kinda shuk herself an’ let out a las’ whoppin’ beller. Mollie,”’ I says, *‘ do you have to herd with this outfit req’lar ?” She didn’t say nothin’. Pore litth , she was watchin’ thedoor. An’ Mister Long- hair? He was wanderin’ ‘roun’, lookin’ powerful oneasy. (He’d ‘a’ better, the scalehaid! Pretty soon he goes outside Up gits a short, stumpy feller with a fiddle. All the res’ begun t’ holler an’ clap. Stumpy, he bowed an’ flopped his ears, an’ then he went at that little, ole fiddle of hisn like he'd snatch it bald-headed. Wal, that was bully! An’ now it was Mollie they wanted. ‘But he ain't here yvet,”’ she sa)

Long-hair comes back jus’ then. ‘I regret to say, Miss Brown,” he begun, that Seenyer”’ (the impressyroa can t run over t’night. But he'll be to my nex’ little reecital a month fr’m now.” ‘‘A month!”’ exclaims Mollie. Her face fell a mile, an’ she got as white as chalk- rock. “Oh, it’s all right!’ says the Perfessor, rubbin’ his han’s. ‘‘Go ahaid an’ sing anyhow.” So she stood up, tremblin’ alittle. Long- hair sit down to the pyannie, an’ this was it Oh, oh, oh, sweet sing bird, Oh, oh, oh, sweet sing bird, ety plump plump. plump plump Plump It was a shame! But Mollie done her bes’. When she ended up they yelled for more, an’ Long-hair like to break hisself in two bowin’. She jus’ stood there like she’d been run to groun’. The Perfessor waved his han’. ‘‘The Jew’s song fr’m Fowst,’’ he announces. I couldn’t stan’ it no longer. I leant towards her. The Mohawk Vale,” I says ‘Please sing The Mohawk Vale.” The crowd giggled. The Perfessor, he started to laugh too, but keteched my ey« an’ coughed. Mollie turned to him. ‘A’ ole frien’ I'd like to,’’ she says. An’ sit down to play for herself. Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gent! glides On its fair, windin’ way t’ the sea She helt herself straight an’ tried t’ stick itout. Butshecouldn’t. I seen her shake a little, her voice got husky, an’ she leant over, her face in her han’s. W’'y, Mollie!”’ they exclaims. W Miss Brown!’

Then I gits up Kercuse me l says for puttin’ a kibosh on vou’ part But ] is Want to savy tl! this Boher i artistic-temprument tandang Stal surned 4 yboa PICASst AMOsSt cept t he i rfessor Such a pow-wow! But the kedadd the same 1 turnes l You little ove tM 1 " n't al a } ‘T, he ‘ \ how ne <i i \ I i t ! pres ‘ 00 ! h! avs

Long-hair. clawin’ at his man: hev’s more a-com l t Mol- lie, | was shore somethin’ wa kew-ree ‘bout this mealy-mouth here, so I had a tall with that Seenver this afternoor nat give r-ha i i possible!”’ he yell The secretaries The bout eiht, not to mentior some office kid I sa but when I give em some straight ole Oklahomy, | we in O. K Long-hair backed off The Seenver said he’d heer ot tt gent,”’ I goes on, ‘‘an’ wouldn’t tet hin learn a cow of hisn to sir F rie Ar l e favor He come ] walks over to the corn, you polecat He seen the jig was uy] bluff. ‘‘Miss Brown, this coarse feller Mollie cut in It’s all so!”’ sh You've put me off an

money's gone. I'd banked ev'rything or t nignt. An’ now w’atam | goin’ todo! She drops on to a chair, her face in her lan’s again ‘Come home, little gal,’’ I say She straightens up, brave No,” she answers no, lll work here. I won't give up my singin’.”’ Little gal,’’ I repeat better come home you're? Then she knowed somethir She come an’ stood in front of me, an’ put her two han’s on my arms *‘Dave!’’ she whispet **Dave! ‘Not dead,” I says, not dead, Mollie But —-w'at happens to a’ ingineer when hi ‘I think you'd 3 wrong.

