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past, we have great cause for rejoicing at the progress already made. The conception that the common people had any rights the plutocracy was bound to respect originated with the sentiment that developed into the founding of the American republic, and the adjustment of the respective rights of labor and capital followed as a corollary of that conception. The progress made has been truly wonderful compared with the magnitude of the undertaking. Great reforms when prosecuted along moral and intellectual lines require time for their development. The process of adjustment is complicated and extensive. Both capital and labor need training and discipline in the methods of bringing them together. It is a source of gratification to know that there is a general desire on the part of the public and many employers of labor to conciliate these two forces. It must not be forgotten that the prevailing sentiment of the day is due largely to the efforts of the workers in the pressing of their claims with such force of logic that even the most selfish and critical cannot resist them.

The fact that labor will not surrender its right to strike ought not be an impediment on the efforts to bring about conciliation, any more than the refusal of the nations to abolish war in order that international peace may be estab-, lished. The successful relations between capital and labor will in the future depend largely on the moral efforts of the parties.

Trades' unions are doing considerable along that line. The systematic effort for the complete organization of labor is having a telling effect upon the character, methods and policy of the individual worker.

As I said in the beginning, the trades' unions mark the orderly rise of the wealth producers through an educational process. There is a gradual development in the intellect, intelligence and reasoning power of the members, which is steadily manifesting itself. The movement of labor is demanding calm, wise and careful leadership. Men of

tact and ability are sought as leaders, in order that they may successfully deal with the able representatives of the employers. This kind of leadership will command the respect and confidence of the people, whose opinion will ever have much to do with the conciliatory attitude of both capital and labor. I have often thought that in the development of industries more attention should be given to the interests of labor. There was a time when large corporations gloried in fighting personal damage suits, just as some of them today seem to enjoy opposing strikes. Since then the claim department has been added, and every reasonable effort is made to settle a personal damage suit without entering into costly legal engagements. The claim agents of a corporation are chosen because of their peculiar tact in dealing with men. Possibly an industrial department on the same plan as the claim department would be of considerable service in the settling of all differences with labor. It would not be a cure-all for strikes, but it would undoubtedly tend to diminish them. A mining superintendent of the United States Steel corporation, in a conversation not long ago said to me: "The time has gone by when we can drive men. It will not be long when the man who can deal with them most satisfactorily will command the highest salaries from great corporations."

As the trades' unions will continue to grow in power, and with this growth they will press their demands for recognition, it seems to me that there would be a greater assurance of contentment could they deal with some one directly in authority, who made it a business to study the conditions of the employes, such as the present managers have not the time to do. All men with an honest purpose intend to be fair. Many difficulties have been prolonged by misunderstandings and mock pride. The main idea should be to see that each has a thorough understanding of the others' conditions and needs. This can best be secured by close communication.

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in the very last seat and huddled in the corner were a boy of seven and a girl of five, brother and sister, dirty, ragged, forlorn little orphans, both with great, deep-blue eyes; the boy with brown hair, the girl with golden curls, tangled and snarled. They were unnoticed in the crowd of holiday people; or, if seen, no one gave them attention. Presently the door in the forward end of the coach slammed, -the boy peeked 'round the corner and down the aisle from behind the seat; the girl raised herself as best she could on tip-toe to look over the back of the seat, past the many, many heads, to see, if she might, who was coming. Instantly both drew back.

"The conductor's comin'," whispered the boy.

Sure enough, and coming closer, closer, and collecting fares, too, and they had none. Their capital was represented by one silver dollar and a fivecent piece held by the boy, and a doll as ragged and dirty as they themselves, held by one foot in the chubby, fat hand of the girl. Bob, for that was the boy's name, had seen conductors before, and admired their blue and gold and importance; and though he was a street newsboy, he had often hoped to some day own a lantern with a colored globe, be able to make those queer signals just right, and to speak that one word, "A'Board," in the peculiarly melodious voice he had so often heard. If questioned, he certainly would have admitted that he had practiced and imitated these accomplishments, and if he was a conductor he would be among the travelers of the world,-whoever they were, where they came from, and whither they went, was more than he could tell,-off, out, into the great world somewhere, but under the care of the man with the green and white light.

Little Jean had never seen a conductor before, though she had often heard her big brother, who, to her, was the wisest man on earth, tell about them, and brag about the day when he himself would be one. How she had laughed at the funny way Bob would swing his arms, and the queer expression of his face as he yelled at the top of his voice

"A'Board!" She was anxious to see this conductor. So Bob had difficulty in holding her back. The click-click of the punch sounded nearer-the rustle of the long, green and yellow ticket grew closer to them; the voice, asking for tickets, sounded at the seat ahead of theirs. Jean's lips began to quiver, and a big tear drop was stealing down her face, when Conductor Hyland looked down on them and-smiled! Yes, for, as he loved children, and had two little tots like these in his own home, he could not speak cross to them.

