ught to myself, as I looked down upon the
weatherbeaten brother at my feet! A vagabond dog among his kind would
fare better than this worn-out old umbrella mender in a civilized human
community.

The warm clothes I had on made me uncomfortable as I saw him sitting
there in rags mending my umbrella. The overcoat I wore made me ashamed
of myself. Every time the umbrella mender looked up out of his rags I
winced.

What crime had he committed that condemned him to go through the world
in tatters to be lashed by the merciless blasts of winter and tormented
by hunger-pangs, and of what rare virtue was I possessed that entitled
me to wear the best of clothes and eat the choicest food!

Dared I call him brother? And could I call him brother without insulting
him?

These were the reflections that agitated my mind and troubled my heart.

"Good morning!" was the cheery greeting of a man who passed on the
sidewalk, calling me by name.

The old umbrella mender fairly started at the mention of my name. He had
just completed his bit of sewing and the threaded needle fell from his
fingers.

"Excuse me!" he said timidly, "is this Mr. Debs?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Eugene V. Debs?"

"Yes, brother."

"Thank God," exclaimed the old umbrella mender as he fairly bounded to
his feet and seized my extended hand with both of his. There were tears
in his eyes and his face was flushed.

"Of course I know you now," he went on. "This is your home and I have
often seen your picture. But this is the first time I have ever seen you
and if it hadn't been for your umbrella snapping just as I came along, I
would have passed you by and the chances are that I never would have
seen you. God must have tipped off your umbrella to give me a
stop-signal."

"Say, Gene," he continued, still holding me with both hands, "I am
pretty well down, ain't I? About all in and making my last stand before
shuffling off."

"But say, Gene, I never scabbed. Look at these hands! I'm an old rail
and I followed the business for twenty-seven years. I broke and ran a
freight train most of that time. Never got a passenger run because I was
too active on grievance committees and called a firebrand by the
officials. I wouldn't stand for any of their dirty work. If I'd been
like some of 'em I'd had a passenger train years ago and been saved lots
of grief. But I'd rather be a broken down old umbrella-fixer without a
friend than to be a scab and worth a million."

A g