R 
 
 E MAN? 
 
 THE ISSUE. OF TO DAY 
 
 PICTURED BY 
 
 HOMER. DAVE.NPORT 
 
 Selected and Cdlted 
 with an Introduction on 
 
 The Problem, the Cartoon and the Artist 
 
 by Horace L. Traubel 
 
e Dollar or the Man? 
 
 THE ISSUE OF TO DAY 
 Pictured by 
 
 HOMER DAVENPORT 
 
 Selected and Edited with an Introduction on The Problem, the Cartoon and the Artist by 
 
 HORACE L. TRAUBEL 
 
 "Both the man and the dollar, but in case of conflict the man before the dollar'" — ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 BOSTON 
 SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 1900 
 
Copyright 1900 
 By Small, Maynard £s? Company 
 
 (Incorporated) 
 
 Press of 
 Innes £s? Sons, Philadelphia 
 
Almost all the illustrations used in this volume originally appeared in The New 
 York yournaL They are here reproduced through the cooperation of William 
 R. Hearst, whose courtesy the artist, the editor and the publishers in common recog- 
 nize and wish in this way to acknowledge. 
 
The world has never had a good definition of the word "liberty," and the American people, just now, are much in want of one. We all 
 declare for liberty ; but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. With some the word "liberty" may mean for each 
 man to do as he pleases with himself and the product of his labor ; while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they 
 please with other men, and the product of other men's labor. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 "Here you have the United States of America, home of liberty, theater of manhood suffrage, kingless and lordless, land of Protection, 
 Republicanism, and the realized Radical Program, where all the black chattel slaves were turned into wage slaves (like my father's white 
 fellows) at a cost of 800,000 lives and wealth incalculable. You and I are paupers in comparison with the great capitalists of that 
 country, where the laborers fight for bones with the Chinamen, like dogs." 
 
 George Bernard Shaw. 
 
 Beneath the whole political world, what most presses and perplexes today, sending vastest results affecting the future, is not the abstract 
 question of democracy, but of social and economic organization, the treatment of working people by employers, and all that goes along 
 
 with it— not only the wage payment part, but a certain spirit and principle, to vivify anew these relations The American Revolution 
 
 of 1776 was simply a great strike, successful for its immediate object— but whether a real success judged by the scale of the centuries, and 
 the long striking balance of time, yet remains to be settled. The French Revolution was absolutely a strike, and a very terrible and 
 relentless one, against ages of bad pay, unjust division of wealth products, and the hoggish monopoly of a few, rolling in superfluity, and 
 the vast bulk of the working people, living in squalor. If the United States, like the countries of the Old World, are also to grow vast 
 crops of poor, desperate, dissatisfied, nomadic, miserably waged populations, such as we see looming upon us of late years — steadily, even 
 if slowly, eating into them like a cancer of lungs or stomach — then our republican experiment, notwithstanding all its surface successes, is 
 at heart an unhealthy failure. 
 
 Wait Whitman. 
 
THE PROBLEM, THE CARTOON AND THE ARTIST 
 
 History is coming to construe social inequity in terms of social peril. Asked : "Who is the offender?" 
 few annalists would fail to point a retributive finger the way of the plutocrat. But it may be said even to 
 the pauper, even to the man or woman robbed : " He whom you accuse is only incidentally or oracularly 
 the criminal. But for you he could not exist. He is yoked with you drawing a common load. The fact 
 that he happens to be the beneficiary and you the victim of this arrangement is not abstractly of much 
 importance." When the miniature villain is grown up, when he acquires a logical maturity, we understand 
 his characteristics. The little shop gathers its harvest of profits with the same relentless hand as the trust. 
 It exacts all it can collect. In the trust the small dealer has reached his majority. Monopoly is next of 
 kin to the tyranny of the atom. 
 