"Hello, little folkses, got any tickets?" asked Hy.

Jean for the time being forgot her tears as she beheld, for the first time, one of Bob's heroes. What pretty blue clothes, and gold buttons, and gold on his cap-and what a pretty lantern on his arm. My! yes, she forgot her tears. Both little travelers were looking straight into Hyland's eyes when he asked the second time for their tickets.

"Ain't got none," said Bob, as he swallowed at that lump that persisted in rising in his throat. "Haven't

any tickets, eh? wellwhere're you goin?" asked the man with the lantern.

"Dramas!" piped in little Jean. "And where's that?" asked Hy.

"She don't know," giggled Bob-then seriously, "Jean was borned since we left there."

"Since who left there?"

"Me an' my mamma; she ain't here now, she's dead," answered Bob.

"She's died"-lisped Jean, as she looked up out of the corner of her blue eyes.

"Where's your pa-is he dead, too?" "Guess so, don't know," answered Bob.

"Got any money?" asked Hy, as he shifted his lantern.

Bob held up his dirty little hand in which lay the two coins and said, "That's all, true and honest, hope ter die?"

"One dollar and five cents-say, you kids, keep right in this seat till I come back-now mind!" and then to himself as he passed through the vestibule

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Bob kept awake but silent. He watched everybody and everything, guessed at what the many bundles held, who they were for, and wondered why he had no one to tell Santa Claus what Jean and he wanted for a Christmas present.

The train being the Limited Night Express did not stop everywhere, but only at the more important places. After the next stop Hy came back to finish his talk with the children, and with him brought an acquaintance whom he had met in the coach back of the one in which the children were. He was a conductor on a road running west of Denver. After punching the pass and as he handed it back to the westerner, Hy said, "Meet me down in the next coach after we make this stop-got something there that might interest you."

Jean was fast asleep-Bob still wide awake. A number of passengers followed the two conductors while others turned in their seats to better hear and see.

"Asleep?" said Hy.

"Nope! only Jean an' Curly," replied Bob, straightening up to his full height and pulling one of Jean's curls to awaken her. On opening her eyes and seeing so many strange faces about her she began to cry-but when Bob put his arm around her and Hy laughed and said "Never mind, Miss Midget, no one is going to harm you"-she once more dried her tears.

"What dirty little urchins," "what pretty blue eyes," "what a tangled mass of hair," "I wonder whose children they are," "poor little waifs" and "I wonder where they are going" were some of the expressions made by the passengers. Hy's companion was a silent, yet earnest watcher as the questioning of the children began.

"What's your name, bub?" asked Hy of Bob.

"Mine's Bob-her's Jean, 'n the doll's Curly."

"Well, say, Bob, what's your last name and where are you going?"

"Bob Malen, an' we jest want ter go only to Chercago where grammar uster live."

"Used to live! Don't she live there now?"

"Nope! she ain't livin' anywhere— she's dead, too."

"Say, Bob, tell me if you can, about your grandma, and your mamma, and your papa-will you?"

"Well I've been selling papers for 'bout a year fer me 'n Curly 'n Jeancause mamma died, 'n there was no one to take care of us. But when we was little kids 'n 'fore mamma died, grandma died 'n we all moved out here to make a livin', an' 'cause some big rich relation was here. But 'cause my papa was a striker once in Chercago an' went away an' got killed—they guessed-they wouldn't help us 't all, 'cause papa didn't let us know he was killed. was borned at grandma's, an' we all moved here after grandma died 'cause lots of mean men come 'an took everything away-they did-an' 'n we moved here - an' I guess that's all I can know," said Bob, his lips a quiver.

Jean

"Nen you didn't say nuffin' 'bout Curly, Bobbin," chimed in Jean.

"Well, Mister," said Bob, "the Christmas 'fore mamma died Curly come."

"Robert Malen, Jean Malen, Curly Malen-and your mamma and grandma are dead, and your papa was killed and" --but before Hy could say more the man who had followed from the other coach asked Bob what his mother's name

was.

"Why, 'ist mamma," chirped Jean. But Bob said some folks called his mother "Cora Malen."

"Cora Malen," spoke the stranger in a voice that seemed full of tears and startled not only Hy, but all who were listening. For a moment there was silence; then the stranger spoke to Hy in a low voice

"I guess, conductor, if you'll come back in the next car I can fix things so that these children can go to their journey's end." So saying they both passed to the next car.

There Conductor Hyland heard one of those strange stories of life—stories that many a brave man can tell if necessary, but which are kept hidden deep in the heart where their memory tells of shat

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