There's no miracle
needed. I went into the matter once with Dalroy of the Board of
Agriculture. He's the best man they've got, if they'd only listen to
him. It's never been organized: that's all. It isn't the fault of the
individual. It ought not to be left to the individual. The man who
makes a corner in wheat in Chicago and condemns millions to
privation--likely enough, he's a decent sort of fellow in himself: a kind
husband and father--would be upset for the day if he saw a child crying
for bread. My dog's a decent enough little chap, as dogs go, but I don't
let him run my larder.
"It could be done with a little good will all round," he continued, "and
nine men out of every ten would be the better off. But they won't even
let you explain. Their newspapers shout you down. It's such a damned
fine world for the few: never mind the many. My father was a farm
labourer: and all his life he never earned more than thirteen and
sixpence a week. I left when I was twelve and went into the mines. There
were six of us children; and my mother brought us up healthy and decent.
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