ingine keels over an’ he don’t git clear of her. I had to hol’ her up then, she got so kinda wobbly He'll be in bed a good spell, the ay I goes on An’ when he gits uy wal don't know’s he can ever go back to hi you, Mollie That braced her. She turned quick, rur out by the stairs, an’ pulled at one of then roun’ thing-um-a-jigs that brings graph kid. Nex’ she spread out a piece of paper an’ writ somethin’ on it Here, Alec,”” she says, ‘“‘here. Sen’ ingine He needs y

that An’ I read ‘Mollie Brown, Noo York, to Mar

Harvey FEatin’-House, Briggs Oklahomy. ‘‘Can I have back my job? We was home quick as the trains could make it -home, an’ sittin’ on each side of Dave, me a-smilin’ like a blamed fool (1 was so tickled), an’ Mollie lookin’ anxious but happy. Fore long, in come Doe Trowbridge, letter in his fist He shuk han’s all ‘roun’, then he sit down byside Mollie. Oh, Billy,” she says you don't / how glad | am to git back An’ now I’! goin to sta) Glad you feel that-a-way sa B An’ it’s right in line with this here letter that Up-State lef’ with me It’s about vou, Mollie, an’ Dave Shall read Yes,”’ answers Mollie—an’ Dave ar swers ves, too Billy got up His face looked solem: but they was a nice shine in his eye This belonged on Alec’s letter,’’ he say It’s w’at vou might call a coddycil Dear Dave an’ Mollie,”’ it run, ‘‘ you'll git this after Mollie’s been to Noo York an back. Dave, you know now the trip wa needful. Do you think you could ’a’ helt her if she didn't have her try? Maybe THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MOLLIE AND THE OPERA GAME

