“Surely not all so ugly and wretched as these?”
“Many worse. But don’t let the outside deceive you. Back of these nightmares of scorched mud, festooned with shabby clothes, are thousands of brave loving men and women, living their lives cheerfully, not asking us for pity. Even in this squalor grow beautiful, innocent girls like flowers in a muck-heap. When I see these children growing up thus into fair men and women with such sur-roundings, I know that every babe is born a child of God, not of the devil.”
They climbed a dark stairway and knocked at the back door of a double-decker tenement.
A stout woman opened it, and they entered the tiny kitchen, so small that the table had to be pushed against the wall to pass it and the family of six could not all eat at one time because the table could not be pulled out into the room.
“How is John this afternoon, Mrs. McDonald?”
“We don’t know, sir. The doctor’s in there now. If he dies, God knows what we will do; and if he lives, a cripple, it’ll be worse.”
The doctor called them into the front room and whispered to Gordon:
“He’s got to die, and I’m going to tell him. I’m glad you are here.”
He took the man by the hand.
“Well, John, I’m sorry to say so to you, but you must know it. You can’t live beyond the day.”