the iron puddler-第2节

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This；　then　is　the　introduction　to　my　views　and　to　my　policies。　They　are　now　to　have　a　fair　trial；　like　that　other　iron　worker　in　the　Elwood　police　court。　I　know　what　the　word　〃previous〃　means。　I　can　give　an　account　of　myself。　So；　in　the　following　pages　I　will　tell　〃where　I　was　before　I　came　here。〃

If　my　style　seems　rather　flippant；　it　is　because　I　have　been　trained　as　an　extemporaneous　speaker　and　not　as　a　writer。　For　fifteen　years　I　traveled　over　the　country　lecturing　on　the　Mooseheart　School。　My　task　was　to　interest　men　in　the　abstract　problems　of　child　education。　A　speaker　must　entertain　his　hearers　to　the　end　or　lose　their　attention。　And　so　I　taxed　my　wit　to　make　this　subject　simple　and　easy　to　listen　to。　At　last　I　evolved　a　style　of　address　that　brought　my　points　home　to　the　men　I　was　addressing。

After　all　these　years　I　can　not　change　my　style。　I　talk　more　easily　than　I　write；　therefore；　in　composing　this　book　I　have　imagined　myself　facing　an　audience；　and　I　have　told　my　story。　I　do　not　mention　the　names　of　the　loyal　men　who　helped　work　out　the　plans　of　Mooseheart　and　gave　the　money　that　established　it；　for　their　number　is　so　great　that　their　names　alone　would　fill　three　volumes　as　large　as　this。

