131 Bowery,
is a grand place for my work. I come in touch with all classes, and when
I see a man or a boy that I think will stick, I rig him up, put a front
on him and back him until he gets work. I wish I had more clothes so I
could help more men, but at least I can give them a handshake, a kind
word, and a prayer, and that, by God's grace, can work wonders for the
poor fellows. There's not a man or boy comes in that I do not see, and I
mingle with them and get their hard-luck stories, also their good-luck
ones. Sitting there at my desk, I glance down the room, and I can tell
at a glance the newcomers and the regulars. I can tell what has brought
them there.
Over at one of the tables trying to read sat one day a man about fifty,
his clothes worn and threadbare, but wearing a collar, and that's a good
sign. I beckoned him to come over to me and I pointed to a chair,
telling him to sit down. If that chair could only speak, what a tale it
could tell of the men who have sat there and told their life stories!
I asked him how he came to be there, and he told me the same old story
that can be summed up in one word--drink! He came from up the State, at
one time owned a farm outside of Oswego, and was living happily.
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