They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry.
Having shown the reporters how the undoubted penury of the deserving hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the Infallible Booze-detector.
"Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the Onward.
"We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar."
"Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These are human beings—"
"And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving money to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides alienating the Christian vote. We share food. That's Socialism. We do not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters. They're borrowed."
Lubin was silenced.
That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph thus far.
As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another glittering electric sign. It said: