"In another shopping district, an armless man carried a small showcase with notions strapped over his neck and about his shoulders, with a sign calling attention to his infirmity and asking the public to purchase from him.
"In the coldest and stormiest days and nights, on slippery icy streets, shivering women with their babies, and old men and women, some blind, others so weak they could scarcely walk, were trying to sell newspapers or other articles. Or they were playing an antiquated musical instrument. There was always the small tin cup for contributions.
"In my ramblings, I purposely entered into conversation with many of these unfortunates. At 3:00 A.M., on a very dark, cold morning I had an occasion to pick up an old charwoman who had slipped on the icy pavement. When I asked her why she was out so early, she said that she worked nights in a bank, cleaning and scrubbing. She lives with a widowed daughter who works during the day. She takes care of her children and also contributes to the upkeep of the home from her meager earnings. She told me that most charwomen are old; and they, with the old men, are the all-night army doing the cleaning and scrubbing in banks, business houses, offices, and factory buildings. They are all only too glad to get and keep these jobs.
"An hour later, I met at a corner a bent, very old newspaper vendor. After buying a paper, I asked him why he was out so early on the street. He told me that he had the concession to sell early morning newspapers on that corner. Many of his customers were either night workers going home, or early workers going to their jobs.
"Arriving in this city that same evening, I saw near the New York Central Station, an old man, shabbily dressed in a light-weight, torn overcoat, shivering as he looked into a restaurant window as if he were hungry and hadn't the price of a meal. Stepping to his side, I invited him to join me as my guest for dinner. He weakly refused; but I prevailed upon him, and he reluctantly walked in with me arm in arm. I assured him that it would give me great pleasure to have his company.
"He was cultured and expressed himself with intelligence. I told him I was just adventuring, trying to gain friendship with men of his wisdom and long experience in order to learn their reactions to our way of life."
He said, "I have my own philosophy with strong opinions. I may offend you by intensely criticizing conditions!"
I begged him to go ahead, for I wanted to hear his philosophy. He said, "From the time we take on family responsibilities, we all fear two afflictions. One is the future breaking up of our intimate family after our children have left us. The other is our fear of old age, want, and dependence.
"You, our children, before your birth fed from your mother's body. You were born through her life and death struggles. You were nursed from her breasts until at times she felt faint. You kept her awake at night and gave her no rest during the day. She mothered you, nourished you, and nursed you day and night during your sicknesses. Watching over you like a guardian angel, she gave you her mother love, affection, and protection.
"You took all the necessities, and even the luxuries your father offered you, always desiring more, never questioning how difficult it was to provide them. He worked willingly day and night to give you happiness. He gave you his full love, and protection. He sacrificed his rest and pleasures to guard over you. He provided you with tennis courts, and when he could, automobiles. He never denied you education or necessities. When he could, he gave you greater luxuries. He surrounded you with servants, nursemaids, and governesses. For your enjoyment, he gave you the most expensive toys, ponies, and all your heart's desires. For your social contacts and for your health, he sent you for entire summers to the seashore, farm, or mountains.