And you’ll eat in the sweet bye and bye.
Work for All but Father
By Henry M. Tichenor
(The poet of the Rip-Saw, a revolutionary paper of the middle West which has an immense circulation)
“Everybody works but father”—God, what a ghastly lay! “Everybody works but father”—he wants too much pay! Mother and Ann and Maggie, and tiny Tim and Bill, work like hell for a paltry wage in the sweatshop and the mill. “Everybody works but father”—he talks like a fool—he asks enough in wages to send the kids to school—he wants more for his daily toil than we pay the wife and brood—he says he ought to have enough to keep them all in food! “Everybody works but father”—for him we have no need—all we want of father is just to keep up the breed. The mother and the babies, that’s all we require, the mother and the babies—those are the ones we hire. Just keep on breeding babies—that’s the bull moose hunch—just keep on breeding babies, we can work the whole damn bunch!
Mr. “Dooley” on Industry
(See pages [683], [692], [698], [706])
’Tis a sthrange thing whin we come to think iv it that th’ less money a man gets f’r his wurruk, th’ more nicissary it is to th’ wurruld that he shud go on wurrukin’. Ye’er boss can go to Paris on a combination wedding an’ divoorce thrip an’ no wan bothers his head about him. But if ye shud go to Paris—excuse me f’r laughin’ mesilf black in th’ face—th’ industhrees iv the counthry pines away.