On arriving at the office I perceived signs that this is my last week here. I have criticised freely the whole system. Some one has certainly reported me. No work has been given me for the last few days. When they sent me anywhere it was only a pretence. As a matter of fact the re-investigation of Mrs. Erikson was also given to the "Terror." I will try to read her report.
I passed my forenoon near Cram's desk, in the basement. Cram is in excellent spirits to-day, and though very gross in his remarks he is not so brutal as usual. He cheers them up when they come to his desk.
"Hello, mother, what's the trouble? Come, come, don't cry—don't cry—it will be all right. Go home, we will attend to that."
For one extreme case of starvation he even recommended immediate relief. It's strange how the whole basement looks more cheerful. Why, even the sun has put in an appearance—hesitatingly, of course. He doubts whether He is wanted. Some broken rays play on the desk andon the face of some woman. When Cram is well disposed even the sun rejoices.
Most of the time was taken up by a stranded German actor and his wife. They were so elegantly dressed that we thought at first they were visitors, and Cram got up and politely asked them their wishes. The man speaks a broken English. He said they were actors and had been influenced to come from Germany on a bogus contract. They put up at a hotel and are now in debt there. Their baggage has been seized, they have no money, etc., etc. Cram offered them chairs and attended to them immediately. He put himself into communication with the Manager and with the Employment Office. Some one was sent to look for a furnished room, and another man was sent to the hotel to take out their baggage. Meanwhile the staff all came down to look at the unusual customers. They all respect and admire actors. Mrs. H. was exceedingly polite and nice, and even invited them to lunch. Of course the change affected the whole office. Every one spoke about them. Sam asked whether they were "real" actors. Only the "Terror" was suspicious. When they departed Cram shook hands with them and expressed his wish that they would soon be out of difficulty.
"Do not lose heart," he told the woman. "Such things might happen to any of us. Braceup, brace up." He was all smiles. I wonder what these people think of organised charity! The greatest blessing on earth, surely. If ever, in better times, they tell the story, they will emphasise everything. They were politely received, kindly treated, immediately helped, invited to lunch.
"Organised charity," they will say, "is the most beneficent thing of the century." All this because Cram was in good spirits to-day. If they had come yesterday, or if they were to come to-morrow, and find Cram in his usual humour. "An actor? You are an actor? And why don't you go to the actors? Who told you to put up at a hotel? Come to-morrow; we must investigate." They would have sat for hours and hours in the basement and heard how the others are treated. As it is, they are lucky people. Cram is in extremely good spirits to-day.
Meanwhile, all the others had to wait, but everything went smoothly. Most of the applications were accepted. Some were marked "urgent." The sun took courage and shone even brighter than before. "How sunny it is to-day," he said. Had this been so yesterday he would have turned round and questioned the sunbeams: "Where do you live? How old are you? How many children have you? What is your trade? You give light and warmth? You are a liar. Ihave never seen you here before. Go to your usual haunts. Tramp, vagabond, get out, get out of here." But to-day he is in good humour. What has happened? He asked my opinion several times, when dealing with a new case. He must have a beautiful voice. While studying an application he sang,mezza voce, the aria from Pagliacci. Why Pagliacci? I fancy because of the stranded actors. I told him to cultivate his God-given gift. He answered:
"Why? Can't I speak to the rabble with an uncultured voice?"
"But this is not the be all and end all of your life?"
"I am too poor for anything. Voice culture costs money."
How ridiculous it all sounded. I am sure from the way he comports himself with the applicants they think him a millionaire and that the money given comes from his pocket. Still, I was glad to hear him speak about his poverty. I tried to speak to him about the roughness of the investigators, but he is a closed book as to that.
"Severity is needed."
I was afraid to continue the conversation lest his good humour evaporate, so I changed the subject. All he wanted to talk about was women. Had the sun anything to do with that? The cashier, his sweetheart, came down to see him onbusiness. A pretence. She teased him about the actor's wife and he let it go as if there was something in it.
"I invited her to lunch, you know," he said. What a liar. Mrs. H. invited them both, the actor and his wife.