 Until the philanthropist changes place with the prisoner, until all social disorder finds by your admission 
 its beginnings in the riot of your personal disbelief, until you acknowledge that all privilege is reflected in 
 the inconsonance of your flaunted humanity, you will not have vindicated your dream of emancipation. 
 Your love and your hate come out of the same soil. So, too, do your plutocrat and your pauper. So, 
 too, do you and your enemy. First of all, then, throw away your flourished pride. We are not going 
 to patch this garment on the basis of any personal design. We are not proposing to win in this fight 
 because we are good and some one else is not. We will win because the juncture for social mercy has 
 arrived — because the time limit of the tiger is reached — because we chance to be, not by our own delib- 
 erate choice or because we are strutting heroes, upon the line at which this issue is striking fire. 
 Then, what is the problem ? Is it a far away thing, in the capitol at Washington, or some plot fulminated 
 
in Wall street, or some massing of power at the handle of a political club ? We are ourselves the prob- 
 lem. The deeper you go into your own heart the nearer you come to the problem. There million- 
 aire and pauper melt back to nebula. Only in my primeval self may I find at once the trouble 
 reduced to its elements and their sensible and humane readjustment in forms of mutual and universal 
 benefaction. No substitution of millionaire for pauper or pauper for millionaire will improve the condi- 
 tions. The millionaire and the pauper must be consigned to errata, must go back to chaos listed against 
 rejuvenation. They came together, coupled their destinies in the press of social preferment, and together 
 must depart, their hard mission fulfilled. Yet they will leave us a key. 
 
 We have reached the crossroads. Shall we go further chatteled or free ? What is economically called 
 property needs morally to be confirmed or nullified. Every dollar now in circulation or potentially in prop- 
 erty is only another traitor added to a vast array. Until all dollars are honest no one dollar can be sure 
 of its virtue. Powers have arisen in our democracy to frustrate its mission. They have taken phantasmic 
 forms, sneaked into legislation, hid back of courts, puppeted presidents from exchanges, and hideously 
 eclipsed the opportunity of the average man. But in determining conditions will history look up a new 
 road or simply go on in a road already chosen ? The trust, devil, will turn trust, god — that is, the trust, 
 serving a caste, will become the trust, avowing the common weal. The giant only needs faculty. It has 
 limb enough and maw. Give it heart. It will hew your wood, draw your water. 
 
 Those who do the work of the world must enjoy its usufruct. To farm the land and live on its cast off 
 fruit, to make clothes and go naked, to build houses and live in huts, to be condemned to loaf and tramp 
 as a desultory on the margin of labor, to perpetuate the existing system in which the boss is a whip 
 and the workman a clod, to need to apologize to your children because they were conceived in the 
 promise of democracy and delivered in its default, is to give history a grotesque turn and to make our 
 
articulations and gestures of brotherhood not only partial or fragmentary, which would be a negative fault, 
 but mocking wantons dancing on the skulls of the betrayed. The crass and stained knife of our dispen- 
 sation has parcelled all property and the possibilities of property in lien to the few members of a caste, 
 whose foundation, labor, the only indispensable factor in the social regime, is despised and without 
 suffrage. The farmer is born mortgaged to the land, the weaver shuttled to the loom, the scribbler inked 
 to the pen, consigned all to one despotism, discouraged in the main from even the prophetic assertion of 
 an enlightened and adequate social law which would perpetuate in every individual his last talent and his 
 freest dream of noble achievement. We are to-day committed to a temporal humor, a makeshift in moral 
 lethargy, a stammer in the social lexicography, a helpless play of industrial negations. 
 The case of this pro versus this con must be settled not according to any individual humor but according 
 to some instinct of universal equity. It arose in no private idiosyncrasy and will finish in no exercise of 
 a personal benevolence. The blame of tyranny can be fastened to no local malignity and the glory of 
 emancipation will accrue to no one benign palm. The man who to-day does not get is as bad or as good 
 or as innocent or as wilful as the man who has built a reservoir at the foot of the drift. It will be made 
 impossible in the liberalized future for any one person to take advantage of any accident of nature or 
 any ignorance of man. Power will not seek fortune but fortitude — it will not rob : it will bestow and 
 still realize the delight of power. Laws of states which provide and protect the beneficiary will give way 
 to laws of hearts which bar no one in or out and cannot be vindicated while want, even in the pariah, 
 remains to unsettle the free articles of our contract. Democracy must not invoke against one of its 
 children a rule of trespass. As long as a dollar anywhere goes farther than a man so long will democ- 
 racy play foul to its prophecy. He who owns my coat owns me. He who pays me wages takes in 
 exchange an inalienable volition. I am tied throat down and asked to walk. I sponsor my children into 
 
 3 
 
bondage. The land is owned under my feet, the house is owned over my head. Before I am born I am 
 a thousand years in debt. The tax gatherer at the gate of life levies the last cent against my birthright. 
 
