Can such a one send a letter to Garcia？
‘ You see that bookkeeper，‘said the foreman to me in a large factory.
‘ Yes， what about him ？ ‘‘ Well he’s a fine accountant， but if I’d send him up town
on an errand， he might accomplish the errand all right， and on the other hand， might stop at four saloons on the way， and when
he got to Main Street， would forget what he had been sent for.‘
Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia？
We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathyexpressed for the ‘ downtrodden denizen of the sweat-shop‘ and the ‘homeless wanderer searching for honest employment，‘ & with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.
Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy never-do-wells to do intelligent work； and his long patient striving with ‘help‘ that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away ‘help‘ that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business， and others are being taken on. No matter how good times are， this sorting continues， only if times are hard and work is scarce， the sorting is done finer—but out and forever out， the incompetent and unworthy go.
It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best- those who can carry a message to Garcia.
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. He cannot give orders； and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia， his answer would probably be， ‘Take it yourself.‘
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.
Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple； but in our pitying， let us drop a tear， too， for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise， whose working hours are not limited by the whistle， and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference， slipshod imbecility， and the heartless ingratitude， which， but for their enterprise， would be both hungry & homeless.
Have I put the matter too strongly？ Possibly I have； but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds—the man who， against great odds has directed the efforts of others， and having succeeded， finds there’s nothing in it： nothing but bare board and clothes.
I have carried a dinner pail & 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. There is no excellence， perse， in poverty； rags are no recommendation； and all employers are not rapacious and high-handed， any more than all poor men are virtuous.
My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the ‘boss‘ is away， as well as when he is at home. And the man who， when given a letter for Garcia， quietly take the missive， without asking any idiotic questions， and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer， or of doing aught
else but deliver it， never gets ‘laid off，‘ nor has to go on a strike for higher wages. Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall be granted； his kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city， town and village—in every
office， shop， store and factory. The world cries out for such： he is needed， and needed badly—the man who can carry a message to Garcia.