I am going to see the Manager. It's settled. I am weary and worn. But I won't go until I have told him all I think of this rotten place.
Finished. The whole thing has weighed so heavily on me. All interest in the work has gone. I have seen every form of misery the human mind could imagine. The facts merely repeat themselves. Hunger, degradation, insults, epilepsy. The investigators, the janitor, the policeman and Sam. From morning until night the same thing. I got to be callous. Well, people get trained to tolerate the most deadly poisons.
Thank God, my soul is not lost there. I cannot say that I come out unscathed. Oh, no. But I have retained my soul. Of all the different forms and institutions of charity which have come under my notice this is the worst place. Paris, London and Montreal are nothing to it. Of all the mills, here they grind the finest. I am leaving. Just going to finish the week. And I gave Sam a thrashing. I boxed his ears solidly and felt great pleasure in doing it. But this is not all. I did it in front of the applicants in the waiting room and finished it up thoroughly. Let me tell you how it happened.
About three weeks ago I was sent to investigate a case. Thoroughness was recommended. The address was in Sixty-sixth Street. Just as I entered the block a woman I had met casually at public meetings greeted me and asked whether I would not come up and have a glass of cold water. It was very warm and I did not refuse. I knew the woman but did not know her name and she did not know my present occupation. Great was my astonishment when we entered the very same house to which I was sent. It did not take long before I knew that she was the applicant.
I told her nothing, but inquired how she was getting along since her husband died. She told me that some relatives sent her money to open a grocery store and that a society in which her husband was an active member gave her a few hundred dollars. She intended to peddle with laces and curtains and perfumery. She even showed me a bill from a firm from whom she had bought merchandise to the value of one hundred and fifty dollars to start with. As she spoke her children came in, a girl of about ten and a boy of eleven. The children had never seen me before. They knew some one from the charities was expected. I divined it from their countenances that they expected to be questioned and had been schooled by the mother as to what to answer. I was right. When I asked the boy if he skated well, heanswered that he had no skates, though I saw them under the bed. The mother interrupted him: "Sure he skates. He is one of the best skaters in the block. Put them on, Himey." The boy looked at the mother understandingly, as though he would ask, Is this not the one? and the mother repeated with emphasis: "Put them on, Himey." Pride, mother pride, was getting hold of her. "You should see them eat after a run!" I sat in the house a long time and convinced myself that she did not need help from charity. Her life and the life of her children would be wrecked. She had money. Her children go to school all day. She is strong and young. In accepting help from charity she and her children will become pauperised. She will not be able to attend to her business. She will have to do it secretly. All things taken into consideration, she will be the loser. I wanted to tell her all that, explain to her the wrong she is inflicting on herself and her children, that she is selling her soul and the lives of her children to the devil. But I could not open my mouth. I had come as a visitor.
Then, I did not want her to know my occupation. Spy of Charity. She does not know why I do it. All I did was to encourage her, and I told her in a roundabout way not to allow anybody to patronise her. "Attend to your business like a man. Be a business lady. There is money inlace curtains and perfumery. Take a servant to attend to the house and the children and you go out for business." This is what I told her. I even advised her to put out a sign at the door.
"This I cannot do," she said.
"Why?"
"Because I can't—many reasons why."
So, I thought, you bit the bait. It set me wild. Another customer, another target for Sam, another prey for the "Terror." And the children will be taught to lie, to cry and whine and beg. They will not be allowed to laugh or play. Every piece of meat they eat will be weighed and controlled. No roller skates, no new clothes. "Charity kids." No.
I made out a report in which I told the whole situation. That the woman has money and is about to start in business and needed no charity. I also asked them to keep my report strictly confidential, because I got the details as a "friend," and not as an investigator. How was I to know that the lady president of a Sisterhood affiliated to the office had recommended this case? Naturally, when she saw that her protégée was turned down she came to the office and demanded an explanation. The Manager showed her my report. The lady declared that it was a tissue of lies, and promised to bring the applicant to the office and have her face me. When I entered theprivate room of the Manager he began excusing himself because he was compelled to put me in a rather unpleasant position. However, he must prove to the lady that "our investigation is a thorough one," therefore he must ask me to face the applicant. I told him I would not do it under any circumstances. As a matter of fact, I said, I had betrayed her confidence.
