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respect and admiration for him。 He was not only sincere； but he was
genuinely simplea much higher virtue； as Fenelon says。 For while
sincere people do not aim at appearing anything but what they are； they
are always in fear of passing for something they are not。 They are forever
thinking about themselves； weighing all their words and thoughts and
dwelling upon what they have done； in the fear of having done too much
or too little； whereas simplicity； as Fenelon says； is an uprightness of soul
which has ceased wholly to dwell upon itself or its actions。 Thus there are
plenty of sincere folk in the world but few who are simple。
Well； the longer he talked； the less interested I was in what he said and
the more fascinated I became in what he was。 I felt a wistful interest in
him： and I wanted to know what way he took to purge himself of himself。
I think if I had been in that group nineteen hundred years ago； which
surrounded the beggar who was born blind； but whose anointed eyes now
looked out upon glories of the world； I should have been among the
questioners：
〃What did he to thee？ How opened he thine eyes？〃
I tried ineffectually several times to break the swift current of his
oratory and finally succeeded （when he paused a moment to finish off a bit
of pie crust）。
〃You must have seen some hard experiences in your life；〃 I said。
〃That I have；〃 responded Bill Hahn； 〃the capitalistic system〃
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〃Did you ever work in the mills yourself？〃 I interrupted hastily。
〃Boy and man；〃 said Bill Hahn； 〃I worked in that hell for thirty…two
yearsThe class…conscious proletariat have only to exert themselves〃
〃And your wife； did she work tooand your sons and daughters？〃
A spasm of pain crossed his face。
〃My daughter？〃 he said。 〃They killed her in the mills。〃
It was appallingthe dead level of the tone in which he uttered those
wordsthe monotone of an emotion long ago burned out； and yet leaving
frightful scars。
〃My friend！〃 I exclaimed； and I could not help laying my hand on his
arm。
I had the feeling I often have with troubled childrenan indescribable
pity that they have had to pass through the valley of the shadow； and I not
there to take them by the hand。
〃And was thisyour daughterwhat brought you to your present
belief？〃
〃No；〃 said he； 〃oh； no。 I was a Socialist； as you might say； from youth
up。 That is； I called myself a Socialist； but； comrade； I've learned this here
truth： that it ain't of so much importance that you possess a belief； as that
the belief possess you。 Do you understand？〃
〃I think；〃 said I； 〃that I understand。〃
Well； he told me his story； mostly in a curious； dull； detached wayas
though he were speaking of some third person in whom he felt only a
brotherly interest； but from time to time some incident or observation
would flame up out of the narrative； like the opening of the door of a
molten pitso that the glare hurt one！and then the story would die back
again into quiet narrative。
Like most working people he had never lived in the twentieth century
at all。 He was still in the feudal age； and his whole life had been a blind
and ceaseless struggle for the bare necessaries of life； broken from time to
time by fierce irregular wars called strikes。 He had never known anything
of a real self…governing commonwealth； and such progress as he and his
kind had made was never the result of their citizenship； of their powers as
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voters； but grew out of the explosive and ragged upheavals； of their own
half…organized societies and unions。
It was against the 〃black people〃 he said； that he was first on strike
back in the early nineties。 He told me all about it； how he had been
working in the mills pretty comfortablyhe was young and strong then；
with a fine growing family and a small home of his own。
〃It was as pretty a place as you would want to see；〃 he said； 〃we grew
cabbages and onions and turnipseverything grew fine！in the garden
behind the house。〃
And then the 〃black people〃 began to come in； little by little at first；
and then by the carload。 By the 〃black people〃 he meant the people from
Southern Europe； he called them 〃hordes〃〃hordes and hordes of 'em〃
Italians mostly； and they began getting into the mills and underbidding for
the jobs； so that wages slowly went down and at the same time the
machines were speeded up。 It seems that many of these 〃black people〃
were single men or vigorous young married people with only themselves
to support； while the old American workers were men with families and
little homes to pay for； and plenty of old grandfathers and mothers； to say
nothing of babies； depending upon them。
〃There wasn't a living for a decent family left；〃 he said。
So they struckand he told me in his dull monotone of the long
bitterness of that strike； the empty cupboards； the approach of winter with
no coal for the stoves and no warm clothing for the children。 He told me
that many of the old workers began to leave the town （some bound for the
larger cities； some for the Far West）。
〃But；〃 said he with a sudden outburst of emotion； 〃I couldn't leave。 I
had the woman and the children！〃
And presently the strike collapsed； and the workers rushed helter
skelter back to the mills to get their old jobs。 〃Begging like whipped
dogs；〃 he said bitterly。
Many of them found their places taken by the eager 〃black people；〃
and many had to go to work at lower wages in poorer placespunished for
the fight they had made。
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But he got along somehow； he said〃the woman was a good
manager〃 until one day he had the misfortune to get his hand caught in
the machinery。 It was a place which should have been protected with
guards； but was not。 He was laid up for several weeks； and the company；
claiming that the accident was due to his own stupidity and carelessness；
refused even to pay his wages while he was idle。 Well； the family had to
live somehow； and th