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PAGE FOUR THE DALTON CITIZEN, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1921. The Dalton Citizen PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY. T. 8. SHOPS * & MeOAMY . . . Sditor Auoeisto Sditor OHetol Organ of the United States Circuit and District Oeorta, Northwestern division, northern District of Oeorgia. OFFICIAL ORGAN OF WHITFIELD COUNTY. Terms of Subscription One Year . , , . , . $1.50 Six Months .75 Three Months 40 Payable in Advance ------- — — *- Advsrtising Rates on Application. — Entered at the Dalton, 6a., postoffiee for transmission through the mails as second-class matter. DALTON, GA., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15,1921. m The election is over, now let’s go to work. It is not the griefs we seek to unload on our friends that really bother us. If there is anything more demoralizing than city politics we have never yet encountered it. Chas. W. Morse marched right over to Europe and then turned round and marched right back again. Pay every cent you can on your debts. By so doing you strengthen your credit and increase your own self-respect. . . Don’t Be a Crepe Hanger. Hard times are mostly brought about by hard time talk. There is as much money in this country today, perhaps more, certainly more gold, than ever be fore. It is simply loafing, and it is doing it be cause the people are doing pretty much the same thing—loafing and talking hard times. Get busy—do something! The Quitman Free Press, wide-awake and alert, and as a result prosperous, in its “It Takes Cour age” editorial, puts it this way: Stop talking hard times. Quit gathering in knots on the street cor ners and telling everybody you never saw anything like it. Don’t be a crepe hanger. . Any cheap skate can be a good winner, but it takes courage and grit and faith to be a good loser. _ Have we got grit or will we lie down? W^ien we talk hard times we absolutely de stroy business. We destroy confidence and courage. The time and energy spent in wail ing could be used to advantage in trying to find a market for the farm products or in do ing something else to help the situation. Let’s be good losers. Let’s have courage and cheerfulness—sign manual of a manly soul. J It is more or less amusing to see the republicans easing into the league of nations. They are now playing a four-part piece. We notice in a dispatch that a terrible acci dent has happened to the wood-chopper of Doorn. Engaged in cutting wood a chip flew up and hit him. Whether it was on the rist or jaw we have no way of knowing. Headline says “U. S. is to be accorded same rights as Japs,” referring to the island of Yap. And it. has been the opinion of many for a long time that the island is not big enough for two powers to have the same rights at the same «mt>, Doing Good Work. The Latest Ku'Klux Atrocity. The disarmament conference now in session in Washington is going to do some good. In fact, there is already some worthy accomplishment to its credit if the senate doesn’t kill it,“which is hardly probable. The four-power Pacific treaty has been formal ly signed, and is now ready to go to the senate .for ratification. It is, as the Atlanta Constitution says, a miniature league of nations. It is good as far as it goes, but it. does not extend as far as the League of Nations, which eventually will include this country. England, France and Japan are the other three members of the four-power Pacific treaty, and they are already members of the League of Nations. And soon, no doubt, this country will be. The Wilson-£aters cannot kill the League of Nations, because the idea is now stronger with the American people than it has ever before been. The masses of the people are opposed to war, and they realize that with the nations of the world leagued together to maintain peace war will become at most only a remote possibility. The Wilson-haters of the George Harvey type, small bore politicians with more spleen than statesmanship, no longer have the ear of the great majority of the people of this country, who are becoming fast disillusioned, provided they had any illusions as to peace, which we doubt. Even Senator Lodge, the smallest statesman of them all, says, “there has been a far-reaching change in the mental condition of the world since 1520.” We do not, however, think there has been very much change except in the mental attitude of such men, as Lodge—more correctly speaking, political at titude.. The four-power pact abrogates the Anglo-Jap anese alliance, and makes for ease as to the far eastern question which has been giving serious concern to the people of this country, as well