but the gates were always thronged with men and boys with the same hope in mind. Elemental men they were, elbowing each other with oaths and blows every one determined to secure an opening. Whenever the foreman appeared at the gates, the swaying mass of hungry and jobless men struggled forward like dogs fighting for a bone. John managed one morning to be very near the gate. The foreman said the packing companies were still laying off, instead of taking on, new men. And John wasted no time there after that. Miles and miles he walked on the coldest days, only to learn that the factory doors were closed or to find another group of men clamoring for a single job. But there was no work. And every night he walked long miles through the snow or rain back to the little room in the basement. They had been obliged to give up the big room and to move the beds, along with the stove, into the kitchen. It was very crowded but they were able to keep warm. John managed to keep a little fire in the stove. Coming home by way of the railroad when he had been out looking for a job, he always contrived to pick up half a basket of coal lying along the tracks. And sometimes when a carload had been run in on the switch, and there was nobody to see, he returned with a larger load than usual. John paid two months' rent. Very little did the family possess that would cause Old Moses to loosen up, but John's silver watch that had been his father's, his overcoat and the patent rocking-chair helped a long way. The third month the agent from whom they rented promised to wait a few days for his money. Nearly every man in the Dump was out of a job and the Walters family had been good pay for two years. Besides there was no use evicting them unless he could rent the room to somebody else. And men who had work were not moving. So John renewed his efforts, till the new bar-keeper at Mike's Saloon, who had proven himself a good friend, complained because John always came around late to sweep. For a month he had been paying him a dollar a week for scrubbing out. Sometimes there was some of the grub left from the lunch counter, or scraps from the kitchen that John was very glad to take home. In this way he was able to pull the family through December and January. Had it not been that Jennie was ailing and the children recovering from the whooping cough, he might have found his opportunity. But gradually Jennie grew weaker and the time of her confinement drew near. Perhaps you understand that John Walters was not altogether a stupid man in spite of the fact that he could read a very little. During those cold months when the holes in the children's shoes and in his own boots as well grew larger and larger, when there was nothing with which to replace the worn-out clothes and only misery and disappointment to think on, he warmed the one small room and held his thoughts to himself. He was a tender nurse to Jennie, in spite of the harsh words that often broke from him in his misery and there was always something for supper on the table. But the fourth month of his idleness brought the agent's threat of eviction. They were to be put out if the rent was not paid. He told Walters himself that he would not wait a day beyond the Saturday. The installment people were also clamoring and promised to remove the bed if their money was not forthcoming. John disliked to go far from the house now, fearing the agent or the installment people might take action during his absence. And he scrubbed out down at Mike's with one eye on the Dump and the other on his mop. On Friday he went to talk with his agent. He was going that very day he said, to seek work or help from the charity people. He was surprised to see that this made no impression on the agent, for he did not believe the Association would refuse to help him for the sake of the little ones. He told Jennie of his plan, for he was enthusiastic and thought that, with a little lift now over a bad place, he would find a job again and things would be as before. He was sorry, he said, for the harsh words he had grown used to saying to Jennie, in his worry and helplessness. At such times some men live in the saloons, he told her, but he had never spent money on beer since he lost his job. It was as good as seeing him ready for the park on a holiday when he went away, and Jennie went feebly to the door to smile upon him. She was sure it would be all right now. Up to this time they had been the only family on Wilson street that had not paid a visit to the Association. But she forgot her pride and worry in the new hope of relief. She wondered that John had not thought of this way before. The man to whom John talked at the Charity organization said he was surprised to see a big, strong man coming there to ask for AID. And he asked John Walters if he was not ashamed of himself. John said he was. He said he didn't know what sort of a place he was coming to. He had thought charity bureaus were organized to help folks in trouble. He didn't suppose they wanted to kick a man who was down. Then he told the registrar how long he had been looking for work and asked if they could give him a job. He said that was what he wanted more than all the charity in the world and that if he had a steady place he would never ask anybody to help him. The Charity Worker said he was sorry but they had over three hundred applicants for every job on their lists. He said he would send John out to the Charity Wood Yard to saw for 50 cents a day. But he could only promise to allow him to work three days because other men waited their turn to earn something. John said he would be glad