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2 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.)