ou are putting money
into his pockets while your families suffer for food. There is no great
principle at stake to make your conduct seem noble and to call forth
sympathy for your suffering,--only foolishness and the blind following
of a demagogue whose living depends upon your folly.

"McGinnis talked to you about the conflict between capital and labor.
That is all rot. There is not and there cannot be such a conflict. Labor
makes capital, and without capital there would be no object in labor.
They are mutually dependent upon each other, and there can be no quarrel
between them, for neither could exist after the death of the other. The
capitalist is only a laborer who has saved a part of his wages,
--either in his generation or in some preceding one. Any man with a
sound mind and a sound body can become a capitalist. When the laborer
has saved one dollar he is a capitalist,--he has money to lend at
interest or to invest in something that will bring a return. The second
dollar is easier saved than the first, and every dollar saved is earning
something on its own account. All persons who have money to invest or to
lend are capitalists. Of course, some are great and some are small, but
all are independent, for they have more than they need for immediate
personal use.

"I am going to tell you how you may all become capitalists; but first I
want to point out your real enemies. The employer is not your enemy,
capital is not your enemy, but the saloonkeeper is,--and the most deadly
enemy you can possibly have. In that fringe of shanties over yonder live
the powers that keep you down; there are the foes that degrade you and
your families, forcing you to live little better than wild beasts. Your
food is poor, your clothing is in rags, your children are without shoes,
your homes are desolate, there are no schools and no social life. Year
follows year in dreary monotone, and you finally die, and your neighbors
thrust you underground and have an end of you. Misery and wretchedness
fill the measure of your days, and you are forgotten.

"This dull, brutish condition is self-imposed, and to what end? That
some dozen harpies may fatten on your flesh; that your labor may give
them leisure; that your suffering may give them pleasure; that your
sweat may cool their brows, and your money fill their tills!

"What do you get in return? Whiskey, to poison your bodies and pervert
your minds; whiskey, to make you fierce beasts or dull brute