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Page 22

eady-made Gas “Prest-©-Lite” for Auto-Lights a ae ee the Prest-O-Lite way and the old fash generator way Having a Prest-O-Lite tank on your car is like having city gas in your me. You turn it on and light it want it, and turn it off when want it and that’s all! é ir ink is empty you get i full one tor the cost of 1 l Ing It y \ vrite for our bo Ready Made G r Auto Light you can ' t tory of how Acet n is generated, purified, cle lensed, compre put ito tanks tor convenience in handling, and made ready for instant 1 S whens eT nee It | We « ill pr ve » you that 1 st-O-Lite is convenient, ite and economical, Or—you can prove it yourself at our risk. Our book tells how, We want every owner or prospe tive owner of a Motor Car to have our book. We send it postpaid by t n mail with our,compliments for only ir name and address letter or post card, Write for it today to The Prest-0-Lite Co. Department 35 Indianapolis, Indiana wer ven REST -0- LITE) ‘ca AS TANK? “The Face is the place to make the Lather.” COLGATE’S SHAVING STICK does away with the old fashioned mug, and that mussy rubbing in_ the lather with the fingers. Send 4 cts. for Trial Stick in New Nickeled Box. COLGATE & CO. Dept. P, 55 John St., N.Y. Moving Picture Machines STEREOPTICONS ¥ ’ ' BIG MONEY Entertaining etter ‘ Our Entertainment Supp y Catalog CHIC AGO. P ROJ EC TING COMP ANY Dea Department L, Chicago, I oo a FS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST N O R (Continued from Page 4) | underground, which, by delicate manipula- tion, the city had constructed with its own money and given to the Interborough capital, $35,000,000. The Interborough, having the underground and elevated roads, now cast its gaze on the surface roads. The Story of the Surface Lines ‘The history of the surface roads is line for line the story of the elevated, but longer. There were the original small roads. One after another they turned themselves over to the Metropolitan, which was the big sur- face road, for the usual 999 years, the Metro- politan assuming the bonded indebtedness of the little roads, and agreeing to pay besides yearly dividends on their stock issues ranging from eighteen to eight per cent. The Metropolitan, of course, after such payments, was to keep the surplus earnings “On went high finance; the New York City Railway Company was formed, and took over the Metropolitan on the usual terms— pay all interest charges due from the Metropolitan and seven per cent. divi- dends on its stock, the new company to keep surplus earnings. The New York City Company's stock was $20,000,000. Next comes the Metropolitan Securities Com- pany, capital $40,000,000, and takes over the New York City Company on the old, oft-r ‘peated terms. The other day the last move was made. The Metropolitan Securities turned itself over to a last new company, the Metropolitan-Interborough, which had already got possession of the Interborough, with its underground and elevated roads. Thus we have the grand merger of Manhattan Island traction underground, overhead, surface in the Metropolitan-Interborough Company. The traction earnings are pooled, and all the stocks and bonds of all the companies taken care of. The paper capital of the last new company is $155,000,000. The grand total of stocks and bonds of all the other companies is $220,000,000. What is the sit- uation? The public is paying, not only divi- dends to the companies which constructed the roads, but dividends to the several suc- cessive companies. In brief, if the actual investment be considered, the public is paying in fares somewhere near an annual forty per cent. How long do you suppose the public will put up with these conditions ? For 999 years? No; nor for nine years per- haps. The traction story I have told you is the story, with slight changes, of what has gone on and is going on in railways, gas companies, telephone companies, electric light companies, and the w pole long list of public service corporations, with but few exceptions, throughout the land. And yet these men ery ‘Anarchist!’”’ Rebate, Mother of Trusts Leaving street railways I carried the talk to railways proper, and brought up the subject of rebates “Rebates!” repeated Judge Gaynor. “Once aoe a time a man named Have- ‘Protection is the mother of trusts.’ He was wrong. Rebate is the mother of trusts. Protection may be their nurse —may rock their cradle and warm their milk, but their mother is rebate. The extent,” continued Judge Gaynor, to which railway corporations have violated their duty and the law of their being by carrying the freight of some at a lower rate than is exacted of their rivals, enabling the - to undersell and ruin said rivals and establish a monopoly in themselves, forms the most t exteninal chapter in our history. rhe railways are the public highways; they should be open to the use and service of all on equal terms. The principle which underlies a railroad is the principle of the old toll-road Sup ose some tollgate of the olden time had 4 nelle some particular farmer five cents and every other farmer ten: what would have happened? The ten-cent farmers would have torn that tollgate down. What is the difference between the five and ten-cent tollgate and a railroad that carries one man’s oil for one dollar and charges every other oil-man two dollars? Succeeding ages will look back upon uS aS a gene ration lost to moral sense for permitting it. * what way are rebates arranged ?"’ The ingenuity of criminal man has exhausted itself in their multiplication. mey er said A recent railway investigation developed that the cars of one recipient of rebates were billed over the road as each carrying 24,000 pounds when in fact they carried 50,000; that’s one way. As I say, this freight favoritism is the mother of trusts. Standard Oil, that first and greatest trust, was created and maintained by it. No; our railway companies are not private corporations, conducting a private business and free to do as they please. They are created by Government, given a franchise to build and operate a road for public use. The Government lends them its great right of eminent domain. Our iron roads are as much public highways as are our dirt roads. Before the coming of railroads, Government owned and maintained its highways. It let the railways in their ownership pass into private hands. None the less they are public roads. They have no right of freight discrimination—the right, as Cromwell put it, ‘to make many poor to make a few rich.’ And now the Government is in a struggle with these corporations, to prevent them building up and fostering trusts and monopolies by favoritism in freight rates. If such prac- tices cannot be stopped in any other way then Government must take back those franchises it granted. If all the rebate evils arising from the private ownership and control of these highways could have been foreseen, Government would never have turned them over to private individuals.” Slaughtering Competition ‘Freight rates control the market. By discrimination, competition can be killed, and a monopoly or trust be produced and protected. There is talk of referring disputes over freight rates, rebates and freight discriminations to the courts. We have enough of the law’s delay already. The evil demands summary executive treatment, instead of the slow process of judicial procedure. One ounce of execu- tive prevention is worth a pound of judicial cure. You asked as to a publie prejudice against wealth. There isa public prejudice against rebates, and the wealth that flows from them. There is no prejudice against honestly acquired wealth. There is prej- udice against wealth acquired by trick and device, by the favoritism of laws, by the misuse of public franchises. That wealth and its acquirement is under the ban of every honest man. It is predatory wealth, as ravenous as a wolf and as much without a conscience, against which the people protest and wage war. They will continue to protest; their war will grow and may go even to excess. Should it do so our wolfish capitalists will have themselves to thank. There be those who cry out against investigations and disclosures where great corporations are concerned. They deplore them as ‘injurious to commerce.’ 1 have to say to these good, timid, deprecatory folk that a business which cannot survive the truth isa bad, wretched business. That which the truth will kill should‘die and be destroyed.” In repairing the evils spoken of are our present laws sufficient?” Amply so,” returned Judge Gaynor. ‘We have laws enough. Our need As for pl ibl lie officers who will enforce them.”’ And what should be the constituent elements of such an officer? What should the publie look for, in the way of trait or attribute, when it goes picking him out?” For a man,” said Judge Gaynor, “‘fitly to fill a public office his intelligence should be affirmative, his honesty aggressive, his vigilance sleepless, his courage without a flaw. In brief’’- this with a smile that lighted up the grave face like a torch —“‘ he should be a Roosevelt.”’ “You deem highly of President Roose- velt ?”’ I cannot conceive of a better man for the place he occupies. His enemies call him erratic. I find him steadfast to the pole of his purposes—as changeless asthe north star. Hegraspshis hour. He sees Wrongs, and remedies them; he meets difficulties, and conquers them. When both parties fell back frightened before the frown of the railroads, he alone was not afraid. Single-handed he took up arms against secret rebates. In the face of the mightiest money influences he proceeded. I cannot tell too strongly my admiration of l’vesident Roosevelt. He is filled with the July 7, 1906 No prettier or more stylish waists than ours can be found anywhere. he unheard-of prices at which we offer them are a result of a system of buying and selling which is absolutely exclusive with us. Our styles are faultless. Our fabrics include Lawns, Batistes and Net, handsomely embroidered and trimmed SHIRT=WAISTS No. 183-JJ Summer Styles $1.50 $1.00 to $5.00 No. 183-5 J. hich r white Batiste, $225. 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Fim ip» a smooth surface the soul inside of him was shrinking back into some dark corner, silent, watchful, suspicious, and perhaps defiant. “Mr. Quarrier,” said Siward quietly, ‘! did not take that girl to the Patroons Club —and you know it.” Quarrier was ail surface now; he had drawn away internally so far that even his eyes seemed to recede until they scarcely glimmered through the slits in his colorless mask. And Siward went on: ‘I knew perfectly weil what sort of women I was to meet at that fool supper Billy Fleetwood gave; and you must have, too, for the girl you took in was no stranger to you. Her name is Lydia Vyse, I believe.”’ The slightest possible glimmer in the elder man’s eyes was all the answer he granted. What happened,” said Siward calmly, was this She bet me she could so disguise herself that 1 could safely take her into any club in New York. I bet her she couldn’t. I never dreamed of trying. Besides, she was your—dinner partner,’’ he added with a shrug. His concentrated gaze seemed at length to pierce the exp yressionless surface of the other man, who moved slightly in his chair and moistened his thin lips under the glossy beara. Quarrier,”’ said Siward earnestly, ‘‘ what happened in the club lobby I don't exactly know, because I was not in a condition to know. I admit it; that was the trouble with me. When I left Fleetwood’s rooms I left with a half-dozen men. I remember crossing Fifth Avenue with them; and the next thing | remember distinctly was loud talking in the club lobby, and a number of men there, and a slim young fellow in Inverness and top hat in the centre of a crowd, wh ose face was the face of that girl, Lydia. Vyse. And that is absolutely all. But { couldn't do more than deny that | took her there unless I told what [ kne and of course that was not possi b le, even in self-defense. But it was for you to admit that I was right. And you did not. You dared not! ou let another man blunder into your private affairs and fall a victim to circumstantial evidence which you could have refuted; and it was up to you to say something! And you did not! rae — i now—what are you going to do? » Lenox Club has taken this thing up. as man can’t stand too much of that sort of hing. What amItodo? I can’t defend yvself by betraying my accidental knowl- edge of your petty, private affairs. So I leave it to you. I ask you what are you jing to do? Do vou Quarrier’s voice was he brought it harshly do you Mean that you hink it necessary for me to say I knew her? What object would be attained by that? | did not take her to the Patroons.” Nor did I. Ask her how she got there. earn the truth from her, man!” TOK here that I ever met her before | took her into supper at Fleet-

