News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1903-02-04

! de-. l.,.Ju. Ii is useless for me to at
4 tempt it. Mr.. Marsh" Gordon spoke
with n mondOus earnostneas,. for there
WAS OF word that Marsh had dropped
that gave him hope, You said it did
not very humane to say you had
/ never Zen chat property. VIII you go
with me and lock at it? | cannot tell
you the facts If / were to give them
+ to you as they are, | am actually
! afraid sou would not believe me.
! There IRE thousands Of business men
f in This city who do not know the hOr-
TOls Int are cOnggsted in and around
/ Bowen street and Long avenue and
+ T. p me. But if you have anv heart
IN uY YOU cannot be unmoyed by the
9. -8u there In the name OF the
suffering babies and little children
beg OF you, Alr. Marsh, come with me
and see with your own eyes. You lost
a little child once, Mr.. Marsh. | re-
member Lucia telling me, your first
born son. In the name Of that sacred
memory will you take an interest in
the dying innocent children in your
own tenements|
IL his sudden appeal to this long dis
tant but never forgotten experience
John Gordon made the one plea that
PERHAPS could have moved PhilO Marsh
sufficiently to overcome his repugnance
to every form of human suffering. He
remained silent a moment; then lifting
his eyes to Gordon, he said grayely:
a,,,- v,r,I1 III ,rC with Won Nhan
shall we go?'
Il will suit my time to your conven-
fence. would like to have you note
the conditions by day and night. can
go with you any time"
"Say tomorrow afternoon and night,
then"
evil you take dinner with Miss An
drews at Hope HouseY John Gordon
ventured to say.
Mr. Marsh hesitated. "Why, yes, l
will if it is customary"
Il know Miss Andrews will welcome
you. Tomorrow at 2, if that will suit
you. will meet you here, and we can
inspect the tenements. take dinner at 6
and go out again for a look at night.
Thank you"
John Gordon spoke with quiet but
deep satisfaction. lie had scored an
important point. How important he
did not know. but it was a vital be-
ginning to any influence he might hop
to exert over the property owners.
AS he started to so out, Mr.. Marsh
spoke slowly:
about Lucia? There is no prospect
of an agreement between you?"
"NOt any that | can see"
I'm sorry" The words were genu-
inc, and John Gordon was touched by
them.
THANK you, Mr.. Marshw He shook
hands firmly and went out with a tear
in his eye, but it was not the same as
that which the Interview with his own
father had provoked.
Thank God He seems to have a
heart, at leastr' John Gordon ex-
claimed as he went down into his Ge-
henna again.
Between = and O'Clock the next day
Mr.. Marsh and John Gordon were in
Bowen street and standing in front of
the building on lot 81, known as the
"dumbbell tenement" which, accord
ing TO one famous tenement house COM
mission, lis the one hopeless form of
tenement construction. 1t cannot be
well ventilated it cannot be well light
ed; it is not safe in case of fire; direct
light is only possible for the rooms at
front and rear The middle rooms
must borrow what light they can from
dark Railways, the shallow shafts and
the rear rooms. Their air must pass
through other rooms or tiny shafts, and
cannot but be contaminated before it
reaches them" New YORK tenement
commission, 1914
John Gordon could not help noticing
the shrinking manner OF Mr.. Marsh.
The man seemed to be under an intiu-
eEce that could not be fear or even
compassion. 1t was rather a mingling
OF disgust and physical dread.
"Shall we 90 in?" John Gordon said,
looking at his companion curiously.
"Wait a moment" cried Marsh. Il
want to look at the street"
The two men stood still, and the older
for the first time in his life saw a sight
that he had never dreamed could eX-
ist in a civilized city that was at least
nominaIly Christian.
1t would be impossible to picture
Bowen street by means of a photo
graph. No skill Of the photographer
or artist could reproduce the scene and
human language is as weak MS the
brush or camera to tell the story
The street swarmed with children.
1t was midsummer and the day Gself
was hot, but not one of the hottest of
the season. There was not a tree or
shrub or flower not bit of grass, not
even a weed to relieve the dun, sicken-
ing look of sun smitten brick and wood
and stone.
In front Of every other house stood a
garbage box, or what had once been
one. The majority of these boxes were
rotting heaps Of boards without covers,
overlooking with wet stuff composed of
decaying vegetables, the sweepings
from the tables Of the people and the
litter of paper, tin cans and refuse that
had not been disturbed by inspectors or
garbage wagons for several weeks