as to the people of other countries, especially those of England, France and Japan. For this the Wash ington coherence is due the thanks of the world, because for one thing it is a death blow to Amer ican and Japanese jingoism, and this within itself, if long persisted in, is dangerous enough to bring on war. Now as to the curtailment of the navies of America, England and Japan we have no way of knowing just what will happen, but it seems much should be accomplished, and a great load of taxes removed from the backs of the war-burdened peo ples. We have never felt that a proportionate reduction of the navies of the three great powers would tend to lessen the prospect of war, but the spirit that shows a willingness to do such a thing is the real cause for rejoicing. It means sanity, and sanity means hatred of war, and if enough people learn to hate war there will be no more of it. When Woodrow Wilson sought to make future wars impossible through the League of Nations, he set in motion the thought that will yet bring permanent peace to the world! That thought is now ruling and directing the affairs of the Wash ington conference! * The Citizen takes pleasure in giving space to the editorial below, copied from the Columbus Enquirer-Sun of December 11th. It is the comment of a fearless Georgia editor on the cowardly work of night-riders in his im mediate section. The reading public is already familiar with the case and its tragic ending. An old man, nearly seventy years of age, was taken from his home by these cowardly night- riders and brutally beat up, but before the job was finished one of the Ku-Kluxers lost his own life, which is as it should be. A young boy, not yet in his teens, living with the old man and his wife, with steady aim, brought to end the life of one of the night-riders with a shotgun. It is a sad picture and yet there are a few here and there who try to apologize for the depreda tions of the Ku-Klux. The young boy, Emory Wilkinson, is a hero who will not soon be for gotten. He was shot by the “brave” regulators in the lower part of his legs and feet, but he is not seriously injured. Here is the Enquirer-Sun’s comment on the latest Ku-Klux atrocity. It is under the heading of “One Man’s Hellish Work:!” One William J. Simmons, Grand Wizard and Emperor of the Kuj-Klux Klan—an organiza tion of masked night-riders and regulators which he instigated and invented, for the dol lars that he and his cohorts could coin out of • it—has departed suddenly for the North Caro lina mountains “for his health,” following a grand kick-up among his grand kleagles and goblins and official what-nots in the supreme Kloncilium, in fne “imperial city” of Atlanta. We could wish that his Imperial Highness might have been in Columbus, and in The En quirer-Sun office, a day or two ago, instead; that instead of “resting” in the North Carolina mountains, living a life of ease at some high- priced hotel, he had been right here in our pffice, to witness a sight that we and others saw—the direct result of the “inspired vision” that prompted the "Grand Wizard,” as he claimed, to give to the world his Ku-Klux Klan. We would have shown him a gray-bearded old man, now nearing his 68th birthday, frail of form, weighing not more than 150 pounds, about 51-2 feet in height, whose withered body was a mass of scars and bruises almost from head to foot—the victim of some of the Im perial Wizard’s brave Ku-Klux. The real wonder is that this old man is still alive; for it was evident to all who saw his bruised and scarred form that he had suffered enough physical punishment to have brought death to the average man. Taken from his home at night, from the bedside of his blind wife, by eight or ten masked night-riders; thrown into the bottom of an automobile and kicked and cuffed while being driven to the swamps for his “decreed” punishment, his arms being almost twisted out of their sockets the while; then stripped and beaten, almost into insensibility, with a '"buggy trace, or something equally brutal—such was the brave work of these men whom Emperor Simmons, with -his Ku-Klux doctrines, had taught to take the law into their own hands whenever they saw fit to do so. But we could have shown the Emperor something else;, we could have shown him a scrap of a boy, barely twelve years of age; a bright-faced, mild-mannered, barefoot boy, also frail of form and with his feet and legs' - bound in surgeons’ bandages, covering the gurfshot wounds that he received from the hands of those knightly night-riders—he had to be brought up to our office in the arms of a reporter—and yet who, at his tender age, has had to-stain his hands with human blood; in defense, however, of his own life and his own home. And we could, if he had been here, have carried the “Emperor” into a humble home across the river, where one of the Emperor’s faithful subjects lay cold in death—shot down, a night or two before, by this 100 per cent American boy—while at his bier there wept his aged mother and father, and his young widow, with a sixteen-months old baby by her side; all, all of them, the victims of “Em- porer” Simmons’ devilish Ku-Klux and night riding propaganda. Yet all this is but one or two scenes in one small corner oi the Emperor’s “domains?’ What if we could have taken him, during these past two or three years, throughout the length and breadth of his “realm,” and over Alabama and Georgia, into Mississippi and Louisiana and Florida, and through Texas, . where Ku-Kluxism has run rampant these many months past; here, there and every where—wherever the “Wizard’s” army of “grand kleagles” and "grand goblins” and grand grafters galore have organized their “dens,” in his name, and conferred upon them, at $10 per head, the right to mask and ride and maraud to their hearts” content. No doubt we could have shown him hun dreds of homes where death had entered;— if not by his direct order, at least as the di rect or indirect result of his devilish teach ings—could have shown him, not merely men, but women, whose backs were bared and beatten and tarred and feathered by his noble knights; could have shown him neighbor set against neighbor, the law of the land tramp led and disgraced by the devilish work of his disciples. Qh, Emperor Simmons! you have builded worse than you knew; haven’t you? You went in to coin the “fraternal spirit” that exists among men into cash for yourself and your grand kleagles and grand goblins and all the other grand grafters that surround you. And the cash has come to you, and to them, .by hundreds and thousands and tens of thous ands of dollars; so much of it, indeed, that you are falling out amongst yourselves over the spoils. And every dollar of it wrung, mainly, from more or less well-meaning but ig norant men-; the type of men who can be most easily persuaded to “join” something or oTher that promises “secrecy” and “mystery,” at so much per head. Many of these work and pinch for weeks to get the money to give to your grand goblins; a part of which they, in turn, send to you, and to Grand Kleagle Klarke and your Im perial Kloncilium. And you and yours live in a grand house, in Atlanta, which you call a “palace;” as, indeed, it is, compared with the humble homes that have “contributed” their hard-earned money that you and yours may live in luxury. But even there, in such surroundings, your "health” fails you, and you hie vourself away to the - Carolina mountains—while your klea gles and goblins fight like hungry dogs over what comes into the imperial coffers. Oh, Simmons! aren’t you ashamed of it all? You, a one-time minister of the gospel; a man of education and of some refinement, with, supposedly, a conscience. Don’t you see that you “sowed the wind,” and that God’s people, wherever you sowed, are “reaping the whirlwind?” Don’t you, really, lie awake at nights thinking on these things? You would if you had seen that sixty-eight vear old man, with his bruised and scarred bodv. standing in our office the other day; and that scrap of a boy, whose steady hand and unerring eye sent one of your knights errant into eternity just a night or two before. Is it your “health” that is troubling you, Simmons,—Imperator—or is it something else? The Last Public Speech. The last speech delivered by President Wilson • was at Pueblo, Colo. After that speech came his collapse, and since that time he has been a very sick man, and is still far from buoyant health. According to Mr. Tumulty, his secretary, “the speech at Pueblo may be the last public speech by Woodrow Wilson, as it was the last before the collapse, but therein he showed no sign of a brok en man.” Of his speech Mr. Tumulty says: He drew- a picture of his visit on Decoration Day, 1919, to what he called a beautiful hill side near Paris, where was located the cemo tery of Suresnes, a cemetery given over to the burial of the American dead. As he spoke of the purposes for which those departed Ameri can soldiers had given their lives, a great wave of emotion, such as I have never witnessed at a public meeting swept through the whole am phitheater. As he continued his speech, I look ed at Mrs. Wilson and saw tears in her eyes. I then turned to see the effect on the “hard- boiled” newspaper'men, to whom great speech es were ordinary things, and they were alike deeply moved. Down in the amphithe'ater I saw men