not his own, der command

Proof! Are you mad? All I ask of i t ay to the governors what I cannot i without ng your name You wish me,” asked Quarrier icily, o deny that you made that wager? I can do that Youcen’tdoit! | i make that be Oh! Then what is it you wish me to ay rell them the truth Tell them you ’ | did not take her to the club. You ed not tell them why you know it. You need not tell them hi much you know al t her, whose brougham she drove home in ! can't defend mvself at vour expense What could I sa I denied taking her # the elu Then Major Belwether con- fronted me with my w r. Then I shut up And so did vou, Quarrier — so did you, eated there among the governors, between Leroy Mortimer and Belwether It was ip to you, and you did not stir!’ Stir! echoed the other man, exas- perated. Of course I did not stir! What did I know about it? Do you think I cared to give a man like Mortimer a hold on me by admitting I knew anything —or Bel- wether? Do you think I care to have that

man know anything about my private and personal business? Did you expect me to say that I was in a position to prove THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 11) anything one way or another? And,’’ he added with increasing harshness, *‘ how do you know what I might or might not prove? If she went to the Patroons Club, I dia not go with her; I did not see her; I don’t know whether or not you took her.” ‘I have already told you that I did not take her,”’ said Siward, turning whiter. ‘You told that to the governors, too. Tell them again if you like. I decline to discuss this matter with you. I decline to countenance your unwarranted intrusion into what you pretend to believe are my private affairs. I decline to confer with Belwether or Mortimer. It’s enough that you are inclined to meddle " Thoroughpin, mingiene . Curb, Splint, Capped Hock, Neng — Boil ‘injured Tendons and au Lameness. \ > ser ,

"re ry Chemical Geaeane, Binghamton, N Y.

