Finished. The whole thing has weighed so heavily on me. All interest in
the work has gone. I have seen every form of misery the human mind could
imagine. The facts merely repeat themselves. Hunger, degradation,
insults, epilepsy. The investigators, the janitor, the policeman and
Sam. From morning until night the same thing. I got to be callous. Well,
people get trained to tolerate the most deadly poisons.
Thank God, my soul is not lost there. I cannot say that I come out
unscathed. Oh, no. But I have retained my soul. Of all the different
forms and institutions of charity which have come under my notice this
is the worst place. Paris, London and Montreal are nothing to it. Of all
the mills, here they grind the finest. I am leaving. Just going to
finish the week. And I gave Sam a thrashing. I boxed his ears solidly
and felt great pleasure in doing it. But this is not all. I did it in
front of the applicants in the waiting room and finished it up
thoroughly. Let me tell you how it happened.
About three weeks ago I was sent to investigate a case. Thoroughness
was recommended. The address was in Sixty-sixth Street. Just as I
entered the block a woman I had met casually at public meetings greeted
me and asked whether I would not come up and have a glass of cold water.
It was very warm and I did not refuse. I knew the woman but did not know
her name and she did not know my present occupation. Great was my
astonishment when we entered the very same house to which I was sent. It
did not take long before I knew that she was the applicant.
I told her nothing, but inquired how she was getting along since her
husband died. She told me that some relatives sent her money to open a
grocery store and that a society in which her husband was an active
member gave her a few hundred dollars. She intended to peddle with laces
and curtains and perfumery. She even showed me a bill from a firm from
whom she had bought merchandise to the value of one hundred and fifty
dollars to start with. As she spoke her children came in, a girl of
about ten and a boy of eleven. The children had never seen me before.
They knew some one from the charities was expected. I divined it from
their countenances that they expected to be questioned and had been
schooled by the mother as to what to answer. I was right. When I asked
the boy if he skated well, he answered that he had no skates, though I
saw them under the bed. The mother interrupted him: "Sure he skates. He
is one of the best skaters in the block. Put them on, Himey." The boy
looked at the mother understandingly, as though he would ask, Is this
not the one? and the mother repeated with emphasis: "Put them on,
Himey." Pride, mother pride, was getting hold of her. "You should see
them eat after a run!" I sat in the house a long time and convinced
myself that she did not need help from charity. Her life and the life of
her children would be wrecked. She had money. Her children go to school
all day. She is strong and young. In accepting help from charity she and
her children will become pauperised. She will not be able to attend to
her business. She will have to do it secretly. All things taken into
consideration, she will be the loser. I wanted to tell her all that,
explain to her the wrong she is inflicting on herself and her children,
that she is selling her soul and the lives of her children to the devil.
But I could not open my mouth. I had come as a visitor.
Then, I did not want her to know my occupation. Spy of Charity. She does
not know why I do it. All I did was to encourage her, and I told her in
a roundabout way not to allow anybody to patronise her. "Attend to your
business like a man. Be a business lady. There is money in lace
curtains and perfumery. Take a servant to attend to the house and the
children and you go out for business." This is what I told her. I even
advised her to put out a sign at the door.
"This I cannot do," she said.
"Why?"
"Because I can't--many reasons why."
So, I thought, you bit the bait. It set me wild. Another customer,
another target for Sam, another prey for the "Terror." And the children
will be taught to lie, to cry and whine and beg. They will not be
allowed to laugh or play. Every piece of meat they eat will be weighed
and controlled. No roller skates, no new clothes. "Charity kids." No.
I made out a report in which I told the whole situation. That the woman
has money and is about to start in business and needed no charity. I
also asked them to keep my report strictly confidential, because I got
the details as a "friend," and not as an investigator. How was I to know
that the lady president of a Sisterhood affiliated to the office had
recommended this case? Naturally, when she saw that her protégée was
turned down she came to the office and demanded an explanation. The
Manager showed her my report. The lady declared that it was a tissue of
lies, and promised to bring the applicant to the office and have her
face me. When I entered the private room of the Manager he began
excusing himself because he was compelled to put me in a rather
unpleasant position. However, he must prove to the lady that "our
investigation is a thorough one," therefore he must ask me to face the
applicant. I told him I would not do it under any circumstances. As a
matter of fact, I said, I had betrayed her confidence.
"I have promised and you must do it," he repeated.
"You should not have promised before asking me," I retorted hotly.
He disregarded my remark and called the president of the Sisterhood to
the desk. He introduced me and said that I was going to prove the case.
"No, I will not, sir," I repeated. "I have told you that my report was
strictly confidential."
The gentleman wanted to demonstrate his superior position, and ordered.
I refused again, finished it off with telling them both all I thought
about their work and tendered violently my resignation.
Coming from the office I saw Sam aiming a "greeting" at an old man who
sat in a corner of the waiting room. I watched him doing it. No sooner
was he through than I got hold of him, boxed his ears soundly and before
any one had time to interfere I had turned up his head and spat upon
him full in the face. It was a disgusting act, but a sweet revenge. I
did it, then called out, "Feel how it tastes--you do it to every one."
Needless to say, the whole office was up in a second. There was a
terrible uproar. I won the enmity of the whole bunch. I had hit Sam--the
pet, the future Manager; Sam, the greatest of them all; debased him in
front of the applicants. The Assistant Manager came out to investigate
what the noise was about. And no one--no one, not even the old man who
was the direct cause of it, whose face was still wet from Sam's spittle,
no one wanted to tell on Sam.
"Look, old man, your face is yet full of spittle."
"You are mistaken, sir," he answered, "to beat a boy. Shame, shame."
Soon all the applicants looked angrily at me and many said: "Shame,
shame." Not one man or woman would admit that they had seen him do it at
other times. I almost cried with rage.
The assistant manager was very much upset and wondered that I should do
such a thing. "It puts you in a dangerous position," he told me.
I laughed. "My work is done. I have resigned," I answered as I went
away. It's the best thing that could have happened.
I had a fine day. But why did not that old man tell the truth. If he
were younger-- But it's all over now. I am happy. I had a fine day.