That afternoon I met a Board composed mostly of men eminent in city affairs, among them was a distinguished lawyer, a very large man. He sat with his foot across one knee, when I leaned over and said, “Brother, would you mind walking home in your hose, and giving me those shoes for a poor chap as large as you are?” “Do you really mean it?” “Yes, I do; only I will let you wear them home, then send them to me with hose, under clothes, and any other clothing you can spare.”
By the next morning I had clothing for the poor fellow, and Mr. G.'s number 11 shoes fit as if made to order.
If the poor man had successfully sold pencils and shoestrings all winter he could not have been so well clothed as he was that day. But, best of all, while he was obliged to wait he read the four Gospels through several times, and he sought and found salvation in Jesus Christ. That was November, 1911. Since that he has gotten a place as night watchman in a large building, and he is a good and faithful man.
In Missions we have a large number of deserted wives with children, whom we clothe. By that help they can by their own labor keep their little families together, and then on every holiday, such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc., we bring them all to the Mission for reunion and a big dinner. The joyous seasons for the rich are the saddest times for the poor and the bereaved. It is such a privilege to be the administrators of the church people who send money and clothing for these purposes. In return, the Missions are the real protection of the city. A hungry man is dangerous, and a man with a hungry family is a menace.
My maid told me, one extreme cold day, that a man was at the door to see me. I found there one of the most dangerous housebreakers in the country. “Murphy,” I said, “I do not want to see any of you men at my home. What do you want?” “I am starving.” “Well, go to the Mission, we never turn a man away there.” “I wouldn't be caught dead there.” “Why not?” “Well, I hate Kline (the Superintendent) and the whole outfit, but I am starving, I tell you.”
I knew by that he had been stealing at the Mission. Thieves fold up the sheets and pillow-cases, even when they have been entertaining free, put the bedding under their coats and get away with it. In time we get to know them and will not put them in the dormitories, but only in the barracks fitted with shelving but with no pillows or covers, but fire is kept all night. The bath and toilet-room adjoins or is part of the barracks, so that men are made comfortable. I took Murphy to an eating house near by and filled him up, but at the same time warning him to get out of town as soon as possible or change his course and become a good man. Now, if that man had not been given food he would surely have gotten it, if it cost a human life. Bad as he was, he would have been fed had he gone to the Mission. I feared he would not go, but would commit some depredation. Speaking of thieves, reminds me of the case of a man whom I shall call
JAMES MANN.
One evening a tall, fine-looking man came into the Mission chapel. One gets to know thieves somewhat as you know an Englishman, a German, an Italian, by the marks environment have left on the person. I knew on sight that he was a thief. We had a Salvation Army man at the Mission that night from West Virginia, who gave the message. His subject was, “Be sure thy sin will find thee out.”
He had been a thief, had served time, but now he told how happy and safe he felt serving God and in being a good citizen. Several men knelt at the altar that night, so when 9.30 P.M., the time for dismissal, came, the men were permitted to go to the dormitories while one or two workers prayed with the penitents.
Mr. Mann retired, but he could distinctly hear the praying. He declared that a voice said, “Mann, now or never.” He tried to go to sleep, the inward voice persisted, “Now or never.” He put on his clothes, went back to the chapel, threw himself down at the altar and cried to God for mercy for himself.