132 
THE KU RA.lv NEW-YORKER 
'j:: Hope Farm :: || 
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E VER since people began to congregate 
in cities and crowd into small corners 
there has been a distinction between 
these who have plenty of elbow room 
and those who have but little. Take 
the millions crowded at the mouth of the 
Hudson River. Jammed in like sardines 
in a box, they acquire certain habits and 
ways of life which farmers and country 
people know little of. In an hour’s walk 
we can see dozens of strange things. 
Come along with me and look a few of 
them over. 
Types of Character. —As we walk 
down our street we shall notice a large 
proportion of men wearing some sort of 
uniform. Policemen, firemen, motormen, 
Government and railroad employees and 
clerks and messengers from stores—all 
have cap and uniform. A farmer might 
regard (his as a badge of servitude, but 
it is no more out of place man the over¬ 
alls which a good hired man should wear 
at his job. In these hard days the clerk 
and the uniform wearer are worse off 
than the hired man, for dozens of men 
have hungry eyes upon the job, while 
a skilled hired man is master of the 
situation. 
Why They Stay. —Notice the dozens 
of men standing at the street corners or 
walking aimlessly about. They are out of 
work, with no job in sight. Up your way 
last season crops were wasted and import¬ 
ant work left undone because you could 
not find helpers. Here are big, stout men, 
who will sooner or later get into one of 
the “bread lines” for a little food. Most 
of these men will tell you forcibly that 
they would go and work on a farm only 
as a last resort. They have lived where 
there is no elbow room so long that they 
would be lost out in the free country. 
They may not think so, but the city has 
got them by (he heart. The excitement, 
the picture show, the rush and roar of 
the town, have worked into their nerves. 
Original character or wnat we call initia¬ 
tive have disappeared for lack of elbow 
room. They are puppets—not much more 
in the life of the city than the paving 
stones or asphalt on the streets. There 
are so many of them that their unskilled 
labor commands only a pittance. They 
swell the population in a square mile of 
Manhattan, and thus inflate land values 
and rents which all finally pass into the 
hands of a few millionaires. 
The City Diseases. —If you have 
read much of history you will recognize 
in these groups of spiritless men the 
germs of a disease older than typhoid or 
consumption. Every old city had it, and 
most of them were sickened by it. The 
wise men of Alliens built great gold- 
carved buildings at the top of their lofty 
hill, because they knew that the glory 
of it would be carried beyond (he deserts 
or the seas. Every sailor and adventurer 
carried the news, and the world poured 
its bold spirits into the city. They 
brought wealth and sharp swords and 
labor, but the city disease, which is lack 
of elbow room for hand and mind, took 
originality out. of them, and of course 
the city could not stand. Talk to these 
men on the corner and see what they 
know. For some years they have read 
p-aetically nothing except a daily paper. 
This paper pays able men great salaries 
lo lead and dictate the thought of these 
poor fellows we are talking with. Not 
far away is a wonderful public library, 
where the world’s thought is hoarded as 
the world’s gold is piled up in Wall 
Street. You might possibly find a score 
of students inside. The rest of the great 
city goes rushing by, so afflicted with the 
city disease that not one in 500 has been 
guilty of a clear, original thought in great 
public matters in 10 years. 
Elbow Room. —That is what comes of 
crowding people into rich corners. You 
know it is different in good farm homes. 
There is elbow room for spirit and 
mind out among the hills, and in the 
quiet of long Winter nights. Rooks are 
read slowly and carefully. Ask these men 
about the present war in Europe and see 
what they know about it. I know of 
many a farm home in which the family 
are reading histories of Germany, France 
and England—thoroughly, and so as to 
find the foundation of the trouble. The 
average hired man can discuss public 
questions which affect the interests of the 
middle class far more intelligently than 
half the men we have passed on our way. 
The city disease makes a man feel that 
he is only a cog in a big machine, and he 
loses interest in knowing where the 
power comes from or what the machine 
finally does. A farmer must provide 
power, run his small machine and handle 
what it produces. 
Distribution.— We shall see that this 
great city is built upon distribution just 
as every other great city has been. Here 
comes my lady in her car. Our ancestors 
refused to stand aside for the men on 
horseback, but we run from the woman 
in the car. The plumes on her hat were 
plucked from an ostrich in South Africa. 
A hunter in Labrador froze his hands 
and nearly gave his life in order that 
she might wear that fur coat. Insane 
with thirst and burning in the sun a 
black man in Australia brought that 
diamond out of the desert. Stumbling on 
snow shoes behind his dogs through the 
frightful cold, a miner brought tho gold 
for that bracelet. Girls in Southern 
France picked the roses from which the 
perfume was made. The entire world has 
contributed in order that my lady may 
ride at her elegant ease. See that man 
running out of the track of her gilded 
car? He had his breakfast in the bread 
line. 11 is shoes are worn through. His 
clothes are also distributed, for his hat, 
coat and vest were contributed by three 
different men who cast them off. This 
limping man and my lady’s car each 
represent a symptom of the city disease— 
lack of elbow room. One has his elbows 
tied so tightly that he cannot get his 
hands upon a living wage. The other 
has her arms so tied up by fashion and 
habit that her hands cannot know the 
joy of giving. Some day we will walk 
further until we come to the origin of 
the dollar, —hic-li enables my lady to run 
the lame man off the track. 
Human Nature. —Strange trades or 
professions grow up where people crowd 
together. Here is one sign which may 
some day have attraction for you: 
black eyes cured. 
