Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 November 1913 — The Basement Philosopher [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Basement Philosopher

By KENNETT HARRIS

(Copyritht. 1915, by W. G. C-hipmin ) .The janitor, having improvised a luxurious couch by spreading half a dozen burlap 'sacks in his wheelbarrow, lit his pipe and disposed himself ■comfortably ~with his extended legs on the barrow handles. "11l call it a day,” he said to his Scandinavian assistant, “If there’s anything else to be done, I’ll let you do it. Don’t thank me; it’s no more than my duty. What’s that? You wasn’t going to? Well, I’m not surprised. A man who looks for gratitude from a guy he’s trying to help ain’t got the knowledge of human nature that I’ve raked together in the last thirty years. But you had ought to be grateful just the same. “The trouble with you, Nels,” continued the janitor, “is that yo'u’ve al::Ways been used to work and you don’t realize its blessings. I’ll bet a bottle of brass polish you’ve done your eighteen hours a day steady In the old country ever since you was old enough to chew on a hunk of rye bread, and if there was any rush, you done another six hours and didn’t think nothing of it. It got so it wasn't no particular treat to you, didn’t it? Sure thing! And all them other square-heads around you was working, too, the same way, so you never felt you was any way’s privileged. There didn’t seem to be no special dignity •bout it Ain’t I right? “Well, I’m here to tell you that the man that eats hiß bread in the sweat of his brow is the king-pin of the row, and any politician will tell you the same. The honest toiler can lift up his head and look the whole world in the face, and if the whole world doesn’t like it, it knows what it can do. Of course in some trades that’s more sO than it is in others, but there's no getting around the fact that labor’s the whole thing. It may get a tew knocks in the federal courts once in a while, but you’ll see it wipe

Utt sweat off its brow and come up amillng every time. "What you want to do to get the respect of your fellow man —which at the present time is me—is to work. Bend your blooming back to it. Dig in your toenails and push. Get underneath and lift, bust your suspender buttons, rip your shirt, put your shoulders to it and your whole soul in It and keep everlastingly at it; that’s She way to do it. That’s the way I done before I got a weak heart People used to stand around by the hour to watch me—particularly my boss would. It was a sight to see me work —a rare sight you might say. “And another thing, Nels, my friend: When you start in on a job, do it right—the way it ought to be done. Take a pride in your work, take pains with it —and aches. Never mind if you do bark your shins or knock a little of the skin off your knuckles. If a cinder gets in your eye, shut your eye and don't think any more about it; if a red hot coal falls inside your shoe, don’t make that an excuse to stop working; leave it alone and it’ll cool off in time. If the ashes gets in your lungs, cough if you must, but don’t indulge yourself cnore’n necessary. Keep your mind on your work whatever happens. A wellcleaned grate is a thing of beauty and a joy till it clogs up again. A clear bright window pane is a testimonial of character, and a hallway Well scrubbed a certificate of merit, tiet your brass work so shine that a woman can powder her nose and set her hat on straight by it. Clip the grabs as if you were doing an extra fine job on your own whiskers with a view to that chrome-topped countrywoman of yours on the fourth floor. What you've got to think about all the time la your work. “It's what we was put here for, is work. You need to sleep bo’s you’ll be rested up for It, and eat and drink •o you’ll have the strength for it. But sleeping and eating ain’t what ought to occupy your mind the way it does. You don’t want to be looking at the clock to see if It's time to quit, either. What’s the difference of a couple of hours or the missing of a meal or so If there's something to be done? Nothing at all, especially when a man’s yott&g and strong and has white eyebrows and yellow teeth and a name ending lu ’sen.’ Work! “Think of the men that haven’t got Jobs. Washington's full of ’em this jfcoemot Fellows that’s been setting •round end doing nothing but spit at

red hot stoves all winter and- could go back to it any time. Some of 'em Will have to' go back, but it won't be because they want to. aching for a chance to work —for honest toil, collecting for ports, representing in foreign countries, registering in land offices, handing out mail in postof flees —any old thing just so it gives them good hard work and lots of it Do they want to loaf? Ask ’em. “No, Nels, there’s a thousand or two of ’em would be glad of your job if they cqnld get it, and they wouldn’t make no roar about the hours or the work. All they’d ssk would be a decent salary and a half ea dozen husky deputies. And them ain’t the only bnes. Look at all these fellows you see playing golf and riding around in automobiles and buzzing the merrymerry and smoking cigarettes and drinking cocktails in the clubhouses just to pass away the time. . They haven’t got any job, and what’s the result? They’re miserable. Of course they are. Nothing to do. Look at mo and you, we’re happy. We’re honest, horny-handed sons of toil and our hearts are light and we eat our chuck with a relish. Wheel me back about a yaVd now and fix them fires. Holy smoke! —Look at the gauge. Get a wiggle on, now.” The assistant did as he wbb requested and then wheeled his superior back in accordance with further Instructions. “But all said and done,” remarked the janitor, “the horny-handed is most generally the bone-headed.”

LIT HIS PIPE AND DISPOSED HIMSELF COMFORTABLY.