J。J。D。


CONTENTS

CHAPTER

　　　　I　　THE　HOME…MADE　SUIT　OF　CLOTHES

　　　II　　A　TRAIT　OF　THE　WELSH　PEOPLE

　　III　　NO　GIFT　FROM　THE　FAIRIES

　　　IV　　SHE　SINGS　TO　HER　NEST

　　　　V　　THE　LOST　FEATHER　BED

　　　VI　　HUNTING　FOR　LOST　CHILDREN

　　VII　　HARD　SLEDDING　IN　AMERICA

　VIII　　MY　FIRST　REGULAR　JOB

　　　IX　　THE　SCATTERED　FAMILY

　　　　X　　MELODRAMA　BECOMES　COMEDY

　　　XI　　KEEPING　OPEN　HOUSE

　　XII　　MY　HAND　TOUCHES　IRON

　XIII　　SCENE　IN　A　ROLLING　MILL

　　XIV　　BOILING　DOWN　THE　PIGS

　　　XV　　THE　IRON　BISCUITS

　　XVI　　WRESTING　A　PRIZE　FROM　NATURE'S　HAND

　XVII　　MAN　IS　IRON　TOO

XVIII　　ON　BEING　A　GOOD　GUESSER

　　XIX　　I　START　ON　MY　TRAVELS

　　　XX　　THE　RED　FLAG　AND　THE　WATERMELONS

　　XXI　　ENVY　IS　THE　SULPHUR　IN　HUMAN　PIG…IRON

　XXII　　LOADED　DOWN　WITH　LITERATURE

XXIII　　THE　PUDDLER　HAS　A　VISION

　XXIV　　JOE　THE　POOR　BRAKEMAN

　　XXV　　A　DROP　IN　THE　BUCKET　OF　BLOOD

　XXVI　　A　GRUB　REFORMER　PUTS　US　OUT　OF　GRUB

XXVII　　THE　PIE　EATER'S　PARADISE

XXVIII　CAUGHT　IN　A　SOUTHERN　PEONAGE　CAMP

　XXIX　　A　SICK；　EMACIATED　SOCIAL　SYSTEM

　　XXX　　BREAKING　INTO　THE　TIN　INDUSTRY

　XXXI　　UNACCUSTOMED　AS　I　AM　TO　PUBLIC　SPEAKING

XXXII　　LOGIC　WINS　IN　THE　STRETCH

XXXIII　I　MEET　THE　INDUSTRIAL　CAPTAINS

XXXIV　　SHIRTS　FOR　TIN　ROLLERS

　XXXV　　AN　UPLIFTER　RULED　BY　ENVY

XXXVI　　GROWLING　FOR　THE　BOSSES　BLOOD

XXXVII　FREE　AND　UNLIMITED　COINAGE

XXXVIII　THE　EDITOR　GETS　MY　GOAT

XXXIX　　PUTTING　JAZZ　INTO　THE　CAMPAIGN

　　　XL　　FATHER　TOOK　ME　SERIOUSLY

　　XLI　　A　PAVING　CONTRACTOR　PUTS　ME　ON　THE　PAVING

　XLII　　THE　EVERLASTING　MORALIZER

XLIII　　FROM　TIN　WORKER　TO　SMALL　CAPITALIST

　XLIV　　A　CHANCE　TO　REALIZE　A　DREAM

　　XLV　　THE　DREAM　COMES　TRUE

　XLVI　　THE　MOOSEHEART　IDEA

XLVII　　LIFE'S　PROBLEMS

XLVIII　BUILDING　A　BETTER　WORLD　BY　EDUCATION

　XLIX　　CONCLUSION



THE　IRON　PUDDLER



CHAPTER　I

THE　HOME…MADE　SUIT　OF　CLOTHES


A　fight　in　the　first　chapter　made　a　book　interesting　to　me　when　I　was　a　boy。　I　said　to　myself；　〃The　man　who　writes　several　chapters　before　the　fighting　begins　is　like　the　man　who　sells　peanuts　in　which　a　lot　of　the　shells　haven't　any　goodies。〃　I　made　up　my　mind　then　that　if　I　ever　wrote　a　book　I　would　have　a　fight　in　the　first　chapter。

So　I　will　tell　right　here　how　I　whipped　the　town　bully　in　Sharon；　Pennsylvania。　I'll　call　him　Babe　Durgon。　I've　forgotten　his　real　name；　and　it　might　be　better　not　to　mention　it　anyhow。　For　though　I　whipped　him　thirty　years　ago；　he　might　come　back　now　in　a　return　match　and　reverse　the　verdict；　so　that　my　first　chapter　would　serve　better　as　my　last　one。　Babe　was　older　than　I；　and　had　pestered　me　from　the　time　I　was　ten。　Now　I　was　eighteen　and　a　man。　I　was　a　master　puddler　in　the　mill　and　a　musician　in　the　town　band　（I　always　went　with　men　older　than　myself）。　Two　stove　molders　from　a　neighboring　factory　were　visiting　me　that　day；　and；　as　it　was　dry　and　hot；　I　offered　to　treat　them　to　a　cool　drink。　There　were　no　soda　fountains　in　those　days　and　the　only　place　to　take　a　friend　was　to　the　tavern。　We　went　in　and　my　companions　ordered　beer。　Babe；　the　bully；　was　standing　by　the　bar。　He　had　just　come　of　age；　and　wanted　to　bulldoze　me　with　that　fact。

〃Don't　serve　Jimmy　Davis　a　beer；〃　Babe　commanded。　〃He's　a　minor。　He　can't　buy　beer。〃

〃I　didn't　want　a　beer；〃　I　said。　〃I　was　going　to　order　a　soft　drink。〃

〃Yes；　you　was。　Like　hell　you　was；〃　Babe　taunted。　〃You　came　in　here　to　get　a　beer　like　them　fellers。　You　think　you're　a　man；　but　I　know　you　ain't。　And　I'm　here　to　see　that　nobody　sells　liquor　to　a　child。〃

I　was　humiliated。　The　bully　knew　that　I　wanted　to　be　a　man；　and　his　shot　stung　me。　My　friends　looked　at　me　as　if　to　ask：　〃Are　you　going　to　take　that？〃　And　so　the　fight　was　arranged；　although　I　had　no　skill　at　boxing；　and　was　too　short…legged；　like　most　Welshmen；　for　a　fast　foot　race。　Babe　had　me　up　against　a　real　problem。

〃Come　on　over　the　line；〃　he　said。

Sharon　was　near　the　Ohio　border　and　it　was　customary　to　go　across　the　state　line　to　fight；　so　that　on　returning　the　local　peace　officers　would　have　no　jurisdiction。　We　started　for　the　battle　ground。　Babe　had　never　been　whipped；　he　always　chose　younger　opponents。　He　was　a　good　gouger；　and　had　marked　up　most　of　the　boys　on　the　〃flats〃　as　we　called　the　lowlands　where　the　poorer　working　people　lived。　A　gouger　is　one　who　stabs　with　his　thumb。　When　he　gets　his　sharp　thumb…nail　into　the　victim's　eye；　the　fight　is　over。　Biting　and　kicking　were　his　second　lines　of　attack。

