"Yes. I haven't had a bite in--"
H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly:
"Got any money?"
"Nope."
"Sure?"
"Yep."
The reporters began to sneer. What did this H. R., who was said to be
clever, expect such people to answer? That's the trouble with all
wealthy philanthropists. They are damned fools. They don't know human
nature nor their own compatriots.
"Do you want a quarter?" asked H. R., kindly, at the same time lifting a
big handful of silver to show there was plenty.
"You bet!"
"Wouldn't you rather have a dollar?" asked H. R. He picked up four
quarters and jingled them in his open palm by bouncing them up and down
in the air, gently, invitingly.
The man stared at H. R. and refused to answer.
It must be a trap!
"Don't you or do you? Speak quickly!" said H. R., impatiently.
"Of course!"
"You'll have to let us search you to see how much you've got on you if
you really want a dollar instead of the quarter."
"Say, yous--" began the man.
"Frisk him!"
"To hell with your dollar," said the man, defiantly clapping one hand to
his pocket. "I knew it was a plant!"
"This way," politely said the plain-clothes men, leading away the pauper
who didn't wish to be searched.
The colloquy had not been overheard by the other hungry guests. The man
was led into a storeroom, where he was kept so that he might not empty
his pockets and come in again from the street for the dollar he did not
really want.
"You see how we will eliminate those who have money and--"
But the reporters were not listening to H. R. They were too busy
writing. This man was no philanthropist. He was intelligent.
There were some guests who said they objected to the indignity of being
searched, though they had no money. They joined the first man in the
storeroom.
"No taxpayers' subterfuges tolerated," H. R. said.
But most of the hungry were perfectly willing to be searched and prove
they had no money. They were told by H. R. to pass on. To those who
asked for the money H. R. said, sternly:
"Do you wish to swallow a quarter or do you want to eat food?"
They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry.
Having shown the reporters how the undoubted penury of the deserving
hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the
Infallible Booze-detector.
"Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched
and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the
quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the _Onward_.
"We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter
and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar."
"Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These
are human beings--"
"And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving
_money_ to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides
alienating the Christian vote. We _share_ food. That's Socialism. We do
not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters.
They're borrowed."
Lubin was silenced.
That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph
thus far.
As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters
unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another
glittering electric sign. It said: