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Show j TIhs OthF Qieelk Qrmt- tTP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP ITT CP 1771 CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP trp CP C773 trp CP CP CP CTl CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP TP CP TT3 CP CP CP CP CP CP CPP CP TP CP CP CP CP CP TP TT3 CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP (TP (CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP CP n trp trp CP CP cttj 73 c3 cp CP ' A j j HIS is the age of QPy I welfare work. Rich cJf ' I ' I corporations chare ( I ' " their profits with S J their help, furnish 'V AT""5j7 them costly grounds I Sr on which to grow to regain health when they "go large" or sprain a foot; rich corporations cut down working hours, raise wages, provide pro-vide rest rooms, furnish libraries and build gymnasiums and Y. M. C. A. barracks. bar-racks. And then these rich corporations, as though ashamed that they have been unbusinesslike un-businesslike in being human and humane, explain that healthy and well-paid employes em-ployes do more and better work. They give largesse and dedicate it in the name of efficiency. Time was, and not so long ago, when business meant getting as much as possible pos-sible for as little as possible. Real estate es-tate wasn't as valuable then as now, but It was distributed in stingier measure. Windows were placed where they had to be. No one thought to put in lighting and ventilation systems. Why should they? Those things cost money and brought back nothing. Now millionaires take pride in providing pro-viding sanitary and decent conditions. But in the old days there was a whiskered hypocrite who owned a wholesale merchandising mer-chandising establishment that he operated oper-ated on the old plan get 'em young, work 'em hard, throw 'em out, get new ones. He contributed to his church, to his political party and to his family. But in business he was a martinet, a tyrant and a leech. He didn't know it he never knew, who was coming and who ' was going in the many departments but he had working for him a youth who had to take what he could get in order that he and his mother might live. It was Bob, a youngster of about 16. Bob arose each morning at 6, ate his meager breakfast, kissed his mother, took the newspaper-wi-apped package of lunch under him arm, and walked two miles to the dungeon where he was due at 7:30, to slave there every moment of that day until 6, except for half an hour iD which to munch the dry sandwiches in a corner of the stockroom. Old Dan Milligan, who owned the concern, con-cern, came frequently, but never noticed anything in Bob that was different from what he saw in any of the other youths who put in the same hours and the same miseries. Milligan had long ago put down all boys of that age whom he drove and broke as recalcitrant young anarchists who would sooner kid with one another and loaf behind his back than do an honest day's toil for what he chose to fling them at the week-end. He had three sons of his own, off at col-x col-x lege. Them he regarded as fine lads they were different; they were not to be compared or thought of in the same light as these ragamuffins, these scuma of the slums, these sons of the cattle and the rabble who were born to put silk on the wifo and children of a Milligan. So, except for an occasional snarl an impersonal growl at Bob, Milligan never noticed him or bothered much with him. But Bob, as uncomplaining and as silent si-lent as he was, couldn't help thinking. He was not a son of the cattle and the rabble. He was the son of a gentleman, -a man who had had more than Old Man Milligan ever would have, and who had been a gentleman then, in wealth, as he had died one, a short time before this story began, In poverty. Bob's father had planned to make the boy a lawyer or a physician or an architect archi-tect or something else in a learned line, whichever he leaned to. Financial col-lapse col-lapse changed these plans, and Bob went to the streets to sell newspapers in time. Then the father died and Bob left 6chool forever and answered advertisements advertise-ments in search of a job. In and out of Milligan's warehouse there were always streams, and Bob filed in with the in-going stream and was given a number and a spot where he would stand and check off arriving freight per bills of lading. Six dollars a week was not very handsome. hand-some. But he took it; and he earned it. He didn't take it to tide him over. There was nothing better in sight, He seemed sentenced to hew his way up through the obscurity and the competition right about him if he hoped ever to get anywhere. And, since the manager of his department depart-ment drew $12 a week and had been under un-der Milligan for nine years, the prospects were not glorious. Tet Bob gave his best. He was always al-ways on time the tape in the time-clock showed that. He made few errors the fact that he still retained his arms and legs showed that, for his foreman was a boy-eating demon who new into passionate passion-ate tempers and who struck around him with the first chair or stick he could grasp when anyone erred. The work in that department never stopped during the day hours. The freight kept coming in incessantly. Therefore, Bob was told to take his luncheon half-hour half-hour at the end of the noon period, instead in-stead of at the beginning, while another boy took his place. Promptly at 12 the bell rang. Then all dropped their labors and were "off" until 12:30, except Bob, who kept right ahead, and who was free when the 12:30 bell rang, until 1. That was how it came about that Old Man Milligan, sweeping with cagy eye the receiving department at something like 12:50 one day, saw someone behind a packing-case, strode across the room, peered around the edge, discovered Bob munching his humble repast. The red flew to the cheeks of Old Man Milligan. He reached down, knocked the remnants of the lunch out of Bob's hands, jumped in fury on the piece of cake so tenderly and lovingly prepared by Bob's mother, and shrieked: "What's the meaning of this, you loafer? Is this what I pay you my good money for? Sneaking back here and eating on ray time, eh?" "W-why, no sir I was told " "Who told you? Told you what?" Milligan had long ago put down all boys of thai age whom he drove and broke as recalcitrant young anarchists who would sooner soon-er kid with one another and loaf behind hi& back than do an honest day's toil for what he chose to fling them at wee-ends. shrieked Milligan. "See that clock? Did you hear the bell?" "This is my lunch time," Bob timidly Interposed. "Who fixes the lunch time here, yu or T? Who owns this place? Lunch ' time is between 12 and half past 12 and i it's long enough for you lazy