sneak their handkerchiefs out of their pockets and wipe the tears from their eyes. And here are the concluding words of the last public speech delivered by President Wilson as it fell from his lips at Pueblo: What of our pledges to the men that lie dead in France? We said that they went over there not to prove the prowess of America or her readiness for another war, but to see to it that there never was such a war again. It always seems to make it difficult for me to say any thing, my fellow-citizens, when I think of my clients in this case. My clients a r e the chil dren; my clients are the next generation. They do not know what promises and bonds I undertook when I ordered the armies of the United States to the soil of France, but I know and I intend to redeem my pledges to the chil dren; they shall not be sent upon a similar er rand. Again and again, my fellow-citizens, mothers who lost their sons in France have come to me and, taking my hand, have shed tears upon it not only, but they have added, “God bless you, Mr. President!” Why, my fellow-citizens, should they pray God to bless me? I advised the Congress of the United States to create the situation that led to the death of their sons. I ordered their sons overseas. I consented to their sons being put in the most difficult parts of the battle line, where death was certain, as in the impenetrable difficulties of the Forest of Argonne. Why should they weep upon my • hand and call down the blessings of God on me? Because they believe that their boys died for something that vastly transcends any of the immediate and palpable objects of the war. They believe, and they rightly believe, that their sons saved the liberty of the world. They believe that wrapped up with the liberty of the . world is the continuous protection of that liberty by the concerted nowers of all the civilized world. They, believe that this sacri fice was -made in order that other sons should not be called upon for a similar gift—the gift of life, the gift of all that died—and if we did not see this thing through, if we fulfilled the dearest present wish of Germany and now dis sociated ourselves from those alongside whom we fought in the war. would not something of the halo go away from the gun over the man- tlepiece, or the sword?. Would not the old uniform lose something of its significance? These men were crusaders. Thev were going forth to prove the might off justice and right, and all the world accepted them as crusaders, and their transcendent achievement has made all the world believe in America as it believes in no other nation organized in the modern world. There seems to me to stand between us and the rejection or’qualification of this treaty the serried ranks of those boys in khaki, not only those boys who come home, but those dear ghosts that still deploy upon the fields of France. Our Tom continues to make one of himself every time the opportunity presents itself, and if there is no opportunity he does it anyway. He wanted (no, he didn’t he was only acting for the publicity he could get out of the incident) to slap an army officer’s face the other day because the officer was staring at him in an “insolent manner^ for pay An eastern educator says we should be proud of the modern girl, and Johnny Spencer up and says lie can lick anybody who says he is not. And we have been thinking for some little time that Tom Watson was the only man who could or would fight on paper. There are a lot of things we are not in favor of Henry Ford’s trying to do, but we do want to see him tackle the Mussel Shoals development proposition. The completion of this work means much, not only .to the South, but to the entire country. ) Our Tom wanted to slap an army officer’s face the other day in Washington, and he was willing to do it for “two pennies.” All we got to say is he is willing to work cheaper now than when he was raking in thousands of dollars from the slackers he was advising to stay out of the army. And yet some people say he isn’t crazy. ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦*♦♦♦♦ • ♦ ♦ CLIPPINGS AND COMMENTS ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ Congress failed to knock out the Ku-Klux Klan. It is now up to the people to take a hand and get rid of them.—Rome Tribune-Herald. Don’t worry, brother. They are knocking themselves out as fast as they can. You can’t hitch your wagon to a star while filling your flagon with moonshine.—Athens Daily News. Perhaps not, but you’ll see more than on after you’ve had a pull or two at the flagon. ■■ Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis has at least demonstrated one thing, viz: that base ball is bigger than Babe Ruth.