He can not give orders, and he will not receive them. 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 firebrand 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 carried a dinner-pail and worked for a 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. Provided by Printing's Past in celebration of printing history and lore.