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of figures to show that there is a law which governs even the actions of the hold up man and relates him to every other living thing upon the earth.

There are many other facts that students have learned while policemen were wielding their brutal clubs.

The number of homeless girls who patrol the streets of our large cities grows greater, they walk more briskly and waste less time negotiating with the prospective customer as the nights grow long and coldto most people this is an accident like all other things on earth. There are those who know that the rooms where these girls sleep are poor, that they are not all heated with steam, that most of them are cold, and that to say nothing of food, these wanderers must do something to keep

There are other facts, too, which the "crank" and sentimentalist has found out. Our jails and police stations are fuller in winter than in summer. “The Salvation Army" and other bodies of evangelists who have warm rooms and nice bowls of hot soup make many more converts in winter than in summer. The winter “Christian” is known to all who do this sort of work. Our poor houses, wood yards, orphan asylums, and even art galleries and public reading rooms are well patronized in winter. This last would teach some profound thinkers that cold weather conduces to literature and art. Pawn shops and second hand furniture men get better bargains in winter than in summer-but still what of it?do not lawyers, doctors, policemen and clergymen all say that the panacea for all ills is the policeman's club?

There are other facts which dreamers and visionists are wont to note—those people have so little to do with the practical side of life that they must needs dream. In good times tramps are scarce, jails are empty, criminal courts not over busy, street walkers few, hold up men very rare.

The early winter is the time that frugal men and frugal beasts lay up their stores for the cold days and nights coming on. The thrifty mine owners lay in their stocks by marking up the price of the coal which the Lord placed in the earth long ages since; the lawyer and merchant telephones his dealer to put twenty tons of coal in his cellar to feed his furnace through the winter months—the poor seamstress works farther into the black night to buy a few bushels to keep her fingers from growing stiff. Old, bent, haggard women take huge sacks upon their shoulders and wander up and down the railroad tracks for the stray lumps that may drive away a portion of the frost, and lean, dirty, little boys pull their carts through the streets and sweep up what the rich man leaves, and the hold up man, he, too, goes out to lay in his winter stock against the ice and cold.

The hold up men are not the ones who mark up the price of coal and gas and beef-these would take no such chances as fall to the lot of the hold up man. The hold up man comes from the home of the wretched and the poor—who think you is this hold up man—was he born this way? if so, don't fire as you meet him on the street but turn your gun on God Almighty who made him as he is. But he was not born-he was made—he might have been an unsuccessful merchant who could not compete with the department store-or a railroad man whose name is on the black list because he dared to strike. He grew more and more desperate year after

year until he became a “hold up man." It is fifty years since the great philosopher and historian Buckle gave his monumental work to the world. In this work he showed not alone by reason and logic, but by statistics covering long periods of time, that the suicides, the defalcations, and the crimes of all kinds increased and decreased in England, and have for years, exactly as the price of bread went up and down. This was not new when Buckle wrote it down, it was known before and has been shown by almost every good economist since then.

There are many other facts that cranks often cite. Australia was settled by exported criminals, but they went to a country where land was cheap and opportunity great, and became industrious, hard-working men, the next generation became respected, high-toned citizens. Take a thousand of our low-class crooks and a thousand of our commonest prostitutes, and put them on an island where land is cheap and opportunity great, and in the third generation their descendants will be civilized, wellmannered citizens, with houses and barns, books and pictures, churches, policemen and jails.

The hold up man of to-day is the same man who lurked around the mansions of the rich in Rome 1500 years ago. He was sent to jail, but he battered away at the civilization of Rome until the rich and poor went down in common ruin and despair. He is the same hold up man that Louis XV and Louis XVI were wont to club and kill in France a hundred years ago, but one day all the disinherited hold up men crept out from the alleys and caverns and marched on the king's palace and took possession of the state. Then these men made the rules of the game and the nobles and princes went into the back alleys and took the place of the hold up men, that is those who did not move to the catacombs.

Every increase in the price of coal makes "hold up men." Every time the price of meat goes up, some women go upon the streets, and some men get burglars' tools. Every extortionate penny taken by the gas trust makes hold up men. In their last analysis these despised criminals are men whom our social system has frozen out—who cannot live-who have no place upon the earth. Even the prostitute who plies her trade for the love of the trade, and the criminal who loves crime (if any such there be) have come to their present place through years of misfortune or hard environment, and would surely disappear under fairer conditions and with anything like a decent chance. patent rights to be worth a third of the business, and Sid was to have his share of the profits.

The rescue missions save many girls from prostitute lives but they only make room for some other girl whom society is starving and freezing until she takes her place. So you may kill all the hold up men, but back of these are a long line of other men standing on the border, waiting for a chance to take their place.

