“Do you pay the fare there?”
“No, but we advance it to you and take it out of your pay.”
“Is my pay assured when my work is done?”
“Oh, yes. You will be working for a mighty big corporation of Chicago, worth millions of dollars.”
“But when I reach there I am five dollars in debt to you. Suppose that I did not want to stay, or that I couldn’t stand the work, or that I might be taken ill, or that there should be some reasons why I could not work, my only bond is my body, what then?”
A Sick and Homeless Boy with His Dog on Guard. He is Sleeping on a Bed of Refuse Thrown from a Stable, with an Old Man Lying near Him
His face flushed. “I suppose I could run away if I had the strength,” I continued, “and if I did, what then?” The already flushed face turned scarlet.
“My friend,” I said, “for a mere pittance and a subsistence that you cannot recommend, you would make of me and these other destitute laborers a peon with all the wicked evils of that slavery. Being a workingman yourself is the only excuse to be given you for filling the position as solicitor for human lives.”