As　we　walked　along　I　was　depressed　by　the　thought　that　I　was　badly　outclassed。　There　was　only　one　thing　in　my　favor。　I　hated　Babe　Durgon　with　a　bitter　loathing　that　I　had　been　suppressing　for　years。　It　all　went　back　to　the　summer　of　1884　when　I　was　eleven　years　old。　Times　were　hard；　and　the　mill　was　〃down。〃　Father　had　gone　to　Pittsburgh　to　look　for　work。　I　was　scouring　the　town　of　Sharon　to　pick　up　any　odd　job　that　would　earn　me　a　nickel。　There　were　no　telephones　and　I　used　to　carry　notes　between　sweethearts；　pass　show　bills　for　the　〃opry；〃　and　ring　a　hand…bell　for　auctions。　An　organized　charity　had　opened　headquarters　on　Main　Street　to　collect　clothing　and　money　for　the　destitute　families　of　the　workers。　I　went　up　there　to　see　if　they　needed　an　errand　boy。　A　Miss　Forakernow　Mrs。　F。　H。　Buhlwas　in　charge。　She　was　a　sweet　and　gracious　young　woman　and　she　explained　that　they　had　no　pay…roll。

〃Everybody　works　for　nothing　here；〃　she　said。　〃I　get　no　pay；　and　the　landlord　gives　us　the　use　of　the　rooms　free。　This　is　a　public　charity　and　everybody　contributes　his　services　free。〃

I　saw　a　blue　serge　boy's　suit　among　the　piles　of　garments。　It　was　about　my　size　and　had　seen　little　wear。　I　thought　it　was　the　prettiest　suit　I　had　ever　seen。　I　asked　Miss　Foraker　how　much　money　it　would　take　to　buy　the　suit。　She　said　nothing　was　for　sale。　She　wrapped　up　the　suit　and　placed　the　pack。　age　in　my　arms；　saying；　〃That's　for　you；　Jimmy。〃

I　raced　home　and　climbed　into　the　attic　of　our　little　four…　dollar…a…month　cottage；　and　in　the　stifling　heat　under　the　low　roof　I　changed　my　clothes。　Then　I　proudly　climbed　down　to　show　my　blue　suit　to　my　mother。　〃Where　did　you　get　those　clothes；　James？〃　she　asked　gravely。

I　told　her　about　Miss　Foraker。

〃Did　you　work　for　them？〃

〃No；　everything　is　free；〃　I　said。

Mother　told　me　to　take　the　suit　off。　I　went　to　the　attic；　blinking　a　tear　out　of　my　eyes；　and　changed　into　my　old　rags　again。　Then　mother　took　the　blue　suit；　wrapped　it　up　carefully　and　putting　it　in　my　hands　told　me　to　take　it　back　to　Miss　Foraker。

〃You　don't　understand；　James；〃　she　said。　〃But　these　clothes　are　not　for　people　like　us。　These　are　to　be　given　to　the　poor。〃

I　have　often　smiled　as　I　looked　back　on　it。　I'll　bet　there　wasn't　a　dime　in　the　house。　The　patches　on　my　best　pants　were　three　deep　and　if　laid　side　by　side　would　have　covered　more　territory　than　the　new　blue　suit。　To　take　those　clothes　back　was　the　bitterest　sacrifice　my　heart　has　ever　known。

A　few　days　later　there　was　a　fire　sale　by　one　of　the　merchants；　and　I　got　the　job　of　ringing　the　auction　bell。　Late　in　the　afternoon　the　auctioneer　held　up　a　brown　overcoat。　〃Here　is　a　fine　piece　of　goods；　only　slightly　damaged；〃　he　said。　He　showed　the　back　of　the　coat　where　a　hole　was　burned　in　it。　〃How　much　am　I　offered？〃

I　knew　that　I　would　get　fifty　cents　for　my　day's　work；　so　I　bid　ten　centsall　that　I　could　spare。

〃Sold；〃　said　the　auctioneer；　〃for　ten　cents　to　the　kid　who　rang　the　bell　all　day。〃

I　took　the　garment　home　and　told　my　mother　how　I　had　bought　it　for　cash　in　open　competition　with　all　the　world。　My　mother　and　my　aunt　set　to　work　with　shears　and　needles　and　built　me　a　suit　of　clothes　out　of　the　brown　overcoat。　It　took　a　lot　of　ingenuity　to　make　the　pieces　come　out　right。　The　trousers　were　neither　long　nor　short。　They　dwindled　down　and　stopped　at　my　calves；　half…way　above　my　ankles。　What　I　hated　most　was　that　the　seams　were　not　in　the　right　places。　It　was　a　patchwork；　and　there　were　seams　down　the　front　of　the　legs　where　the　crease　ought　to