It is in a barber’s shop and entirely 
serious. Out in the country where men 
can get off across a wide field and ar¬ 
gue their differences and where the 
neighbors* hens do not bother, a business 
of this sort would not prosper. There is 
more trade in the city where people are 
crowded together, and I have no doubt 
many black eyes are'brought for treat¬ 
ment. It is a method of packing certain 
herbs on the bruised place. If any of you 
have read “The Planters,” a Mexican 
story, you will remember how the hero 
was badly bruised by his neighbor and 
the Mexican girl poulticed his face with 
healing leaves. 
Children. —You have probably been 
told that city children are sickly and ill 
fed—not at all equal to country boys 
and girls. Y'ou would be surprised to see 
how healthy and active the little things 
in our neighborhood are. Most of them 
are under medical inspection—teeth, ears, 
throat and eyes are examined and set 
right. In this respect the city child has 
an advantage over the farm child. Then 
these little city folks are turned out in 
the air to play. There is no room for 
them indoors. They sleep at night with 
the windows wide open, and actually 
have more fresh air than many country 
children. There are all sorts of them. 
Last week I saw a gang of about a dozen 
urchins marching through our street. 
Each one carried a long stocking with 
a big handful of heavy sand tied into 
the “foot.” It was a sling shot—a “sand 
bag.” This was the Seventh Avenue gang 
hunting for their enemies on Eighth Ave¬ 
nue. Soon the other "gang” appeared 
and there were active preparations for 
battle. Scouts were detailed to watch 
for policemen and then, following the 
custom of all armies a lively tongue bat¬ 
tle began. There was no inclination to 
get near enough to use those stockings! 
January 30, 
Finally it was decided to let the leaders 
fight it out. So a white boy from Eighth 
Avenue and a colored boy from Seventh 
Avenue dropped their stockings and came 
out to grapple. You are not interested 
in the combat, but the colered boy 
certainly had Eighth Avenue going when, 
to save their leader, the scouts called 
“The cop,” and both armies melted into 
brick and stone. I once walked through 
a group of these children and saw what 
seemed to be a beautiful little girl sitting 
on the sidewalk in evident trouble. Her 
face was turned away and as I went by 
I patted her on the head. Up she jumped 
delighted and caught hold of my hand, 
while another girl caught the other. 
They were about as large as the Red¬ 
heads at home—but one was as black as 
a poker, the other nearly as white as 
you are. It must have been an illuminat¬ 
ing spectacle as the Hope Farm man 
walked a block with these little sprites 
dancing beside him. 
Self Control. —Some of these people 
who work without elbow room have to 
put up with business troubles and force 
themselves to be patient under affliction. 
I will match some of the clerks in 
the large stores against Job. Many 
customers are very rude and overbear¬ 
ing, but the clerk must smile and keep 
serene. There are light wire frames made 
to represent the human form. At one end 
will be a pair of very small shoes and 
at the other a wax miniature of some 
smiling young creature with golden hair. 
A dress to represent some late style will 
be hung on this frame—the whole thing 
stood up in a window and there you are. 
The other morning I saw a very dignitied 
clerk carrying two of these creations 
through the long store. He had an arm 
around each as the best way to carry 
them, and I envied him his dignity. 
Later I saw this man as “floor walker” 
with a crowd of customers demanding all 
sorts of information. I do not know how 
he felt inside, but he actually had a 
smile which looked like the real thing. 
He surely lacked elbow room, but he 
had mastered self control and thus I take 
it is one of the orderly things we can all 
learn in the city. That and learning how 
to get together as they do here—all the 
way from the Eighth Avenue gang down 
to Wall Street. h. \v. c. 
Paige Means Power 
And Paige Power is merely one of the 
many tremendously vital features that 
have won for Paige Cars the supreme 
distinction — “The World’s Greatest 
Motor Car Value.” 
vVe believe that there is no more dis¬ 
criminating judge of motor car values 
than the Country Gentleman. There 
is no man who exacts more from his 
motor car or is more dependent upon 
his motor car. 
From just such judges of character and 
worth Paige Cars have won their posi¬ 
tion of supremacy. 
Compare the Paige Glenwood “Four-36” 
with any four cylinder car in the world 
—at any price—consider beauty, 
roominess and staunchness, consider 
the electric starting and lighting sys¬ 
tems, the igniiian, the lubrication, the 
reputations and your own personal re¬ 
quirements. Consider the r e 1 a tive 
costs of maintenance and operation. A 
proof of Paige Supremacy is the proof 
of Paige economy. Then consider the 
vital features and superiorities of the 
Paige “Four-36” printed below. And 
the new price is $1075. 
You must also see the epoch-making, 
seven passenger Paige Fairfield “Six- 
46”—at the record-breaking price—• 
$1395. 
Paige Quality means Supreme Economy, 
Supreme Service and Supreme Satis¬ 
faction. 
Paige-Detroit Motor Car Co., 22X McKinstry Ave., Detroit, Mich. 
Four-cylinder long-stroke motor, 4x5 
inches. Multiple disc, clutch with cork 
inserts. Gray and Davis large unit 
electric system, Bosch magneto. Cen¬ 
ter control. Floating type rear axle. 
116-inch wheel base. Tires, 34'x4'. 
$1075 
Equipment — Rain vision ventilating 
windshield; silk mohair top with en¬ 
velope; speedometer; one extra de¬ 
mountable rim; robe rail; license brack¬ 
et; horn; pump; jack; cools and tire 
repair outfit. Trimmings black and 
nickel. 
