U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [10]
A minute later, Uncle Tim came out of the office, his face white as paper. Fenian, old sport, he said, you go get yourself a job. I'm going out of business . . . Keep a weather eye open. I'm going to have a drink. And he was drunk for six days. By the end of that time a number of meeklooking men appeared with summonses, and Uncle Tim had to sober up enough to go down to the court and put in a plea of bankruptcy. Mrs. O'Hara scolded and stormed, Didn't I tel you, Tim O'Hara, no good'l ever come with your fiddlin'
round with these godless labor unions and social-democrats and knights of labor, al of
'em drunk and loafin' bums like yourself, Tim O'Hara. Of course the master printers ud have to get together and buy up your outstandin'
paper and squash you, and serve you right too, Tim
O'Hara, you and your godless socialistic boosin' ways only they might have thought of your poor wife and her help-less wee babes, and now we'l starve al of us together, us and the dependents and hangers on you've brought into the house.
Wel , I declare, cried Fainy's sister Mil y. If I
haven't slaved and worked my fingers to the bone for every piece of bread I've eaten in this house, and she got up from the breakfast table and flounced out of the room. Fainy sat there while the storm raged above his head; then he got up, slipping a corn muffin into his
-21-pocket as he went. In the hal he found the "help wanted" section of the Chicago Tribune, took his cap and went out into a raw Sunday morning ful of churchbel s jangling in his ears. He boarded a streetcar and went out to Lin-coln Park. There he sat on a bench for a long time munch-ing the muffin and looking down the columns of advertisements: Boy Wanted. But they none of them looked very inviting. One thing he was bound, he wouldn't get another job in a printing shop until the strike was over. Then his eye struck
Bright boy wanted with amb. and lit. taste, knowledge of print. and pub. business. Conf. sales and distrib. propo-sition $15 a week apply by letter P.O. Box 1256b Fainy's head suddenly got very light. Bright boy, that's me, ambition and literary taste . . . Gee, I must finish Looking Backward . . . and jez, I like reading fine, an' I could run a linotype or set up print if anybody'd let me. Fifteen bucks a week . . . pretty soft, ten dol ars'
raise. And he began to write a letter in his head, apply-ing for the job. DEAR SIR (MY
DEAR SIR)
or maybe GENTLEMEN,
In applying for the position you offer in today's
Sunday Tribune I want to apply, (al ow me to state) that I'm seventeen years old, no, nineteen, with several years'
experience in the printing and publishing trades, ambitious and with excel ent knowledge and taste in the printing and publishing trades,
no, I can't say that twice . . . And I'm very anxious for the job . . . As he went along it got more and more muddled in his head.
He found he was stanaing beside a peanut wagon. It
was cold as blazes, a razor wind was shrieking across the broken ice and the black patches of water of the lake. He
-22-tore out the ad and let the rest of the paper go with the wind. Then he bought himself a warm package of peanuts. NEWSREEL II
Come on and hear
Come on and hear
Come on and hear
In his address to the Michigan state Legislature the retir-ing governor, Hazen S. Pingree, said in part: I make the pre-diction that unless those in charge and in whose hands legisla-tion is reposed do not change the present system of inequality, there wil be a bloody revolution in less than a quarter of a century in this great country of ours. CARNEGIE TALKS OF HIS EPITAPH
Alexander's Ragtime Band
It is the best
It is the best
the luncheon which was served in the physical laboratory was replete with novel features. A* miniature blastfurnace four feet high was on the banquet table and a narrow gauge rail-road forty feet long ran round the edge of the table. Instead of molten metal the blastfurnace