"I have promised and you must do it," he repeated.
"You should not have promised before asking me," I retorted hotly.
He disregarded my remark and called the president of the Sisterhood to the desk. He introduced me and said that I was going to prove the case.
"No, I will not, sir," I repeated. "I have told you that my report was strictly confidential."
The gentleman wanted to demonstrate his superior position, and ordered. I refused again, finished it off with telling them both all I thought about their work and tendered violently my resignation.
Coming from the office I saw Sam aiming a "greeting" at an old man who sat in a corner of the waiting room. I watched him doing it. No sooner was he through than I got hold of him, boxed his ears soundly and before any one had time to interfere I had turned up his head and spatupon him full in the face. It was a disgusting act, but a sweet revenge. I did it, then called out, "Feel how it tastes—you do it to every one."
Needless to say, the whole office was up in a second. There was a terrible uproar. I won the enmity of the whole bunch. I had hit Sam—the pet, the future Manager; Sam, the greatest of them all; debased him in front of the applicants. The Assistant Manager came out to investigate what the noise was about. And no one—no one, not even the old man who was the direct cause of it, whose face was still wet from Sam's spittle, no one wanted to tell on Sam.
"Look, old man, your face is yet full of spittle."
"You are mistaken, sir," he answered, "to beat a boy. Shame, shame."
Soon all the applicants looked angrily at me and many said: "Shame, shame." Not one man or woman would admit that they had seen him do it at other times. I almost cried with rage.
The assistant manager was very much upset and wondered that I should do such a thing. "It puts you in a dangerous position," he told me.
I laughed. "My work is done. I have resigned," I answered as I went away. It's the best thing that could have happened.
I had a fine day. But why did not that old man tell the truth. If he were younger— But it's all over now. I am happy. I had a fine day.
What I vaguely guessed and knew and feared, has happened. The Erikson woman did agree to part with her children. Not only that but she seems to look upon their acceptance by the institution as a great favour. The manager saw his chance and is making difficulties. Now the woman begs that her children be taken away and she will attend to herself. If it had not been only yesterday that she seemed so determined not to part with them I would think that prospective matrimony is the cause of her change of heart. The Little God is a mean fellow, and with his dart often poisons a heart; especially a mother's. But after all I know this is not the reason. The woman is too hungry to think of love. Nature is on her guard. She does not want hungry beings to procreate. What is more certain is that she can't stand hunger, can't see her children hungry, and has probably made up her mind that the children's health, life, is worth her unhappiness. There is yet another possibility. Some "Madame" may have learned her plight and influenced her to gothe easy way. She is not a beauty, but she is an attractive kind. Blonde, fleshy, round, healthy, a good reproducing animal. In normal circumstances she would be a nice mother of ten children and yet remain rosy and tempting. Under the tutelage of a "madame" she will "go it" for a few years and then finish on the Bowery or in Cuba in a "speak easy." A good many women have of late discovered that they have relatives in Cuba, have given their children to the asylum and have gone to seek their "rich relations." I know that some white slaver is after them. It is easy to get at the objects of charity. They are kept in one district.
However, she did not say that she was going to Cuba so there is no use thinking about it. She told me that she would work as a servant. She thinks she will be an excellent cook. She will sell her household goods (a second-hand dealer will not give her more than ten dollars for them all) and until she finds a place she will board with some kind neighbour. She seems certain that in a few years she will accumulate enough money to bring her children back home and start in some business. This is just why I am suspicious.
As she spoke to the investigator she abjectly degraded and accused herself for not having accepted what "that fine big gentleman" proposed to her.
"I have been a fool—with no brain in head," she continually repeated.
"No understan'—they want me good and children eatings every day. Please—please. No, I no more fool. Take children."
That change of heart in twenty-four hours, in a mother's heart, is due to something else than hunger. As a matter of fact she is not hungry now, neither are the children. There was too much animal life in them. They wanted to play. The mother did not look at them as she looked yesterday. She seemed to want to get rid of them, as though they were a hindrance. They are in her way—in her way to where? Servantdom cannot have had such promise for her as to make her part with the children. Hungry people look differently at their children. They feel themselves guilty when the children have no food, and are apt to look upon their greatest faults with condoning eyes. Mrs. Erikson was severe with them to-day. The children annoy her. She wants to get rid of them.
Although the arrangements were made telephonically in a few minutes, the Manager kept the mother and children waiting the whole day in the waiting room. I know from former experience that this is done in order to impress the woman with the difficulty of placing the children in an orphan home, and so that she will weighcarefully before she takes them out, in case the children complain.
As a rule it works to the satisfaction of the office. On Mrs. Erikson it was probably worked as a punishment also. She was told to come to-morrow.
The Manager told her that he was working very hard to get them placed. The mother was weary and anxious. The little girl wanted to catch a paper flying about the room. The mother ran after her and slapped the child. Yesterday she said she would not separate from them; to-day she slaps them. She wants to get rid of them. They are in her way. In her way to what?
It was very funny during lunch time. As a rule we all sit at one table. I usually sit near Cram. As I entered the lunchroom to-day the chairs were so placed that there was no room for me. They were all so busy eating, seemingly, that they did not notice me at all. The waitress, not knowing of my disgrace, brought a chair and tried to place it near Cram, but that worthy motioned her away.
"It's for the gentleman," she said, pointing at me, and Cram reluctantly gave in. Not a word during the meal. All ate very hurriedly. They even shortened their stay, did not take any coffee. Several times I tried to start a conversation, but apparently they did not hear. It angered and amused me. Bunch of brutes, I wanted to tellthem all what I thought of them and their work. Not to scoff or insult. I wanted to awaken in them human sentiments. I wanted to preach. I felt in me a power to move stone. But one look at their stony faces, and all desire for speech was gone. A frozen audience, an actor would say. Brutes, callous, hardened criminals. I sometimes think it's the revenge of fate. They rob the poor of self-respect, and are robbed in turn of the noble sentiment of pity. Even Pan would throw away his flute if he had to play to them.
In the afternoon the Assistant Manager called me in and said that he could yet smooth it out for me if I would apologise to Sam. I laughed at the suggestion.
"I am not very sure that I would succeed," he said, "but I think I could manage it. I have a real affection for you, and it was very hard on me to see you committing such an act."
I assured him that I would not apologise to Sam and even said that I would do it over again were I to catch him doing the same thing. But the Manager did not want to hear of it. "Sam has never done anything of the kind 'intentionally,'" he exclaimed. "You were excited and took for a deliberate act what was only an accident. What you should have done was to explain to the boy that spitting elsewhere than in a spittoon is contrary to the rules of the house, contraryto health and politeness." What was the use of arguing with that man? He did not want to see the shadow of the Pagoda:
"Look, man, here you stand in the shadow of the Pagoda."
"This Pagoda throws no shadow. We all know that this Pagoda throws no shadow."
"But you stand on it now!"
"I don't see it. You are an infidel."
"I saw Sam doing it."
"No, Sam has never done such a thing."
"But he did it."
I repeated to the assistant what I told the manager yesterday. He listened with bowed head. Has he a conscience? I am sure that Mr. G. was prompted to his solicitude for me by the fact that they fear I will make this public, also that the Manager has instructed him to smooth matters. That oily man wants no friction. He thought I was sorry to have thrown away the job and gave me an opportunity to keep it, by degrading myself. They think that if I really need the position I will not stop at such a small item as apologising to Sam. The Assistant even mentioned "duties to family." They know how to coerce. I told him that I had had enough of this work and was not anxious to remain and that as for my "salary," it kept me in cigarettes. This cut short the discussion. He understood that I was in no need,consequently he could not degrade me. The law of the scoundrel.
It made me think of that woman in black. How the "Terror" tore the shawl from her face. "If you are ashamed to show your face there is no need to come here at all." She was in need. She had her choice between the frying pan and the fire. She jumped straight into the flames. Evidently she felt it was the shortest route to death. I am not so sure of that.
They rage not to be able to bend me.