—Atlanta Con stitution. Perhaps so; but has he yet succeeded in con vincing Babe that it is a. fact By the way, someone has suggested that when the marines can spare the time from checking hold ups on the mail cars they might drop back in the dining cars and see what they could do there,.-—Macon Telegraph. Well, if they would perform their duty they could do a great deal, and then some. Senator Watson wants to know what has become of the broom Gov. Hardwick said so much about at the Macon convention—the broom he was going to clean, out the capital with. All the state’s cash seems to have been cleaned up, already.—Madison Madisonian. Yes, and also the rentals of the state road have been spent for five years. This in order to accommodate the tnx-dodgers who arc responsible for the state’s financial ills. Whether or not the Ku-Klux Klan actually is going out ol Dusmess remains io De seen, but the signs all point in tnat direction. It should not nave been organized, has done no good, and if it is disappearing it will not be regretted. It has contributed nothing to pub lic good. Its going will be welcomed.—Sa vannah Press. The Klan has done much harm in arousing race and religious prejudices, and aside from these evils many of its members have engaged in cow ardly and murderous outrages. It is a most dan gerous organization, and its going is indeed to be welcomed. What the railroad managers declared was impossible for them to do they are doing. It has taken a long time to convince them that transportation rates would have to be reduced. Lack of business is now forcing them to take action. What does any good merchant do to stimulate business when his goods will not move at existing prices? He reduces prices. The railroads protested that in their case it could not be done. Nothing would stimulate business activity more now than the continued downward tendency of transportation charges. —Dawson News. The Citizen has contended for a long time that high freight rates, as well as high passenger rates, not only hurt business generally, but reduce rail road revenues by the millions. High freight rates arc hamstringing business. We are sorry for those good fellows, Bill Sutlive and “Tom” Shope, because they miss so many good things of life, dwelling in be nighted darkness so to speak. Ignorance is no excuse in law, but it causes a man to miss a lot of enjoyment, even though it may he due to environment, lack of opportunity,, or just liard-headedness. Now, last night we had a feast. A ’possum, big and fat, roasted until it was a tender bundle of juicy deliciousness, and chitterlings, battered and browned, cook ed by an expert. And as we took off our belt to make room for the fifth helping, we thought of those otherwise fine fellows and good old scouts, and sorrowed that they should go through life and miss, some of its finest deli cacies provided by a' beneficent Creator. As a role, we never waste time trying to convert an unbeliever into the mysteries of such deli cacies as chitterlings’and ’possum—there isn’t enough to go around for those who appreciate them—and we are not trying to convert Shope and Sutlive now r —we are just sorry they miss ’em.—rTifton Gazette. We have in days gone by got along fairly well with ’possum arid ’taters, and we might do the same thing with chitterlings if i| wasn’t for our imagination and the memory of what Ernest Camp, of the Walton Tribune, called ’em that time. And as for Bill Sutlive, we cannot speak for him, but we do remember the hard things he has said about the soft subject. No amount of sophistry will ever convert him to a religion of chitterling wor ship. Brother Herring, like Ephraim of old, is wedded to his idols, and there is little use in try ing to^pry hini away from them, but we can ex tend sympathy to him and fervently pray for him, ever having in mind the fact that the prayers of the righteous availeth much. CHEERY LAYS for DREARY DAYS By JAMES WELLS, The Printer-Poet ssad ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ LETTERS FROM THE PEOPLE ♦ ♦ * ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ Childhood Home. ’Tis but a cot with lowly roof— But those rough boards kept out the rain; And storm that beat with icy hoof, And raged oftimes at door and pane. Twas home; and fairer to my eyes It stands than palace of a king; For in time-that behind me lies, W&s spread there love’s sheltering wing. To every rough board in that cot, Memory binds my throbbing heart; And as I gaze upon that spot, Out of the past what bright scenes start! I see the roses ’bout the door, That crimsoned in the summer heat, And hear upon the oaken floor The quickened