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CONTRASTS AND CONSEQUENCES: SKETCH
HE sun had sunk in blood-red splendor
beneath the distant hills that surround
ed the city, and the swift falling win
ter twilight was fast gathering and
enwrapping the world like a soft, grey
drapery.
John Raymond was recalled to his
T
surroundings by the passing of the sun,
- —■ J even though its light had shone but
fitfully all day. He had been absorbed in his owp
thoughts as he watched the crimson disk sink
and lower, until it was out of sight—as was hi.i
custom, he had walked far and aimlessly, review
ing the scenes of bis own past life and compar
ing the days of his boyhood and youth with those
of his early young manhood.
Reared on a distant farm in a northern state,
the Christmas season had always been a happy
time of eager anticipation, and the comfortable
fortune of his farmer father had been used freely
to make the day a happy one for his children. John
could clearly recall the many preparations; the
mysterious trips to town, which his mother and
sisters made almost daily, the return of the parcel
laden surrey, whose concealing curtains shut off
much more than the cold and wind. The Christmas
tree, the family dinner, the romping sports with
sled and the snow ammunition with which gay
sham-battles were conducted; even the ruddy faces
of his young companions all came back to him on
this Christmas eve, and seemed almost a part of
his very life today.
But there stretched many Christmas days be
tween that time and the present, for the boy had
soon shown a restlessness with the farm life and
had gone forth to seek his own fortune tn the
world, “without fear and with a manly heart.”
But without much else, too, for his father had no
other son, and had hoped that John would follow
in his own footsteps and assume the duties of the
farm and remain on the home place. The boy’s
refusal to do this bad caused a breach between
father and son which was never fully healed, and
now the changes of the years had come and the
old farm had passed into alien hands, the dear
faces which once made it home for John had
passed away, one by one; the sisters to homes of
their own and the father and mothetr to the home
beyond the skies.
These were not happy musings for a holiday sea
son, but there were even saddeir thoughts in the
young man’s heart—perplexing problems of the
hour which he had sought to solve in his walk to
the edge of town. When recalled to the present
he remembered that the time had passed more rap
idly than he had imagined possible, and if he meant
to keep his appointment with Eleanor, he must
seek a convenient trolley car to take him back to
town.
dancing from the elevated ground on which he
stood he soon discerned a blue light flashing along
a wire which showed the passing of a car quite
near at hand. He quickly made his way to the
spot indicated by the moving light, and in a few
moments he found himself within a shabby car,
the air made heavy by the mill-hands who had
already sought the same conveyance. John shrank
from contact with these grimy men after his hour
in the fresh air and beneath the winter sky, but
for the sake of time he must avail himself of the
speed of the car to reach town and—Eleanor!
Thinking of her by a sudden revulsion of feeling he
was moved to consider those men before him. The
car was one of the old-fashioned type with seats
running in parallel lines, and thus forcing the
passengers to face each other. John glanced from
one rugged face to another—he noted the toil
hardened hands, the unkempt hair and beards,
the linen, if any was visible, so soiled and frayed
and he wondered how men like this lived—if they
felt keen human emotions as he did, or if their
lives were sunk to the level of mere drudgery and
hard work. “No,” he thought; “they must and
do feel, for there on one dusty hat is a rough
band of crepe; twisted around it by some ‘pren
tice hand, but still an emblem of loss and sorrow—•
the Golden Age for December 27, 190$.
the man’s face, too, is sad and he does not smile
at the rough jests of his companiions. There was
soul-suffering, perhaps—how deep, which of us
can say?”
But John Raymond was only an ordinary young
fellow, and he had no wish to probe deeply into
sociological or psychological study; his enforced
contact with these people hurt him with almost
physical pain, and when he discovered that the
man directly opposite_ him had a terribly maimed
hand which, though long since healed, was still
a horrid sight to see. he turned resolutely from his
human companions de voyage and gazed into the
outer world.
But here, too, was squalor, want and poverty—
surely he had not passed this way before—or,
passing, he had been too absorbed to note his
surroundings. Dimly be felt that in these tiny
frame houses, grey and weather-beaten to match
the wintry sky, there lay the epitome of poverty,
the pathos of which was the more appealing because
it was, in all probability, unrecognized by the in
mates of the grim dwellings, themselves!
Here and there a dim oil light began to flicker
forth, just “making the darkness visible.” for the
early winter night had already begun to fall. Once
or twice a red Christmas bell hung in a wreath of
stiff green paper within some window, guiltless
of other decoration, or even covering—in such
homes the light seemed a wee bit brighter as though
the dwellers were seeking to keep alive the
“Christmas spirit” which was surely abroad m the
land!
■Square after square of these houses, the long
line broken only now and then by a garish store,
bright with more red bells and redder lights, or
a vivid saloon sending its sinful allurements out
to the struggling human beings who must pass
that way.
The motion of the car was swift, and John; Ray
mond was glad it was so—he could not change
these conditions, and yet he could not fail to feel
the terrible depression caused by the close view
of the city’s slum—poverty and vice—so often
the two went hand in hand; how soon the one fol
lowed the other! But here he was again facing
the problem with which he had been wrestling all
day. and which had led him away from his own
world!