Suddenly I felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I walked out into the street. It seemed broader, lighter. Rapid steps brought me to the wharf. In time to see the sunset. To mingle with the crowd. The smell of rope and tar and of the acrid sweat of the home-going workers gave me new hope.
They will arise.
THE END
ONE OF OUR BIGGEST INDUSTRIESAccording to the Census of 1910 the aggregate number of benevolent institutions in the United States was 5,408. Of these, 4,420 made reports of some kind to the Census; in other words 988 institutions failed to report at all. The number of institutions reporting receipts was 4,281; the amount reported for the year 1910 was $118,379,859; 1,127 institutions failed to report their receipts. The number of institutions reporting payments during the year was 4,287; amount reported $111,498,155; 1,121 institutions failed to report their payments. The number of benevolent institutions reporting the value of their property at close of the year 1910 was 3,871; amount reported, $643,878,141; 1,537 institutions failed to report the value of their property. If all the institutions had reported receipts to the Census in 1910 the amount would reach two hundred million dollars yearly. If all the institutions had reported the value of their property, and this value should be brought up to date, the amount would be near to one thousand million dollars. The information asked by the Census was: (1) receipts from State, county, municipal appropriations, invested funds, donations, etc.; (2) expenditures for general running expense; (3) value of property at close of year. I quote the Census of 1910: "On information furnished from the returns it became clear that it would be impossible to obtain the desired information, at least in detail. Some institutions evidently did not keep the necessary records, others objected to making public their private finances."Property of one billion dollars! Annual income of two hundred million dollars! And they "don't keep the necessary financial records and object to making public their private finances."The number of paupers under the supervision of these "benevolent" institutions is more than two millions. Two out of every hundred people in the United States are in the clutches of organised charity.It is one of the biggest industries in the United States!
According to the Census of 1910 the aggregate number of benevolent institutions in the United States was 5,408. Of these, 4,420 made reports of some kind to the Census; in other words 988 institutions failed to report at all. The number of institutions reporting receipts was 4,281; the amount reported for the year 1910 was $118,379,859; 1,127 institutions failed to report their receipts. The number of institutions reporting payments during the year was 4,287; amount reported $111,498,155; 1,121 institutions failed to report their payments. The number of benevolent institutions reporting the value of their property at close of the year 1910 was 3,871; amount reported, $643,878,141; 1,537 institutions failed to report the value of their property. If all the institutions had reported receipts to the Census in 1910 the amount would reach two hundred million dollars yearly. If all the institutions had reported the value of their property, and this value should be brought up to date, the amount would be near to one thousand million dollars. The information asked by the Census was: (1) receipts from State, county, municipal appropriations, invested funds, donations, etc.; (2) expenditures for general running expense; (3) value of property at close of year. I quote the Census of 1910: "On information furnished from the returns it became clear that it would be impossible to obtain the desired information, at least in detail. Some institutions evidently did not keep the necessary records, others objected to making public their private finances."
Property of one billion dollars! Annual income of two hundred million dollars! And they "don't keep the necessary financial records and object to making public their private finances."
The number of paupers under the supervision of these "benevolent" institutions is more than two millions. Two out of every hundred people in the United States are in the clutches of organised charity.
It is one of the biggest industries in the United States!
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"Borzoi" stands for the best in literature in all its branches—drama and fiction, poetry and art. "Borzoi" also stands for unusually pleasing book-making.BorzoiBooks are good books and there is one for every taste worthy of the name. A few are briefly described on the next page. Mr. Knopf will be glad to see that you are notified regularly of new and forthcomingBorzoiBooks if you will send him your name and address for that purpose. He will also see that your local dealer is supplied.Address THE BORZOI220 West Forty-Second StreetNew York
"Borzoi" stands for the best in literature in all its branches—drama and fiction, poetry and art. "Borzoi" also stands for unusually pleasing book-making.
BorzoiBooks are good books and there is one for every taste worthy of the name. A few are briefly described on the next page. Mr. Knopf will be glad to see that you are notified regularly of new and forthcomingBorzoiBooks if you will send him your name and address for that purpose. He will also see that your local dealer is supplied.
Address THE BORZOI220 West Forty-Second StreetNew York