If I had been told that the clothes I wore, the food I ate, the pen I wrote with, the ink I used, the paper I wrote on--all these, and everything I touched, from my soap to my match-box, especially my match-box, was the result of sweated labor, I should not have believed it, I should have laughed.

But yet it is so.

If I had not been rich once myself I should think as all these people do, that the rich are devils incarnate to let such things go on.

They have the power to help us.

We have none to help ourselves.