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The Club from Prince George County, Maryland, had in its ranks a large platform on wheels, drawn by six white horses, on which was a power-loom from the Laurel Factory, with operatives at work. Several of the clubs drew large log cabins on wheels, decked with suitable inscriptions, cider-barrels, 'coonskins, and other frontier articles.
Oh! the coward, the infamous villain! And to think that only last night she was speaking comforting words to him, with her arms about him! Suddenly, with no knowledge of how it happened, she found herself in the courtyard of the factory. Through what streets had she come? Had she come in a carriage or on foot? She had no remembrance. She had acted unconsciously, as in a dream.
The city has rented a number of large vacant factory buildings and made them into kitchens. Municipal buyers go through the country to buy meat and vegetables. This is shipped to Cologne, and in these kitchens it is prepared by women workers, under the direction of volunteers. The people must give up their potato, fat and meat cards to obtain it.
A cart was rattling along the road in front of him. Now it stopped to unload; the load was tumbled off with one tilt. It was mould that they were driving to the garden outside the office building at the factory. Within the fence were a number of women and girls busily at work.
From there he ran around the corner of the house, coming up behind Kiddy Leech. "Out o' work, eh?" Aaron Masterson was saying. "Wot's your trade?" "I'm an electrical worker," answered the tramp. "The factory I worked in shut down, and I can't get a thing to do anywhere." "Humph! Well, I reckon we can give you a meal," answered the farmer. "Come in."
"A queer old boy," said Anderson. We talked about him for a half hour and then left the place. Anderson called me up the next morning to ask if I had read about it in the paper. I told him I had. A clipping on the desk in front of me ran: "Sam Sklarz, 46 years old and owner of a box factory on the West Side, committed suicide early this morning by jumping into the drainage canal.
Up to this point the operations described have taken place in the lands where cacao is produced. To watch the further processes in its development as an article of food, let us in imagination follow one of the shiploads of cacao on its sea journey from the far tropics to one of the countries of the old world, until the sacks of beans are finally deposited at a cocoa factory.
The next moment the factory siren rose to a shrill shriek, with a full head of steam behind it the fire call! Kennedy dashed over to the scene where those beneath the shower of glass lay, dazed and uncertain of the extent of their own injuries. "Where are the first-aid kits?" he shouted. "Bring cotton and bandages, and and telephone for a doctor, an ambulance!"
Through these interests, again, he comes into touch with wider questions with a Factory Bill or an Education Bill and in dealing with these questions he will now act as one of an organized body, whose combined voting strength will be no negligible quantity. Responsibility comes home to him, and to bring home responsibility is the problem of all government.
For he ate like twenty men; he ate incredibly, with a frightful freshness of appetite, so that it was like watching a sausage factory. Yet continually, when he had swallowed a dozen crumpets or drunk a quart of coffee, he would be found with his great head on one side staring at Syme.
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