He was a young fellow of sterling honesty and
of untarnished uprightness—he had just begun the
practice of law, and today he had been offered a
position by a corporation whose methods he knew
were all wrong. But the leaders were successful;
he, as their “retained attorney,” would be success
ful, too—and success meant Eleanor! Failure and
poverty led to. such surroundings as he was then
facing. Dared he ask Eleanor to share such a lot?
Iler life was all so different—he could not. would
not, run the risk of sinking to the level of those
men in the ear and those homes along the street!
“Ah,” sighed the young man, “this is better,”
for with a sudden turn of the street he was again
in his own work! The glow of the bright
lights made daylight of the darkness—the near
coming of the great annual festival had filled the
streets with eager pedestrians, seemingly on pleas
ure bent. The balmy Southern atmosphere lent
itself to lingering on corners and people gathered
together talking and laughing in animated groups.
Here, too, the windows were hung with Christmas
greenery and brilliant crimson bells, but with a
background of rich drapery, and with a “glory
and glow and grace” which w’as as indescribable
in its way as was the sordid squalor of that othetr
part of the city.
This side meant the softness of life—the “paths
of pleasantness and peace.” But does it?”
wondered John; “would peace come to me with
this new work, with the knowledge of all the doing
of it means? Does not this very corporation with
its greedy monopoly make or help to make some
of the poverty I have just seen? Why.” he mused,
“they own mills—they seek more mills, and their
methods are all wrong—would not their lawyer—
help to create just such suffering as 1 have seen—
that maimed hand, the sad-faced man with crepe
bound hat, the grimy houses—all are the products
of a social system which is somewhere ‘out of
drawing,’ though I scarcely know how or why.”
He had changed cars now and was on his way to
the Gately home, and the perfumed atmosphere
of this other street-car, with its human freight of
well-gowned women and well-groomed men,
with the pleasant talk and interchange of comment
between friends, seemed almost a drawing-room re
ception rather than a public conveyance. It hap
pened that this particular car was usually filled
with the people of one neighborhood, hence the
apparent fellowship of the occupants. John Ray
mond felt that no magician of old could ever have
drawn two more diverse pictures than the interior
of this “common carrier” and that other across
the city. It seemed to typify the vast distance be
tween the social systems which have slowly arisen
in our American land, and it seemed to this imagi
native young man as though he had looked upon
a panoramic view of our complex civilization with
its lines of wealth and poverty most cleaily marked.
On his arrival at the home of Eleanor Gately Jie
found the same air of festivity which he had no
ticed in the last car. and in the better streets of
the city. Glowing lights, Christmas greenery and
crimson ribbons were all about, and there seemed
no time nor place for him to speak of his own
problems to the girl who was both friend and
sweetheart. But despite his fear of being late he
was yet a full half-hour before any other guest,
and he found his chance to speak to Eleanor of the
vexing questions which had so perplexed him.
To his “temptation” she gave much less atten
tion than he had thought she would. “Os course,
John, you haven’t really thought of making any
business arrangements of which you do not ap
prove? I believe your long walk and the ride
through the slums have made you nervous and
fanciful! ”
“But,” he protested, “don’t you see—that place
will mean comparative wealth; and Eleanor, that
means you! You may doubt it, dear girl, but I
have never felt so near to accepting this offer as
I have this afternoon. The sight of all the small
discomforts that poverty can bring, the unloveli
ness of one’s surroundings, the touch of harsh and
trying things, the sounds, even the smells, engen
dered by lack of money, seemed hardships to which
I could never, never subject you. Think of your
surroundings here, and those of a woman I saw in
my glimpses through that car window—she stood
for a moment outlined in the flickering light from
a dim lamp, and yet I could see her weary, hag
gard face and note the utter desolation of her
home, and the inadequacy of her dress even to
protect her from the evening’s growing chill. She
seemed to be waiting for some one, and as she!
peered down the dim street, 1 wondered if she hoped
or feared most ihe coming of some unknown evil.
Her very attitude was typical of the class s/he repre
sented, for she seemed waiting anxiously, yet not
hopefully. Ah! Eleanor, in the years to come, sup
pose life should east you and me in some such envi
ronment. and suppose I were compelled to feel that
I brought you to such a life! Do you wonder that
the ease and luxury which seems within my very
grasp should beckon to me with alluring hand?
Don’t think me too strong; I am a very human man,
and one who longs for the smooth places of life.
Ever since I left my father’s house I have struggled
with a menacing poverty—you know I would take
nothing from his estate but insisted on my sister’s
having all there was. I felt I could make my own
way, and I still believe I can, and this offer from
Craig & Company may be the beginning of much
better things.”
He paused for a reply from the girl beside him
she knew all the conditions surrounding this offer
which had been made to John Raymond, and she
knew, too, that his refusal of it must be definite
and positive. The experience he had had this af
ternoon seemed to her but the crystallization of
the opportunity she had long desired—the oppor
(Concluded on page 11.)