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I Superba Silk bgingreeee Superba Silk Cravats H. C. COHN & CO. Makers of Superba Cravats, “Coatless Suspender Under the Overshirt Over the Undershirt Crown Suspender Co. 847 Broadway, New York City TENT Is ALL IT costs CENT yrrmpests MEAD CYCLE CO., f $513.00 Clear Profit in 51 Davs len. from an Investment of $135.00 SEA SHELLS The Candidate (Com ued yn Fuge 6) Billy Winkle,” the Secretary ruminated, and slowly and mournfully shook his head. He struggled with it a moment, and the struggle gave his gradually spreading grin a somewhat convulsive appearance. “‘If it gets out it’ll lay him out cold as a salt herring! The public won't stand for any- thing of that sort.” He rmanaged, by violent effort, to suppress the grin and resume his previous shocked and mournful air. ‘‘L hope it ain't true,Adams. There's always a lot of loose, slanderous gossip floating around without any foundation in fact. Still,”’ he added, ‘‘Winkle has | been running around a lot’’—and, with sudden heat--‘‘he’s a coarse beast at bottom, Adams!”’ Mr. Plainfield had always taken his social duties with a kind of blind-eyed depression, patiently suffering such of them as had to be suffered and dodging the rest. Now he turned over a new leaf -first to the agreeable surprise, then somewhat to the bewilderment of his wife and daughter. ‘Well, you see, Jane,’”’ he explained to Miss Plainfield, ‘‘the doctor says I must take all the relaxation I can get; that what I need most is to have my mind taken off my business as much as possible. And I've discovered, you see, that running around to these society things does take my mind off my business. It gives me the relaxation that 1 need -and right here at home, too, without going off to the sea- shore or anywhere,” “| know, daddy,” said Miss Plainfield, ‘but I’m ans you're overdoing it a bit. Of course the relaxation is good; but going out every evening will use you up as bad as business don’t thin : ‘Oh, I’m fresh at it now,” he replied ‘I'll cut down on it presently It’s a real pleasure to me now, | assure you —running around, you know, and I} many bright, agreeable pe ; ‘But you don’t, father!”’ she burst out ‘Mrs. Markham and that crowd aren't bright or interesting atall. They te asty, malicious, gossiping, lying old tabby cats! Miss Plainfield, on occasion, had some of her distinguished father’s oratorical fervor ‘Tut, tut, child!” he reproved. ‘* You seem to have a tongue of your own! Nevertheless he did not look at her. In fact, he had not been looking at her any of the time. He paced away, putting his bony hands deep in his trousers’ pockets and immediately withdrawing them as he always remembered to do when he was i: evening clothes. ‘‘A man in my position, Jane—and with my prospects,’’ he said gravely, ‘‘needs to keep an eye on a good many things; needs—h’m—to draw in- formation from a good many quarters, in order to judge accurately of some things that are going on; perhaps —h’m— in order to protect himself prope rly in certain con- tingencies. ‘ve found this socie ty busi- ness relaxing. At the same time, it may turn out useful. I hope, Jane, you don't begrudge your father such diversion as h« ean find.” “Oh, no, daddy! Have he best time you can! Only’’—she laughed, a_ bit uneasily —‘‘1 don’t like ; you ‘The election for gov f losota observed the Secre juite inconse- quen tially, n days Cher we'll have a sl rr ictory repl but li sne ive he would beg t ) to insure a man ag five for 81000 for twenty years. So she left him. V "He S done it, Adams! He’s donc it!” cried the Secretary. ‘‘A man, by Jove, that I’ve been a friend to for thirty years!”’ His hand, which trembled somewha with the de pth of his emotion, held a letter from Peterman, whom everybody knew to be the chief henchman of Governor Mitchell of losota. The letter reviewed the political situation at home on the eve of the election, and was of that character which men whom experience has turned rather cynical call a jolly.””. But there was a postscript as follows: **Let me add a purely personal word Does the subject of life insurance interest you? Would you be inclined, in any way, to take it up with me?” “You see? Life insurance!” Mr. Plain- field exclaimed. ‘‘There’s the slimy hand THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HELP YOURS! EL Special Self Help Oller i ‘Special Seli-Help Offer tT t t ‘ International Correspondence Quality Counts for Everything ina Revolver H.& R. REVOLVERS a Pema omc. gee | HARRINGTON & RICHARDSON ARMS CO., 229 Park Avenue, —1000 Piays mC) KODAKE RS FREE = am & DOLPH DRUG CO.,