 The cartoon has an Adamic directness. It comes by ostensible fiat, not by known law. Every cartoonist 
 of genius plunges out of chaos shaped to a particular exigency. He is a surprise — a differentiation. He 
 has his unmistakable individuality of technique, which builds, serves, destroys, in certain contingencies of 
 circumstance, and goes out, a light quenched. No second torch is lit from that flame. Yet the cartoon is 
 classic. Without formal ancestry or grandeur of pedigree it arbitrates the destiny of man and time and 
 tries by some consensus the waifs of social struggle. The cartoon with Jovinian eclat and unconcern 
 sheafs in one fist the lightning of social interrogation. "The slang of art," it has been called — bringing 
 to the esthetic, as slang does to language, its everlasting felicities. The cartoon dares any venture of 
 speech. No sneak or snarl in society can escape the cartoon. The cartoon is everywhere before any- 
 thing else — even anticipates its subject creatures. It goes and comes by free will. Grim with quick 
 pardon, weeping with laughter, profound with frivolity, brutal with finesse, magnificent with modesty, the 
 cartoon is everything it does not pretend to be, the horizontal to your perpendicular and the circle to your 
 square. The cartoon is the master of paradox. Its good humor gives it a pass to the heart of its victim. 
 The cartoon is fierce in encounter and quick to forgive. It is not malicious. It deals with man not 
 as a malevolence but as a foible. It is more powerful than marching armies and more subtle than 
 scholastic verbiage. It is the quick fast and hard of agitation, the jocular madcap of humbug custom, 
 the blasphemy making faces at half gods. It coalesces the freest method with the sternest hope, creating 
 harmony between cross purposes, reducing enmities to their logic in imbecility. The cartoon epitomizes 
 data in law and accepts convention in undress. What army could march without its cartoon ? What 
 
 4 
 
cause succeed ? What dream be communicated ? What faith expressed ? The cartoon is in the van, stand- 
 arding revolt. For the people will tolerate in the cartoon what no other agent of expression is at liberty 
 to inflict. The cartoon penetrates the boudoir without illicit curiosity and rebukes vice without a 
 puritan condescension. While not good god good devilling the flagrant descent of human fallibility it so 
 impartially administers rebuke and so without venom draws the demonic back to the line of law that 
 critics who lack humor charge it with choosing a harlequin disguise and a counterfeit fate. The cartoon 
 must be taken with your religion. Its novitiate vestibules the most sacred revelation. The cartoon 
 levelled to a grave sincerity, taken to heart in its best annunciations, mastered by a pen steadfastly 
 faithful to ideals, goes into households as a friendliest counsellor, enlivening routine, instructing doubt, 
 exploiting between grave and gay the prophecy of evolution. 
 
 Davenport is a direct product of the soil. He came to his art without the formal intervention of a school. 
 This accounts at once for his power and for his defect. In the work of some cartoonists you are at the 
 start made aware of a prevalent technical excellence. You feel that and perhaps you feel nothing more. 
 But with Davenport you are impressed first of all with his power of pithy representation. He promptly 
 suggests — he only incidentally draws. The great cartoonist only secondarily attracts attention as an artist. 
 He is first the story teller. Davenport's simplicity is Spartan. Critics will tell you he cannot draw and 
 will yet admit that he can tell a story. If he could draw and could not tell a story what would the world 
 or the cartoon gain ? Davenport never overloads his characters with baggage. He plays with elements 
 not atoms. He does not wait for his message to grow upon you. He communicates it in a flash. He 
 does not formally present a thesis. He takes you unawares. You would never suspect in Davenport 
 the scholar let loose in caricature. He comes fresh from the farm and the workshop, with mud on his 
 
