He had no trouble in getting the other names. The bankers were easy. He
told each that the cash was to be handled by a committee of bankers,
thereby insuring efficient management. If Jones, of the small Nineteenth
National, signed, Dawson, of the big Metropolitan, must do likewise or
be convicted of lack of sympathy with a popular cause. The "Dawson
party," comprising, as it did, the richest men in the world, needed
popularity, Heaven knew. He also told the bankers that they would not
have to pay out anything. It won them. He clenched it by comparing
charity to the income tax.
Yes, he did!
"Nobody," he argued, "objects to an income tax that embraces
_everybody_! The great good of such a tax is to make every man feel that
he is supporting the government and to see to it that the government is
spending his money wisely. The income tax should lead to more
intelligent citizenship."
Each banker agreed heartily to that.
"The same with charity. Compel everybody to be charitable, the clerk
equally with the president, that the burden may fall not on the rich,
but on the many. Just sign here, will you, please? Thank you."
The other signatures were equally easy to get. The so-called experts in
charity work always give _their_ reasons. Result: $.00.
On parting, H. R. told each signer the same thing:
"The reporters will be present at the meeting. They may not stay till
the very end. All they want is an advance copy of the speeches and the
names of the people in the first three rows. The meeting begins at
eight-thirty sharp!"
He did not urge a single signer to attend, but at eight-twenty every
seat in the Granite Presbyterian Church was filled by prominent people
who hated reporters and their loathsome prying into a man's private
affairs.
It was a distinguished gathering, for H. R. had picked out nobody whose
name was not familiar to readers of newspaper advertisements, society
news, and government anti-corporation suits. Entire pews were filled
with Success in Art, Literature, Science, Commerce, Finance, and
Christianity.
On the stage, formerly called chancel, were seated four bank presidents,
four bishops, four merchants, four social leaders, four great writers,
four great editors, four great painters, four great landlords, four
great statesmen; in short, four great everything.
H. R. rose and said: "Before introducing the chairman I desire the
uninvited to retire instantly. The invitations were sent exclusively to
the men who have made New York what it is!"
Would you believe it? Not one man retired. And they all knew what New
York was, too!
They really thought New York was something to be proud of.
"Those who do not rightfully belong here will retire!" repeated H. R. so
threateningly that each man instantly sweated mucilage and remained
glued to his seat.
"I present our temporary chairman, Bishop Barrows."
"The meeting will come to order," said the Bishop.
Profound silence reigned. This so flabbergasted the reverend chairman
that he fidgeted. Then he offered a prayer. When he had finished and the
audience had drawn the customary long breath that follows "Amen" the
chairman hesitated.
"I'll tell 'em why we are here, if you wish," whispered H. R. Then,
exactly as though the Bishop had acquiesced, he said, "Very well,
Bishop," and he obediently arose.
The Bishop repeated, hypnotically, "Mr. Rutgers will tell you why we are
here."
H. R. bowed to him and to the congregation. The reporters woke up. Here
was something better than oratory or facts: News. This explains why the
newspapers give more space to who speaks than to what is said.
"Fellow New-Yorkers! We have been accused of provincialism. They tell us
we don't care for the rest of the country. This is not true. We do care.
We ought to: we own it! We supply to the rest of the country the money
to be prosperous with, the paintings to be artistic with, the magazines
to be cultivated with, the gowns to be beautiful with, and a place to
spend money in, unsurpassed in the world. We have built the best hotels
in the universe expressly to accommodate the people that hate New York.
This is the soul of hospitality. New York leads. Other cities follow.
They copy our clothes, our dances, our financiering, our barbers, our
sandwiches, and the uniform of our street-cleaners. Our superiority is
not only acknowledged, but resented. We have decided to do something
that never before has been attempted, not even by automobile
manufacturers. Let other cities copy us if they will. We are going to
feed all the hungry who have no money! We are going to do it on the New
York plan completely, intelligently, efficiently, and, above everything,
picturesquely. You have seen the sandwich announcements?"
They had. For two days all New York had seen them and all New York had
talked about them, for the announcements had taken on the aspect of a
puzzle. The answer was now expected. On vaudeville stages shining stars
were at that very moment volunteering humorous solutions through their
noses.