bums. In here all you think of all day is lunch and going home. Now 3rou're fined a dollar for this. What's your number?" Bob hesitated. "What's your number?" cried Milligan. Milli-gan. i ii it ii i) ii innnnni-jLjnnnnnnnnr Bob told him reluctantly, with the tears fighting for air, he stammered out his number. Milligan swept around and tore for the cashier's desk, and gave brief and curt orders to "dock" Bob a dollar. The cashier might have explained; but he had learned not to volunteer objections to Milligan's orders. The foreman, who had heard, might have interfered; but he had ' learned not to be right when Milligan was angry and wrong. So, on the following pay day Bob got $5 instead of $6. The lost dollar was sorely sore-ly missed at home. Bob told his mother he had been deprived of it through a mistake; he didn't want her to know how hard things were, for he knew how bitterly bit-terly she deplorted the character of his work and the needs that pressed it on him. Similar scenes took place several times. Each time Bob was scolded, sworn at,' cheated, punished for doing as he had been ordered to do. No one protected nnnrnnni ii ii ii ii ir ii ii ir n n ,, i him; no one judiciously could. He wasn't the only one who suffered that way. It was a general condition that went with working for Milligan and those who wouldn't or couldn't put up with it were at liberty to get their "time," which was apportioned by the hour, and quit. But finally the upshot of one of Milligan's Milli-gan's explosions was that Bob was ig-nominiously ig-nominiously fired. The foreman had sent him across the street to buy him a plug of tobacco. Had Bob refused to go he would have been discharged by the foreman. fore-man. Milligan met him coming in. He leaped at him and demanded to know what the boy was doing outside the building in working hours on his time. Bob tried to explain, but before ho could utter a word Old Man Milligan, dancing danc-ing up and down in his wrath, all but struck him as he screamed: "Get out of here. You're the worst boy in this whole building full of no-good young thieves who steal my honest time and take my honest money for it. Get out before I have you thrown out In the alley, you young crook." And he motioned mo-tioned the foreman to have Bob paid off. Bob got his dimes and quarters and -- walked home. He was now 18. He was . jio baby. He had endured the unreasonable unreason-able circumstances because he was poor and because his mother depended on him and he couldn't take any chances. But now that he had been kicked out he would be careful not to saddle himself that way again. He would look about. Money was scarce at home, but they would go into debt if need be. He had learned that he must do something where there was something that could be done where there wal a chance where there was a future. , HE SEARCHED for a few days. And it so happened that in one place where , he applied the vacancy had been filled, but Bob impressed the man who had advertised. adver-tised. That man, it so chanced, had a brother who . was the editor of a newspaper. news-paper. And he gave Bob a letter to his brother, recommending him as an apparently ap-parently exceptional young man. Twenty-four hours later Bob was a cub reporter, assigned to a suburban police po-lice beat. He made good. He advanced from one post to another until, within a few years, he was city editor of the paper, pa-per, a man of influence and standing in his profession, affectionately regarded by the editor and a favorite with his men. He now had many reporters working under him. And his news judgment was quick and sound. He always prided himself him-self on his Impartiality. He had no per- ' sonal prejudices news was weighed as news. And that is the gospel of every orderly-minded journalist. Therefore, when a reporter brought in a scandal in the family of Old Man Milligan, Milli-gan, Bob determined that it would be treated as it deserved nothing more or less. One of Milligan's superior sons had engaged in a fight at the door of a saloon I Wl IUI II II II llll 1 llJU where he had been refused admission after the closing hour, and had struck . the doorman with a caue, blinding him. It was a good story. The Milligans were" rich, the cafe was notorious, the miscreant mis-creant was the graduate of a toppy college, col-lege, he was reliably reported to have been intoxicated when he did the violence vio-lence it was a story that any newspaper , might have "played" conspicuously. . , . And Bob had so ordered, when a card was brought to him. It was Old Alan Milligan's. Bob' told the boy to arit. him. The father, hat in hand, enteret and began to plea 3 that the story be suppressed. ' He did cot recognize Bob. Bob listened politely. "I owe a duty to this newspaper, Mr. Milligan," he said at last. "This episode has taken place. I feel It my duty to publish the facts." "But the boy was tipsy he had taken a little too much at a fraternity banquet," ban-quet," pleaded Milligan. "I'll settle with the miserable bum that he hurt if he did really hurt him; you know, I don't believe it. That kind of vermin always blackmail rich men when an opportunity like this comes. You know how it is, sir. He insulted my son, who Is accustomed ac-customed to being addressed as a gentleman, gentle-man, and my son struck him. For that is he to be paraded before a couple of million people as a rowdy?" Bob almost smiled. "I'll tell you what I'll do," said he. "I'll see that your side is fairly presented in the story. But I must print the news." Old Man Milligan leaned forward. "It's worth a nice little er h'm present to you if you " Bob didn't get angry. He smiled all the way, this time. , "The only present you can make me, Mr. Milligan," said he, "Is to pay me the dollar that you owe me the dollar you docked me for eating lunch at the time I was told to eat it In your receiving-room. receiving-room. I'll take that, now or at any tirNa that you want to pay it." Milligan shot him a look. And in that moment he remembered the lad against whom he had fumed and raged, i whom, he had robbed of a dollar that in those days represented a day's sustenance for two. "My dear sir," said the rich man. "I remember you now. I hope you won't hold that against me. My temper flew up that day you know how those things are. You won't hold that against ma now in my hour of sorrow." "Indeed I won't," said Bob. "Thanks," said Milligan, hopefully. "I'll see that it isn't mentioned in the story nothing except that your son maimed the bouncer of a dive in a fit of drunken rowdyism. You see, I'm not revengeful. And to show you that I recognize your superior social claims, I'll see that it gets on page 1. Look out, sir the hot coals are burning your skull." Copyright, 1917, by J. Kceley |