 5 
 
boots and grease on his hands. He has manners without mannerism and faith without a code. When this 
 sort of man appears in the arts tradition turns up its nose. But Davenport was not sent into the world to 
 serve a tradition. He answers a current cry. Unlike the artist he can tell his tale without footnote, 
 index, glossary or introduction. A few deft lines and the thing is done. Done so easily that we could 
 imagine it within the common range; and yet done so hardly that the best thumb and forefinger in 
 the business could not make a plausible counterfeit. I stand amazed before Davenport's fecundity, which 
 follows event into all its corners and brings forth game always after its kind. You could drag your 
 schools in vain for such a catch. Davenport has personally no background of culture or opulence to 
 explain him. He is like Grant, Lincoln, Whitman, in demonstrating the power of our democracy to 
 recoup itself without stint from the crowd. He could not have come out of a school, as the protege 
 of a classical atelier. But he proceeds to make the cartoon classic, so severely does he apply it to 
 the gravest uses of a humanized art. He disdains finish. He has simplified production to its fewest 
 factors. Others may need more pen and brush — some even need crutches — but he is one whose primary 
 syllables are electric, so do they carry power and so convey their shock. With Davenport's pen as index 
 you are reminded not of the man who owns the land but of the man who tills the field — not of the man who 
 owns the factory but of the man who runs the loom — not of creatures but of creators — not of capitalists 
 but of capital — not of those who sell but of those who make pictures. That is, you are taken by him to 
 beginnings, to roots, and made to respect the democratic spirit which back of every institution and emol- 
 ument having given life can alone maintain it. Davenport never had the point taken off his pen by a 
 scissoring professor. He never had water mixed with his ink by an interloping magnate. That is why 
 the professors say he cannot draw and why the magnates say he insists upon an extreme moral. From 
 nothing that Davenport has ever done would you realize anything but respect for the average man, 
 
 6 
 
anything but hope for our democracy. When Arthur McEwen, in 1898, reviewing Davenport's former 
 volume, said : " Capital as the book is — and no other cartoonist among us could put forth one to rival 
 it—Davenport's next, say two years hence, is sure to be better," he spoke as an informed prophet. 
 Davenport has gained in dramatic intensity and in capacity to portray the archaic and the pathetic. He 
 can more fiercely than Hogarth grapple with the gnarled puzzles that dodge in and out and around 
 the hallucinations of our interoceanic conceit. Nor less than Woolff can he give you the child upon 
 whom a brute injustice has stamped a premature age. His pictures invite battle and tears. They never 
 run to waste in artifice, dragging along an epilogue of superfluous detail. The last and almost lost item in 
 the composition of a background is fixed there with a deliberate motive and with a determined look 
 toward the general effect. Davenport is not a hired artist producing for pay, open to bids. He is a 
 man of inerrant democracy of temperament who yields his soul only to high latitudes of conviction. He 
 will tell you : You would hardly believe it if I say that the two hours spent on a picture often leave me 
 totally exhausted, almost empty— so have I taken the thing to heart; the emotion, even the simple 
 physical stamina, is gone out of me. In tragedy and contrast he is a first child whose energy is not one 
 generation removed from solar fire. The large mould of his physical composition but reflects the 
 simplicity of his spiritual endowment. He does not study. He sees. In the crowd he is electric, 
 drawing power from its importunate faith. He is not a man who derives conclusions from nature through 
 a book or across the barriers of a cloistered learning. He goes direct to sources, consulting no oracled 
 middleman. He has in himself the placidity and habit of drowsing sensuousness which gives the animal 
 an impressive distinction of composure touched with the intimation of potential resentment. If you are 
 familiar with his turn of mind you will remember how he refers to the animal for analogues and how 
 regnantly through the animal he translates energy into intelligence and throws you down or lifts you up 
 
 7 
 
under the animal hoof or in the gambol of animal affection. It required fewer than the usual departures 
 to convert the animal Davenport into the supermilitant man. 
 
 Davenport is not personal either in motive or effect. He may incidentally take account of the personal 
 equation, but if he does so it will be out of deference to and not by the sacrifice of a supreme principle. 
 He is above, in the free air, and below, with roots, as well as on the earth, with its ravaging trade and 
 the flare of its foppery and culture. That is no doubt why Bryan has said in a letter to me : " Davenport 
 stands at the head of his profession." Davenport does not live at the point of his pen. He lives up his 
 arm, in dynamic sympathy. The pictures here reproduced, converging, as they do, in some unity of 
 economic and political effect, serve to exhibit not only the diversity of his gifts but his primary and fiery 
 devotion to the fundamentals of social justice. 
 
 HORACE L. TRAUBEL 
 
 8 
 
LIST OF CARTOONS 
 
 I. "What are his prospects, wife? They are even 
 worse than mine were. What opportunities has he 
 this side of slavery?" 
 
