The next day the same, and so on all through the campaign, and one campaign after another. When he had a job, which was none too often, for Jimmie was not an extra good workman and was always one of the first to be laid off, he would distribute Socialist papers among his fellows during the noon hour, or take a run down to the gate of some factory and give out Socialist leaflets to the employees who came out to lunch.
What did he do? Jimmie Higgins did everything, anything. Whatever was to be done, THAT was Jimmie’s job.
First to do his own work; then the work of those who had become wearied or negligent. Jimmie Higgins couldn’t sing, nor dance, nor tell a story—but he could DO the thing to be done.
Be you, reader, ever so great, you nor any other shall ever do more than that. Jimmie Higgins had no riches, but out of his poverty he always gave something, his all; be you, reader, ever so wealthy and likewise generous, you shall never give more than that.
Jimmie Higgins never had a front seat on the platform; he never knew the tonic of applause nor the inspiration of opposition; he never was seen in the foreground of the picture.
But he had erected the platform and painted the picture; through his hard, disagreeable and thankless toil it had come to pass that liberty was brewing and things were doing.
Jimmie Higgins. How shall we pay, how reward this man? What gold, what laurels shall be his?
There’s just one way, reader, that you and I can “make good” with Jimmie Higgins and the likes of him. That way is to be like him.