said I, "twelve, sixteen miles. Your clothes are thin. Your shoes are out at the toes. Your wives and little ones are cold and hungry! You have been robbed and enslaved for years! And now Billy Sunday comes to you and tells you to be good and patient and trust to justice! What silly trash to tell to men whose goodness and patience has cried out to a deaf world."
I could see the tears in the eyes of those poor fellows. They looked up into my face as much as to say, "My God, Mother, have you brought us a ray of hope?"
Some one screamed, "Organize us, Mother!"
Then they all began shouting . . . "Organize us! Organize us!"
"March over to that dark church on the corner and I will give you the obligation," said I.
The men started marching. In the dark the spies could not identify them.
"You can't organize those men," said the board member, "because you haven't the ritual."
"The ritual, hell," said I. "I'll make one up!"
"They have to pay fifteen dollars for a charter," said he.
"I will get them their charter," said I. "Why these poor wretches haven't fifteen cents for a sandwich. All you care about is your salary regardless of the destiny of these men."
