During this interval of imprisonment a local newspaper man who learned of my being in the bull-pen, came at once to the dungeon and called me. I sprang to the steel barred door of this Houston hell, into which the “Star of Hope,” aided by the Houston police force, had thrown us, and said, “Here. What will you?”
The rays of a dim light revealed my face to the reporter, who asked me, “Are you Edwin A. Brown?” At the same time he pulled out of his pocket a New Orleans newspaper which had published a short time before a counterfeit presentment. While glancing at the likeness, he remarked, “You are the man all right.” “When did you get into town? We have been looking for you for a week.” I replied, “I got into town this morning and into jail this evening.” (The New Orleans paper stated that I was going to Houston.)
“Don’t worry. We’ll have you out of here in a few minutes.”
True to his word I was soon a free man and on my way with the journalist to the office of the Houston Post. After the interview, I left for my hotel, where, after the luxury of a refreshing bath, on a soft, snowy bed, I lay down to rest but not to sleep for while my body rested, my thoughts were back in that wicked cell with those of my countrymen who saw no future and to whom life held no meaning. Not until the dawn of another glorious Texas day, a symbol of the light glowing in the great hearts of the good people of Houston and of Texas, did I fall asleep.
The next morning the Houston Post carried a startling story on the arrest of the victims of the “Star of Hope Mission,” supplemented by the interview I had given, portraying Houston’s care for its homeless unemployed. The startling exposures made by the Houston press on existing conditions were followed by my talk before the Conference of State Charities then in session, and brought forth a volume of articles in the various local papers, teeming with apologies for the inexcusable conduct of the “Star of Hope Mission” and the police system of that city.
CHAPTER XXIX
San Antonio—Whose Very Name is Music
“If mankind showed half as much love to each other as when one dies or goes away, what a different world this would be.”—Auerbach.
I carried away in memory from San Antonio two pictures,—one of a beautiful, quaint old city, rich in historical lore; a city of winter sunshine, palms and flowers which make it truly “a stranger’s haven”; a picture of welcome and a spirit of kindness even to the homeless unemployed of which I caught glimpses during my brief sojourn in that city, though covered by thoughtlessness for their care of them.