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This shows a target in exact size made at 125 yards with a HOPKINS & ALLEN Junior — No. 922 .22 cal., No. 932 .32 cal., costing $5.50 by W. H. Harris of Mystic, Conn. —and the rifle itself, Sure, quick fire and center shots are certain hen you use this Hopkins & Alien Junior. Ex perts cansider it the standard rifle for small calibre the best of all arms for target and range practi and for shooting fair-sized game. A big favorite with aporismen. Descriptior t Hopkins @ Allen Jeator Furnished in 22 or 32 calibre short or long rim fire Price $5.50 1y from your dealer, send tying calibre wasted express charges an) 1 State: Free on request Hopkins & Allen Arms Co Dept. 15, Norwik Conn \ th r t Genuine Indian Wigwam > | "$1.50 $4 & $0 + for Campers. Send for free Cata Insure return oi =] Borrowed BOOKS re if 4 Novelty Pubiishing Co. iu Chaanoo Company 28 Market St., Dept. 6 6, Dept. 6 G, Chicago | i Providence, R. ZZ The ) Post ard Bupy c _ 444-446 Broo me &t New York City y Park,NJ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST of William Winkle! Of course, he’s been to Mitchell—told Mitchell all about that Gessler report and how he’d make me look like a foo] with it if I got the State delegation laugh me out of the race with it. Ha! ha! Adams! Blast his hide! Same’s he’s been doing his dirty work with the President. Why did the President turn down my Philippine currency plan yester- day? They think they’ve got me Gessler- ized, Adams! But I'll show ’em, by Jove”’—he struck the table viciously with his bony fist —‘‘that they can't Gesslerize me-at any rate, not without my doing some Gesslerizing myself!” He paused to get his breath and compose his overwrought nerves. ‘I’m going to write to Peterman to-day,” he added deliberately. “I’m going to write him a letter which —I rather gtess will hold him and Mitchell until I can get out there. I’m going directly after the election—when the Governor will have that off his hands and be ready to listen to some things that I shall say to him. I'll take up that report with him, Adams. I'll show him that Gessler put the insurance stuff in there on his own hook and that Gessler was nutty. Also’’-he drew his hand across his brow to get it in the right light—‘'I’ll show him that if anybody undertakes to play horse with me about it, why — it ain’t, after all, so blamed nutty as it might be, not by a hundred miles! And then’’—he nervously rubbed his hands together, contemplating them, and thrust- ing out h‘s under iaw—‘‘ well, I'll show him something else. I'll show him something else! If anybody is going to insist upon having dirty politics, he can’t complain if he gets more’n he’s hooking for of his own medicine.” ‘‘A man ought to be ready to take his own medicine,” said Adams, with an air at once oracular and of a sternly impartial judge. Nevertheless, in the ensuing days the poor Secretary’s heart suffered an almost uninterrupted series of sinking spells. It is one thing to be convinced of the poe tic justice of what you are doing; but quite another thing for a white man to sit down before an umpire in cold blood and say: ‘See here, my rival is liable at any moment to become the hero of a frightful scandal, the details of which are thus and so.”’ It ke pt hrm awake of nights; and once when his daughter came into his study unex- pectedly his jaw dropped, he looked at her as though she were a ghost, and seemed to be about to escape by jumping out of the window. The eminent family practitioner took away all solid food and Sounied the dose of bromides, and was fairly at his wits’ end when this expedient brought no bene- ficial results. There were moments, in fact, when the Secretary clearly perceived the impossibility of doing it face to face and in cold blood. Hardly anybody knew it; but he owned control of the Grassville Tribune; and it might be better to have the Tribune print the story on the front page—without names, of course; but so pointedly there could be no mistake a coup! e of days after the election This would be more con- elusive, so far as Winkle was concerned. There wouldn’t be much getting away from it, once it was printed. Unfortunately, however, Mrs. Plainfield knew about his owner hip of the Tribune. The evening of losota election the secretary devoted to a mental review of his ground. He had had another chat with that witty, cynical, amusing Mrs Markham — which, between sniggering and assaulted modesty, had kept him a uniform pink Alone with it in his study, however, i ‘ the humorous features doing what I’m going to do to-morrow. vi JUT the morrow brought an unexpected, nishing, readjustment. The Secretary had not even asked that election returns be sent him. The exact majority didn’t matter in the least. And when he opened his morning vapers at the breakfa table his bulging A d incredulous eyes fell upo 1 heac dlin« s such as these ‘‘Great Democratic Landslide in Iosota. Governor Mitchell Overwhelmingly De- feated. People Tired of Old Plainfield- Mitchell-Winkle Machine. Ends Talk of a Republican Presidential Candidate From the State.” When he reached his office he was still rather badly out of his reckoning. Adams eouldn’t help him. Adams himself was a mere rudderless hulk—which the unkind current appeared to be sweeping rapidly toward the rocky shore of Private Life. “It’s certainly surprising,’’ said the Secretary, and scratched his head. The assistant was dumb. The morning’s mail contained a letter and a package from Gessler. He wrote that, as the Secretary had decided to with- hold the life-insurance plan for the present he was returning his copy of the report in which the recommendation was _ inter- polated, for the Secretary might wish to destroy all such copies. The package consisted of the one long-missing and anxiously-sought volume. Also, there was a hurried line from Peterman. ‘ Den’t understand your paragraph about life insurance,”’ he said. ‘‘Some of us are talk- ing of organizing a company. Ithought you might take the presidency. Will see you about it when you come out here.” Mr. Plainfield pondered upon the two missives for some time— quite half an hour, in fact and where all had been tossing billows be began now to see a verdant shore line and a lighthouse. ‘**Callup Senator Winkle,”’ he said calmly. Kefore the connection was made, how- ever, the Senator’s card was brought in —to be followed immediately by his portly, ruddy, cheery person, holding out a hand. ‘Joe, old man, we're Waterloo veterans! e'll have to organize an association and hold reunions!”’ he exclaimed heartily. The Secretary, gripping the extended alm with both hands, tipped back his me and laughed —the first time in three months. ‘By jingo, Billy! They soaked us proper!”’ he cowed. ‘You know, old man—you know’’—he fell into a dire confusion—‘| was afraid, by Jove, it might cut you up some. So far from being cut up, the Senator, in fact, appeared exube rantly happy. He spread his arms. ‘‘I don’t care,” he atlirmed flippantly. Then he put his hand on the other’s shoulder. ‘‘You know, Joe—you know’’—-he spoke softly and a bit tremulously. ‘‘Old man, my wife got back from the hospital vesterday. She’s better! She's going to be well!’’ There vere actually tears in his eyes. Secretary Plainfield proposed to retire from public life at the expiration of his term. Before that day rolled around there were delivered to him four solid volumes, printed on hand-made paper, beautifully bound in morocco, duly tooled, beveled and gilded. They were entitled Our Country’s Foremost Men. He opened volume one to a fine full-page steel engraving of himself, and me the extensive biography. It said, over ten Gow: ry pages, that he was a great statesman whose lofty character and sur- genius for affairs had made an imperishable impression upon his times. He thought, with impartial candor, that the adjectives were a bit strong here and there. Still, as a thousand party news- papers and stump-speakers had said about the same things of him, he saw no reason t¢ doubt that they were substantially true. Yankee Ostriches Tin INTY-THREE years have elapsed nee the first American ostrich farm was ried. There are to-day 2200 of the birds in the United State g, of which 1510 are in Arizona, the remainder being in Califorr ] ‘ret y ra and Ar Mor , i ~ them are the iv of a r, mated in Arizona in ISO. the last five years there has been a great boom in ostrich f ners. This country is one of the largest consumers of the product, and every year we import nearly 82,500,000 we rth of the raw or “unmanufactured”’ article. Nevertheless, the American plumes are at least as good as the African, and there is no reason why ostrich fa hould not be still further developed it rizona and California. Ostriches will thrive all over the Southern States, though the Salt River Valley in Arizona is regarded as the best location for the industry, its climate being favorable, with plentiful su up yplies of green alfalfa all the year aroun July 7, 1906 Schools and Colleges The Greatest Boarding College in the World University of Notre Dame Notre Dame, Indiana 15 Groups of Studies Leading to Degrees 18 Buildings, 75 Professors, 800 Students Special Department for Boys under Thirteen Send 10-cents in stamps for Catalogue Address President of the University, Box 121, Notre Dame, ne. | The South's Ideal College~Preparatory Home School Georgia Military Academy | ,j College Park Suburb of Atlanta , Ga 4, » | . } f . J ‘5 COL. J.C. WOODWARD, A.M KIMBALL HALL American *2:"" he Leading School Conservatory Music and Oratory i Unrivaied free ad vantages f J OHN J. HATTSTAEDT, Pres’t Northwestern University Dental School “Petts Gpectesaeegpeortin i | Begins Oct | Address Secretary, 86 N.W. University Bidg., Chicago, Ill. Chattanooga College of Law MAJOR R. EVANS attanooga, T Lindenwood College for Women. St. Charles, Mo. 1831-1906, Acade S ( eve ¢ ‘ MI } cut \ I> ! cates ' . ihe , Electric cars to St. Louis. ( Rev. GEORGE FREDERIC AYRES, Ph. D., President RAs WHAT SCHOOL WE CAN HELP YOU DECIDE AMERICAN SCHOOL & COLLEGE = NCY 1050" bune Bl ( icago Cazenovia Seminary F. D. BLAKESLEE, D. D., Lit. D., Box 908, Cazenovia, N.Y MADE OF LINEN 15¢ For2z5¢ EXER-KETCH ust outand the} fthe year” Exer-Ketch Novelty Co PATENTS ee WM. H. BABCOCK, WASHINGTON, D. ¢ 907 State Life Bidg., Ind ianapolis, Ind

