When some of my shopmates reproached me for my indifference I
said, sullenly: "I've joined the union. What more do you want?"
One of them, a Talmudist like myself, spoke of capital and labor,
of the injustice of the existing economic order. He had recently,
through the strike, been converted to Socialism. He made a fiery
appeal to me. He spoke with the exaltation of a new proselyte. But
his words fell on deaf ears. I had no mind for anything but my
college studies
"Do you think it right that millions of people should toil and live in
misery so that a number of idlers might roll in luxury?" he pleaded
"I haven't made the world, nor can I mend it," was my retort
The manufacturers yielded almost every point. The "season"
began with a rush
My pay-envelope for the first week contained thirty-two dollars
and some cents. I knew the union price, of course, and I had
figured out the sum before I received it, yet when I beheld the two
figures on the envelope the blood surged to my head. Thirty-two
dollars! Why, that meant sixty-four rubles! I was tempted to write
Naphtali about it
The next week brought me an even fatter envelope.
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