 II. Money the master, man the servant. 
 
 III. Honor among thieves. Just the difference of a suit 
 of clothes. 
 
 IV. "Say, little girl — give us those pennies. We are 
 your friends." 
 
 V. What further use can Hanna have for a charter of 
 rights ? 
 
 VI. The threat before the fight. The forces of the 
 opposition. 
 
 VII. Uncle Sam will be lucky if he saves his pants. 
 
 VIII. " Is the old man reconciled to his job yet ?" 
 
 "No. He complains of the long hours and the poor 
 board." 
 
 "Tell him there are a million people ready to take 
 his place, and that in another year there will be a 
 million more." 
 
 IX. They who dance must pay the fiddlers. Yet fiddlers 
 
 have also been known to pay dancers. 
 X. When Rockefeller sits down to dine. 
 XI. "Mark, wouldn't it be great for the Standard Oil 
 dinner bell !" 
 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 
 "A capital joke ! We'll tax the saving banks !" 
 "Mark, do you remember how the poor cuss has 
 worked for us ? I wonder if we should cut a check 
 off your coat tail and send it round to his 
 widow ?' ' 
 
 " What, Lincoln : don't you know me ?" 
 
 The full dinner pail ? ' * Take this to father, dear. 
 
 It's light. It won't be hard to carry. Tell him the 
 
 new meat schedule of the trust has made it so I 
 
 couldn't even get chuck." 
 
 A full dinner pail for Rockefeller. 
 
 Arbitration in a strike. 
 
 I don't want to see the day when the American 
 
 citizen will be like his fellows in Europe, every man 
 
 as he goes to his work carrying one soldier on his 
 
 back. — Carl Schurz. 
 
 ' ' Let's arbitrate !" 
 
 " Arbitrate be damned !" 
 
 The monster leading his hosts. 
 
 Large fleas have little fleas 
 
 Upon their backs to bite 'em : 
 
 Small fleas have lesser fleas, 
 
 And so ad infinitum ! 
 
 9 
 
XXII. Gage's Prayer : " Help me, Rocky, or I sink !" 
 
 XXIII. The Sultan of Sulu, whose harem and slaves are 
 maintained by taxes on the American people. 
 
 XXIV. Many hats that fit to one head. 
 
 XXV. "We simply follow the law of supply and demand. 
 
 No ten cents, no ice." 
 XXVI. The hottest day on record. Yet there is a master 
 
 far more cruel than the hertf. 
 XXVII. *' I can't get any ice, mamma. The trust man says 
 they won't sell any more small pieces to poor 
 people." 
 
 XXVIII. No more five cent ice ! 
 XXIX. This is the way the trusts "visit the fatherless and 
 
 widows in their affliction." 
 XXX. They're off! 
 
 XXXI. But something happened on the road ! 
 
 XXXII. A heart to heart talk and a doubter on the threshold. 
 
 XXXIII. "Blame me, not him. He has done nothing for 
 which I am not responsible." 
 
 XXXIV. " God's in it. We're in it. There's money in it." 
 XXXV. As they go to the polls. 
 
 XXXVI. The whirligig of time brings about not only its 
 
 change but its sacrilege. 
 XXXVII. These are the celestial agents of benevolent assimi- 
 lation who say : " The Lord gave the Philippines to 
 us. ' ' 
 
 XXXVIII. Standard Oil and the Water of Life will not mix. 
 
 Can the spirit of the meek and lowly Nazarene be 
 
 discerned in those who water stock, issue bonds in 
 excess of the value of the plant, drive rivals into 
 bankruptcy by trust methods and then prey upon 
 society at large ? — William Jennings Bryan. 
 XXXIX. A genuine ancestor and a mock descendant. 
 
 XL. "Say, Mark, they won't leave anything of that but 
 holes !" 
 
 XLI. "Don't you, as a mother, think young boys should 
 go into the army ?" 
 
 "No: our boys will work with their father when 
 work is needed, and fight, if fight they must, as 
 volunteers." 
 
 XLI I. When dollars disagree man may get his due. 
 XLIII. "Ladies and gentlemen: Stick to the trusts. 
 
 They're your only true friends. Don't you see 
 how happy they've nude you ?" 
 XLIV. "Gentlemen, let me introduce my friend." 
 XLV. Who should — who does — pay the taxes ? 
 XLVL A trust eviction. 
 