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ALLEN VOSHELL, Lutherville, Maryland Pony Outfits for Boys What boy has not dreamed of owning a Shetland pony rig? Heretofore, when wide-awake, you may not have dared to expect your pony dream to come true; but voz any boy may cherish a lively hope of having a real swell pony outfit, if he sells THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Blooded Shetland Pony From July to October, inclusive, we are going to give | drive, vet full of lite and a goo | | a Shetland pony each month, with cart and harness com- plete, to one boy who sells the magazine. You can Michie ng ein Co. The outht is worth S1¢ have one of them. Each pony, sate for a boy to Kach winner can have that amount in cash it he preter pon . . ~~ r “= City Boys vs. Boys in Small Towns We have arranged a way of scoring so that each boy’s | which AllenVoshell,ot Lutherville( pop.66 2 Lae irvland, opportunity ts balanced nicely with those of other boys. | winner of the May pony outfit, and "es re ckinsot | ; , Boys in small towns have just as good a chance as boys in Hanna( pop. 172),Wvoming, were “tie” as to number of large cities. This was shown dur ‘ing the first offer, in | ree aa ie nie okane Birmingham, Ala a meter a singel ee Now Any boy who sells the magazi may [ pony write at once; ask us to send you d tails, together with ten free « soft xt mailed to you entirely without charge. These vou can sell at fis us ea supply at the wholesale price. € Full information will go with t magazines Pony outfit, and another booklet, *‘ Bovs Who Make Money,’ $250.00 in Cash as extra prizes for boys who do good work next month THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, 836 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa. | traveler. Both Cart 1 | and harness made especially to fit your pony by the

