I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular fire-brand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled No. 9 boot. I have worked for day's wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides.
Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals.
He is wanted in every city, town and village - in every office, shop, store and factory. The thing leaped hot from my heart, written after a trying day. Yes, the boy is right. The edition went out and soon orders began to come for extra copies. A dozen, fifty, a hundred, a thousand, and yes, a hundred thousand.