tread of gladsome feet. I see—;but what I see the souls That hold like sweet memories know; As ’fore my eyes the past unfurls, Bringing the rose-bued long ago. Twas home; and over it a light That ne’er can perish ever stream; And in the darkness of my night. I catch the glory of its beams. - JESSIE BAXTER SMITH. Appreciation. To the Editor of The Dalton Citizen: Dr. Frank Crane has written a beautiful essay on appreciation. In it he ^expresses' the opinion that all things beautiful and good belong to those that appreciate them, that possession comes by appreciation. Monev will buy bread and shelter, and raiment^ but possession of the spiritual graces,\ the finer things of life, can only come to those who love them. That masterpiece that hangs on the wall, to whom does it belong? Not to the man that bought it, but to the man that appreciates it. Music, and that black lettered classic, the true hearts of the world, they are yours, and only yours when you love them enough. You may buy a palatial man sion, all the books and pictures in the world; you can entertain lavishly, but spiritual qualities and true hearts can only be loved into your possession. . I have never paid taxes on the far mountain slope, and to the over arching sky I hold no man made title. But they are mine always by the di vine right of, appreciation. That heart of yours does not belong to you if I love it, appreciation gives me perfect title, and the beloved has no rights as against the lover. There is inspirational power in every human soul, but it only radiates toward him that appre ciates. Love discovers the beloved and makes that heart its own. The violets by the roadside do not exist to unseeing eyes, and that stranger in your midst can, by the Dower of appreciation be transformed into a kindly neighbor, that little known neighbor can be loved into being a helpful friend. HIRAM SMITH. 5 EXCHANGE OPINION * w 91 SISWSRIfiSfiaKSRSfilfiifilRifiWifilfilfiiliWSfiSiiliSffiiiiSfi Senator Walson chides Henry Ford because Ford’s son kept out of the war. Maybe young Ford read the Jeffersonian and took Watson’s advice like some other less fortunate ones who landed in the penitentiary.—Walton Tribune. The idea of Tom Walson chiding anybody about being n slnckcr during the war goes to prove that he is ns ernzy ns he nets. lie was not only a contemptible slacker himself, hut lie was the slacker’s friend and defender, and he was such That Moratorium. According to the Greensboro Herald-Journal “’wav down south where the people are on the level, the old boll weevil has played the devil.” Well, we don’t know* about that. We feel that “Machine Jim” Brown’s advocacy of a moratorium has done Georgia more harm than the boll weevil.—-Dalton Citizen. And we fool this tendency has crown so of late that the business man to save himself ought to slop letting tho follow who wants a "stav law” have credit. Wc know what that would mean but wc also know that “stav law?’ the mora torium, or whatever else you mav call it. is tho law of the hoishevist—and the law of the bol- shevist is to nationalize property, and to na tionalize property those who have worked for and accumulated property would have to step aside and share it with the man who does not work. 11 is no worse to stop credit than it is to set un “stav laws.” A system remiirinc cash in each transaction is to he preferred, because the “stay law” and the moratorium mean no nnv at all. The worst slash that has over boon made at the busi ness morale of the slate of Georgia is the claim that a “stav law” ouuht to he passed. Tho host propaganda that can ever be spread to counteract such rotten foolishness is to close the account book and require the cash wherever The Empty Stocking There’s a little empty stocking Hanging by the chimney place, And a tear of little sorrow Running down a childish face; And a little cry of anguish, As he sees no toy or drum, Breaks forth from a little kiddie— “Oh, Old Santa didn’t come!” There’s a little empty stocking Hanging up beside the wall, And a little girl is dreaming Of a precious “sleepy doll.” Oh, what bitter disappointment, As she sheds a childish tear, While her little red lips tremble: “Dear Old Santa was not here.” Oh, the little empty stockings Through the land on Christmas morn! When the whole world is rejoicing That the blessed Christ is born. Let us fill the empty stocking, With the things the children love, Spreading cheer and gladsome laughter In the name of Him ahove. ****** Can’t Spend It. The polecat is a lucky bird— His money’s, never spent, For anywhere that he may go, He’s always got a 0s) cent. Spoke, Too. Some women are like wagons, Said old man Abner