THE breakfast hour at the settlement was the one hour in the day
when the whole family found a little breathing space to fellowship
together. It was an hour of relaxation. There was a great deal of
good-natured repartee and much real wit and enjoyable fun at this
hour. The Bishop told his best stories. Dr. Bruce was at his best in
anecdote. This company of disciples was healthily humorous in spite
of the atmosphere of sorrow that constantly surrounded them. In
fact, the Bishop often said the faculty of humor was as God-given as
any other and in his own case it was the only safety valve he had
for the tremendous pressure put upon him.
This particular morning he was reading extracts from a morning paper
for the benefit of the others. Suddenly he paused and his face
instantly grew stern and sad. The rest looked up and a hush fell
over the table.
"Shot and killed while taking a lump of coal from a car! His family
was freezing and he had had no work for six months. Six children and
a wife all packed into a cabin with three rooms, on the West Side. One child wrapped in rags in a closet!"
These were headlines that he read slowly. He then went on and read
the detailed account of the shooting and the visit of the reporter
to the tenement where the family lived. He finished, and there was
silence around the table. The humor of the hour was swept out of
existence by this bit of human tragedy. The great city roared about
the Settlement. The awful current of human life was flowing in a
great stream past the Settlement House, and those who had work were
hurrying to it in a vast throng. But thousands were going down in
the midst of that current, clutching at last hopes, dying literally
in a land of plenty because the boon of physical toil was denied
them.
There were various comments on the part of the residents. One of the
new-comers, a young man preparing for the ministry, said: "Why don't
the man apply to one of the charity organizations for help? Or to
the city? It certainly is not true that even at its worst this city
full of Christian people would knowingly allow any one to go without
food or fuel."
"No, I don't believe it would," replied Dr. Bruce. "But we don't
know the history of this man's case. He may have asked for help so
often before that, finally, in a moment of desperation he determined
to help himself. I have known such cases this winter."
"That is not the terrible fact in this case," said the Bishop. "The
awful thing about it is the fact that the man had not had any work
for six months."
"Why don't such people go out into the country?" asked the divinity
student.
Some one at the table who had made a special study of the
opportunities for work in the country answered the question. According to the investigator the places that were possible for work in the country were exceedingly few for steady employment, and in almost every case they were offered only to men without families. Suppose a man's wife or children were ill. How would he move or get into the country? How could he pay even the meager sum necessary to move his few goods? There were a thousand reasons probably why this particular man did not go elsewhere.
"Meanwhile there are the wife and children," said Mrs. Bruce. "How
awful! Where is the place, did you say?"
"Why, it is only three blocks from here. This is the 'Penrose
district.' I believe Penrose himself owns half of the houses in that
block. They are among the worst houses in this part of the city. And
Penrose is a church member."
"Yes, he belongs to the Nazareth Avenue Church," replied Dr. Bruce
in a low voice.
The Bishop rose from the table the very figure of divine wrath. He
had opened his lips to say what seldom came from him in the way of
denunciation, when the bell rang and one of the residents went to
the door.
"Tell Dr. Bruce and the Bishop I want to see them. Penrose is the
name--Clarence Penrose. Dr. Bruce knows me."
The family at the breakfast table heard every word. The Bishop
exchanged a significant look with Dr. Bruce and the two men
instantly left the table and went out into the hall.
"Come in here, Penrose," said Dr. Bruce, and they ushered the
visitor into the reception room, closed the door and were alone.