"We propose to do it by means of improved tickets. No man shall buy more
than one. The millionaire and the minister, the merchant and the mut,
all will help. And all will help equally that each may benefit his soul
in like degree without injury to any pocketbook. And, gentlemen, we are
going to do it in an entirely new way."
Everybody stared intently at H. R.
An entirely new way!
"Nobody will be allowed to buy more than one ticket. The price will be
twenty-five cents! That sum will buy one Ideal Meal. The ticket not only
will entitle the holder thereof to admission to Madison Square Garden,
but it will also carry a coupon worth ten thousand dollars in cash!"
He paused. The assemblage went pale. Hands were seen hastily buttoning
up coats.
"I personally will give the money," said H. R., sternly.
A great sigh of relief soughed its way himward.
"The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of
living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to
do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a
grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on
current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the
entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also
the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash,
will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity
and brains."
The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable.
But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money.
"There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific
un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day
next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child
will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the
hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself
already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that."
Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with
a respect not often seen in a church.
"It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men
prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise
Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see
what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden
will be shared alike by all--nobody more than twenty-five cents."
A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an
experiment worth trying!
"Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of
the anarchistic labor agitators!"
A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand.
"In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The
Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have
made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals
find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity
any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but
everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money
to buy food with will be fed at our expense. _I guarantee this!_"
"_HOW?_" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats.
"That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten
thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count
upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and
nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered.
"I have a few--" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly.
"Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript."
"But--"
H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He
had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting
for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled:
"I move we adjourn!"
"Second the motion!" shrieked Andrew Barrett from a rear pew.
The Bishop had to put the motion. Not having been called upon to pledge
money, the assembly decided it was prudent to get out before the
situation changed. The motion was unanimously carried.
H. R. received the reporters in the vestry-room. He even shook hands
with them. Then he said, as usual giving them the "lead" for their
stories:
"These are the points to emphasize: The tickets are unlike any other
tickets ever invented. They cost twenty-five cents. They will carry a
coupon. To a person with brains that same coupon will be worth ten
thousand dollars in cash. Chance has nothing to do with it. Brains! In
any event, the twenty-five cents will buy one Ideal Meal. The menu will
be prepared by the Menu Commission, composed of competent persons, which
is another novelty in commissions--the highest-paid chefs in New York,
the proprietors of the three best restaurants, the three leading diet
specialists, and three experts on hunger. No food fads and no disguised
advertisements of breakfast foods or nerve-bracers. What Dr. Eliot's
Five-foot Book-shelf did for literature the S. A. S. A. Ideal
Hunger-Appeaser will do for the masses. That menu inaugurates a
revolution without bloodshed, vulgar language, or the destruction of
fundamental institutions. The low price of our meal is made possible by
the application of automobile-factory methods and the fact that we have
no profit to make. Play fair with the restaurant-keeper, boys, and make
this strong:
"The S. A. S. A., after epoch-making experiments, psychological and
physiological, has succeeded in making fraudulent hunger impossible. We
have a cash-detector which will enable us to discard any applicant who
can pay for his food, and our alcoholic thirst-tester automatically
eliminates booze-fighters. The mammoth hunger feast will be held at
Madison Square Garden. Each ticket admits the buyer to the feast--as an
eye-witness that he may see where his money has gone. The coupon will be
detached by the ticket-taker at the entrance and returned to the
ticket-holder. Uncharitable people who have no brains need not buy a
ticket.
"No shop, church, or bank will offer the tickets for sale; only our own
sellers in person and only one to each customer. We are not going to pay
anybody twenty thousand dollars. That's flat! The names of the members
of our various commissions will be announced later." He nodded
dismissingly. Then he seemed to remember that these were gentlemen. He
said: "My secretary, who has taken down my remarks in shorthand, will
give you typewritten copies of same. Use what you will. Only correct my
English, won't you? I'm not literary."
That made them his friends. But the _Tribune_ man said:
"I'm from Missouri and I'm not going to print anything unless--"
"I don't expect you to print news. These gentlemen know I receive no
salary. They know as well as I do that my sole object is to win the hand
of Grace Goodchild."
The _Journal_ man, who was sweet on the "Advice to the Love-Lorn"
editress, feverishly wrote the head-line,