Ypung, For every time you meet-with one They have a waggin’ tongue. ****** Yea, Bo! The man who’s always talking Has little “beans to spill;” The brook does lots of babbling But it doesn’t run the mill. —Dalton Citizen. And there’s the chronic growler Who’s always “in dutch;” The dog does lots of howling But it doesn’t accomplish much. —Greensboro Journal. And there’s prohibitionists Trying to dry the earth; The deserts are already dry Now tell us what thhy’re worth. —Quitman Free Press. And there’s the chronic whiner— The sigher, if you please— The zephyr’s always sighing, But doesn’t blow down trees. - **#*•• A Dog Anthology. (Just dog-gerel.) Here lie the bones of Towser Jones (Poor little homeless dickens!) He went straight to his heavenly home While he was catching chickens. Oh, shed a tear for Bruno, dear, The poor unlucky pup! He fell into a sausage mill And people ate him up. Oh, cruel fate of Fido Waite— His piteous grief proved killin’— His mistress laid the darling down And then took up the “chillen.” ****** Poor Jonah. Poor Jonah had no landing place— His was a bitter cup— For when the sailors threw him down, The whale then threw him up. ***.*** Mary’s Lamb. Mary had a little lamb, Oh, do not think it shocking; ’Twas just a toy old Santa Claus Had stuffed into her stocking. ■*.*♦*** Sad Words. Of all sad words — Of tongue or pen The bill collector Is back again. —Quitman Free Press. Of all sad words Were ever writ Are penciled thus: “Oh, please remit.” ****** What’s the Use? Cryin’ ’cause a things gone wrong? What’s the use? ’Cause tfunes don’t come right along, ' What’s the use? Better have another try— May be better bve and bye. Goin’ to sit around an’ cry? What’s the use? Quittin’ ’cause you didn’t win? What’s the use? Vowin’ you won’t try agin? What’s the use? Keep a good stiff upper lip— Swear you’re bound to win next trip; Cryin’ o’er a little slip? What’s the use? there is a business deal. Wide extension of credit today is to ruin any business making such a practice. Extension of credit ought to cease till the man who believes in the “stay law” changes his mind and closes his mouth—becomes convert ed again to the idea that an honest debt is a fair business obligation. One of the causes of real suffering today is the fact that credit has been shut off from some of the hoishevist element—shut off because the bol- shevist first became a convert to the idea that be ought not to pay his just debts. When the busi ness man found that idea current, he became frightened—had a good cause for it. He is not over his fright. No man under the sun has any idea of the cost of Brown's proposed moratorium in Georgia* It has broken banks, mercantile houses, supply houses, stores, market fertilizer and mule dealers. It has wrecked business morale. It has frightened the little depositor clear out of the bank and now hordes of ready cash has found its hiding place under logs, in holes, behind stumps, between mat tresses, and in all the old socks. That idea of a delay in paying debts has been the. ruin of nearly all business which has been stranded during tne past year in this state. The tight is not over- will not be over till the bolshevists stop impor tuning the members of, the legislature to pass a “stay law.” It is still bad because no man can' say what Brown’s followers will do in the legis* lature. _No business man has a particle of con fidence in that body’s sanity. It will take years to overcome the disrepute into which Brown’s ring has dragged the Georgia law making institutions* Business people who want to do business nexi year can do so only under firm resolve that they will not tolerate clap trap politics—will not sur render Ihe ballot to the moonshiner with the but* dog pistol nnd the quart of liquor. He must 8° back to his post and right the situation with * wisely placed ballot. There is the only remedy- It is a possible remedv. The business man will re main off duty until he is willing to go back ana stand to his post at the ballot box. r The rough neck, cheap cheroot, poker p]ay® who got to his place of power on the slogan, free speech, free press, free license to raise h-" 11 ’ did so because the business man with saner hope* and ambitions stood aside—took a vacation anu waited to see what would happen. He has f° un ( ” out to his sorrow and heavy cost in business* When the situation is bettered, he will be the man who does it. Until he steus back into w* place and takes hold of the wheel of the old snip* she may be expected to drift—she will drift, an® the business man will nay the nrice of the dntt' ine. The hoishevist with his “stav law”_or mora torium has nothing to lose.—Cordele Dispatch.