mblance
between Burlingham and old Tom. Both belonged to the familiar
philosopher type. But, unlike the actor-manager, the old
cabinetmaker had lived his philosophy, and a very gentle and
tolerant philosophy it was.

After she had looked her request for light upon what way she was
to take, they sat silent, neither looking at the other, yet each
seeing the other with the eye of the mind. She said:

"I may not dare take it."

"You won't have no choice," replied he. "You'll have to take it.
And you'll get away from here. And you mustn't ever come
back--or look back. Forget all this misery. Rememberin' won't do
us no good. It'd only weaken you."

"I shan't ever forget," cried the girl.

"You must," said the old man firmly. He added, "And you will.
You'll have too much else to think about--too much that has to
be attended to."

As the first of the year approached and the small shopkeepers of
the tenements, like the big ones elsewhere, were casting up the
year's balances and learning how far toward or beyond the verge
of ruin the hard times had brought them, the sound of the fire
engines--and of the ambulances--became a familiar part of the
daily and nightly noises of the district. Desperate shopkeepers,
careless of their neighbors' lives and property in fiercely
striving for themselves and their families--workingmen out of a
job and deep in debt--landlords with too heavy interest falling
due--all these were trying to save themselves or to lengthen the
time the fact of ruin could be kept secret by setting fire to
their shops or their flats. The Brashears had been burned out
twice in their wandering tenement house life; so old Tom was
sleeping little; was constantly prowling about the halls of all
the tenements in that row and into the cellars.

He told Susan the open secret of the meaning of most of these
fires. And after he had cursed the fire fiends, he apologized
for them. "It's the curse of the system," explained he. "It's
all the curse of the system. These here storekeepers and the
farmers the same way--they think they're independent, but really
they're nothin' but fooled slaves of the big blood suckers for
the upper class. But these here little storekeepers, they're
tryin' to escape. How does a man escape? Why, by gettin' some
hands together to work for him so that he can take it out of their
wages. When you get together enough to hire help--that's when you
pass out of slavery into the mas