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THE TRAVELERS | TRUST is laid in stomach comfort and_ satisfaction when he starts out with a good supply of TRISCUIT, the shredded whole wheat wafer. Steam-cooked, ready-to-eat, wholesome and_ nutritious, it is_ the ready reliance of the traveler on land or on sea, the camper, the hunter, the fisherman, the light housekeeper, the dweller in “flats” or apartments. TRISCUITT contains all the muscle-building, streneth-giving elements of the whole wheat in concentrated form. A crisp and tasty “snack” for the days when ordinary food palls on the palate, when the daintiest dish fails to whet the appetite. Summer days are TRISCUIT days—full of strength and buoyancy in the most. enervating climates. TRISCUITT is served on nearly every ship that sails the seas—a_ convincing proof of its wholesomeness and digestibility. If you like Shredded Wheat Biscuit for breakfast you will like TRISCUITT as a ‘Toast for luncheon or for anv meal as a substitute for white flour bread. It is ten times more nourishing than white Hour bread or white flour crackers. Being crisp, it induces thorough mastication, which 1s the first process In digestion. TRISCUIT should always be thoroughly warmed in oven to restore crispness. It is usedas a Toast with butter, cheese, mar- malade or beverages. Made by THE NATURAL FOOD CO. Manufacturers of Shredded Wheat Products n the Shreds- Niagara Falls, New York