to go. So the next morning he walked two miles to the Wood Yard and sawed from 7 a. m. till 6 o'clock in the evening for 50 cents worth of provisions. He returned the following day to work in the rain and the next morning he was too ill to face the exposure. Besides there was no coal in the room and the thing everybody needed most just then was a fire. The yards seemed to be deserted and John helped himself freely from a loaded car standing on the switch, and nobody saw. Then he hurried down to Mike's. He meant to beg for the job scrubbing out again, but Mike had put his nephew in the place. When John heard this, he leaned against the bar and his face grew pale. This was the last prop and now it was gone. There was nothing left to stand on. There was no opening on any side. As he walked home the numb feeling of helplessness passed away and a rebellious heat grew up in his breast. A determined look came into his eyes. threw up his head and squared his shoulders, for he was weary of creaping, and begging, of cringing and asking favors. He was tired of it all, very tired, and he meant to be a suppliant no longer. He would take what he needed. He might take more than he needed. Just now he felt as though he could seize all the wealth of the world in his two great hands. He He kissed Jennie very tenderly when he reached home, for he knew he had reached a turn in the road. Then he built a fire and set the pot of mush on the stove. He thought he knew one way of getting money-and money he must have and he made up his mind to risk it. So after Jennie and the children had fallen asleep John turned the lamp low and slipped softly from the house. He walked briskly northward till he reached a fashionable quarter, keeping to the dark sides of the streets, and in his right hand, wrapped in a piece of brown paper, he carried the stove poker. If his victim became troublesome, he might have to give him a crack over the head. Up and down; up and down he walked, looking over the ground; investigating alleys, with a sharp watch all the time for a strav policeman. He grew cold and his legs trembled, for he had eaten nothing since breakfast. But he waited patiently in the shadows. At last a well-dressed man hurried across the street and passed directly in front of Walters in his hiding-place. John hesitated no longer. Two or three quick, soft steps, his arm flew out and the poker fell. The man dropped very quietly and John slipped his shaking fingers into first one pocket and then another. Suddenly he saw a faint shadow up the street and he was off. At last he paused to look at the coins he carried in his hand. Fifteen cents was all that his despair and this dirty work had brought him! And perhaps the poor fellow he had struck would never move again. Fifteen cents! It was beastly! He was overcome with nausea and leaned against the lamp-post, choking back the sobs. He wondered how it would all end and wished that it was over. Walking dully back home, he passed the old shack where the Mahoneys lived. Some people were very lucky, he thought, for since Tom had skipped out and the twins were born, the charity societies were bringing something there every day. Then there was Donati's wife. She had been ailing a long time and the charity people were holding her up too since Tony deserted her. And here was he getting the worst of every turn, a better man for working and taking care of the kids than Mahoney or Donati dared claim to be. He remembered the man at the Charity organization had told him they had not money enough to help folks with strong, healthy men in their families. Slowly a new idea began to permeate John's brain. Perhaps if he, too, deserted his wife the charity people would take care of her and feed the children while she was sick. He turned the matter over and over in his mind. Now that the agent had threatened to put them out and the installment people would be sending for the furniture, he was totally unable to cope with the situation, without money and without work. It was worth trying anyway for he did not see how his absence could make matters any worse. He talked the scheme over with Jennie in the morning and together they composed a letter, which John mailed to the Association, in which Jennie stated that her husband had run away and left her and the children. She said she was ill and without money and emphasized the notice of eviction they had received from the agent. The next day John saw little William return from the office of the charity organization with a basket of groceries on his arm, and learned that the agent had agreed to compromise on half the rent for that month, which the charity worker had paid. Then he sneaked over to the little room in the basement to say good-bye to Jennie in the dark. "Them charity people ain't bad, dearie," he said, "but they'd be doin' a hell-of-a-lot more good if they'd get jobssteady jobs-for people that needs 'em." Then he kissed her and the three little tow-heads and slipped down to the switch-yards. For it had been rumored in The Alley that the lumber mills in Grand Rapids would reopen on the tenth, when they would need five hundred hands. And John meant to get that job. MARY E. MARCY. Dedicated to the Radical Women of the Socialist Party. Out! O My Sisters in Bondage! 1. Out from the cloister recesses, Where moulder heredities' claims: Out from the passions' excesses With the clank of its rust-eaten chains; Out from base toil with its discord, Out! O my sisters in bondage— 2. Out from the wisdom of sages, That sit with free banners unfurled, Out! O my sisters in bondage Out into the heart of the world! |