Chicago is fairly well to do for jails and lock-ups. We have just built a fine, large addition to our county jail—the building has steam heat and electr lights and many boarders are found therein-especially in winter time, but has crime decreased as the jail increased in size? No one seems to expect this—it is taken for granted that this will grow as fast as any other institution of the town. If a pestilence of typhoid fever should break out in town the wise, humane doctors would advise us to build more hospitals—the cranks and visionists would tell us to boil the drinking water and stop the scourge. Thank God, the practical man has always ruled the world—with clubs !

With a small handful of men controlling all the earth and every opportunity for life, and the great mass forced into hopeless want, it will take more jails, policemen and clubs to keep the disinherited at bay. There is one way and only one to treat the hold up men—feed them, or rather let them feed themselves.

But more grim and farcical still than the senseless talk about the hold up man is one other fact. Chicago has hundreds of Christian churches—we are a Christian people. It is nineteen hundred years since Christ's teachings were given to the world—we profess to be the disciples of that lowly man who believed in no jails or clubs—who taught infinite love and infinite mercy—who said if a man asked for your coat, give him also your hat—and yet to-day we know nothing better than hatred, repression, brute force, jails and clubs. We single out a considerable class of our fellow men to shoot on sight. Of course, the world will continue to treat its so-called criminals in this enlightened human way, therefore would it not be well to rechristen our churches, and stop calling them after Christ?

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AMES BARTON, Tom's father, was a business man of

the old school. He delivered the kind of goods he
sold and he sold the best. Furthermore, he never took
an "unfair advantage" of anybody, and his word was
"as good as his bond.”

For nearly thirty years Mr. Barton had been the “most prominent citizen" in Lucasville. He felt a pardonable pride when the factory was enlarged and the little real estate company and the town bankere were forced to put up several rows of new cottages to accommodate the new men who brought their families when they came to work for the factory people. The grocers began to employ new clerks and the village gradually assumed an air of busy industry that delighted Mr. Barton's heart.

The county papers spoke of him as a public benefactor and for many years he was the largest contributor toward the salary of the pastor of the First Congregational Church.

This is the story of his rise. When Tom was a very little shaver and Tom's mother was the neatest and prettiest young wife in the whole state, Jim Barton made the acquaintance of a silent chap who worked near him in the molding rooms. The acquaintance ripened into friendship and when the whistle blew at noon, it came to be the thing for Jim Barton and Sid Mathews to sit outside in the cool and eat their lunch together. Sid's original ideas upon machinery interested Jim, so it came about that when Sid fell upon a bright idea, he wandered over to the cottage to tell Jim Barton about it.

Secretly Sid planned and schemed and experimented over the biggest thing of all, and when at last his patterns were perfected, the gear ran flawlessly and he rejoiced in the thing he had wrought, Sid sought Jim Barton to tell him the good news.

Although Jim Barton was no mechanical genius, he became so enthusiastic over Sid's invention that he sold off the timber from his land and went to manufacturing at once. They estimated Sid's

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They prospered amazingly. Jim managed the business and Sid puttered around the molding rooms. Occasionally he invented another device—a simpler lever, or a cheaper attachment. These, with his Mathews' Valve patents, he turned over to the company.

Jim Barton was the kindest boss that ever ruled in old Missouri. He loved his men and it was a saying with him “if you make a workingman contented, he'll die for you.” The men rarely left his employ.

In '93, during the panic, when the company (of course, it was a stock company by that time) ran very close to the danger line, Jim Barton had a heart-to-heart talk with his men. He hated to do it, he told them, but he would have to cut wages 25 per cent or lay off a part of the force. Voluntarily he cut his own salary 25 per cent at the same time. And they tell me, not one of the men would have gone out for even better pay that winter. Nearly every one of them could tell, with a clutch at his heart, of some time of illness or trouble in his little home, when old Jim Barton had knocked at the door and given them a lift over the bad place.

So there was much joy in Jim Barton's life and he went proudly and serenely on his way. Tom went to college, of course, and the first real blow Jim ever had was when Tom decided to go to work for the Harvester Trust. Tom said his father's business methods were out of date.

The next year the orders came more slowly, for the competitors of Barton, Mathews & Co. slashed prices savagely and houses that were willing to pay for the "very best” dwindled about forty per cent.

Mathews had been permanently crippled the year before while experimenting on a new wrinkle in the Mathews Self-Regulator. Nobody knew how he tripped over a wire into the white iron, ready for the molds. Sid's salary went on just the same, but thereafter Jim Barton had to make the fight alone.

Often at night, when his wife lay sleeping, Jim Barton would slip on his bath robe and slippers and steal into the sitting-room and try to figure it out. He worked over the Cost Price. Again and again he figured it over. He could not put out an inferior "grade of make." He simply couldn't. It made the old man groan at the mere thought. "Barton & Mathews' grade has always been the best, and it must keep on," he would say to himself.

Then he would sharpen his pencil and look over the Pay Roll. To be sure there was Sid Mathews still getting his $3,000 a year, but

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