 XLVII. " Dance, you old son of a gun 1 Dance ! 
 XLVIII. Liberty enlightening the labor world. 
 XLIX. Where the barbarism of the dollar gets in its work. 
 L. They laugh best who laugh last. 
 LI. Nearest his heart. 
 LI I. In the shadow of danger. 
 LI 1 1. Your uncle's in an angry mood and the brute's un- 
 easy. 
 
 LIV. The day for the little people will come. 
 
" What are his prospects, wife ? They are even worse than mine were. What 
 opportunities has he this side of slavery ? " 
 
Money the master, man the servant. 
 
Honor among thieves. Just the difference of a suit of clothes. 
 
" Say, little girl — give us those pennies. We are your friends." 
 
What further use can Hanna have for a charter of rights 
 
V 
 
The threat before the fight. The forces of the opposition. 
 
VI 
 
Uncle Sam will be lucky if he saves his pants. 
 
" Is the old man reconciled to his job yet ? " 
 
 " No. He complains of the long hours and the poor board." 
 
 " Tell him there are a million people ready to take his place, and that in another year 
 there will be a million more." 
 
VIII 
 
They who dance must pay the fiddlers. Yet fiddlers have also been known 
 pay dancers. 
 
When Rockefeller sits down to dine. 
 
" Mark, wouldn't it be great for the Standard Oil dinner bell 
 
XI 
 
"A capital joke! We'll tax the savings banks!" 
 
" Mark, do you remember how the poor cuss has worked for us ? I wonder if we 
 should cut a check off your coat tail and send it round to his widow?" 
 
 * 
 
" What, Lincoln : don't you know me ? 
 
The full dinner pail ? " Take this to father, dear. It's light. It won't be hard to 
 carry. Tell him the new meat schedule of the trust has made it so I couldn't 
 even get chuck." 
 
A full dinner pail for Rockefeller. 
 
Arbitration in a strike. 
 
I don't want to see the day when the American citizen will be like his fellows in 
 Europe, every man as he goes to his work carrying one soldier on his back. — Carl Schurz. 
 
* XVIII 
 
Let's arbitrate I " 
 Arbitrate be damned ! " 
 
The monster leading his hosts. 
 
Large fleas have little fleas 
 
 Upon their backs to bite 'em 
 
 Small fleas have lesser fleas, 
 
 And so ad infinitum ! 
 
XXI 
 
The Sultan of Sulu, whose harem and slaves are maintained by taxes on the 
 American people. 
 
Many hats that fit to one head. 
 
The hottest day on record. Yet there is a master far more cruel than the heat. 
 
'* I can't get any ice, mamma. The trust man says they won't sell any more small 
 pieces to poor people." 
 
No more five cent ice 
 
This is the way the trusts " visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction." 
 
But something happened on the road ! 
 
A heart to heart talk and a doubter on the threshold. 
 
" Blame me, not him. He has done nothing for which I am not responsible 
 
" God's in it. We're in it. There's money in it." 
 
As they go to the polls. 
 
The whirligig of time brings about not only its change but its sacrilege. 
 
These are the celestial agents of benevolent assimilation who say: " The Lord gave the 
 Philippines to us." 
 
Standard Oil and the Water of Life will not mix. Can the spirit of the meek and 
 lowly Nazarene be discerned in those who water stock, issue bonds in excess of the value 
 of the plant, drive rivals into bankruptcy by trust methods and then prey upon society at 
 large ? — William Jennings Bryan. 
 
genuine ancestor and a mock descendant. 
 
" Say, Mark, they won't leave anything of that but hoi 
 
"Don't you, as a mother, think young boys should go into the army?" 
 "No: our boys will work with their father when work is needed, and fight, if fight 
 they must, as volunteers." 
 
When dollars disagree man may get his due. 
 
XLII 
 
" Ladies and gentlemen : Stick to the trusts. They're your only true friends. Don't 
 you see how happy they've made you ?" 
 
" Gentlemen, let me introduce my friend." 
 
Who should — who does — pay the taxes 
 
XLVI 
 
" Dance, you old son of a gun ! Dance !" 
 
Liberty enlightening the labor world. 
 
Where the barbarism of the dollar gets in its work. 
 
XLIX 
 
They laugh best who laugh last. 
 
Nearest his heart. 
 
In the shadow of danger. 
 
Your uncle's in an angry mood and the brute's uneasy. 
 
The day for the little people will come. 
 
LIV