“Does Father Damon join in this?”
“Oh, he has always been a member of the Labor League. Now he has been at work with the Episcopal churches of the city, and got them to agree, when they want workmen for any purpose, to employ only union men.”
“Isn't that,” Edith exclaimed, “a surrender of individual rights and a great injustice to men not in the unions?”
“You would see it differently if you were in the struggle. If the working-men do not stand by each other, where are they to look for help? What have the Christians of this city done?” and the little doctor got up and began to pace the room. “Charities? Yes, little condescending charities. And look at the East Side! Is its condition any better? I tell you, Mrs. Delancy, I don't believe in charities—in any charities.”
“It seems to me,” said Edith, with a smile calculated to mollify this vehemence, “that you are a standing refutation of your own theory.”
“Me? No, indeed. I'm paid by the dispensary. And I make my patients pay—when they are able.”
“So I have heard,” Edith retorted. “Your bills must be a terror to the neighborhood.”
“You may laugh. But I'm establishing a reputation over there as a working-woman, and if I have any influence, or do any little good, it's owing to that fact. Do you think they care anything about Father Damon's gospel?”
“I should be sorry to think they did not,” Edith said, gravely.
“Well, very little they care. They like the man because they think he shares their feelings, and does not sympathize with them because they are different from him. That is the only kind of gospel that is good for anything over there.”