view of its hundred thousand laborers. He felt it with its
human fringe, he saw its various tenement borders like so many camps and
bivouacs on the eve of a battle.

He told a little incident of how the harbor learned he was here. About
nine o'clock one morning, as he was waiting his chance to get into one
of the North River docks, a teamster recognized him there from a picture
of him he had once seen. The news traveled swiftly along the docks, out
onto piers and into ships. And at noon, way over in Hoboken, Marsh had
overheard a German docker say to the man eating lunch beside him,

"I hear dot tamn fool anarchist Marsh is raising hell ofer dere in New
York."

"But I wasn't raising hell," he drawled. "I was over here studying
literature." And he drew out from his pocket a tattered copy of a
report, the result of a careful investigation of work on the docks, made
recently by a most conservative philanthropic organization.

"'In all the fierce rush of American industry,'" he read, with a quiet
smile of derision, "'no work is so long, so irregular or more full of
danger. Seven a. m. until midnight is a common work day here, and in the
rush season of winter when ships are often delayed by storms and so must
make up time in port, the same men often work all day and night and even
on into the following day, with only hour and half-hour stops for
coffee, food or liquor. This strain makes for accidents. From police
reports and other sources we find that six thousand killed and injured
every year on the docks is a conservative estimate.'"

Marsh glanced dryly up at me:

"Here's the America I know."

I said nothing. I was appalled. Six thousand killed and injured! I could
feel his sharp gray eyes boring down into my soul:

"You wrote up this harbor once."

"Yes," I said.

"Did you write this?"

"No. I would have said it was a lie."

"Do you say so now? These people are a careful crowd." I took the
pamphlet from his hands.

"Queer," I muttered vaguely. "I never saw this report before."

"Not so queer," he answered. "I'm told that it wasn't _meant_ to be
seen--by you and the general public. That's the way this society works.
They spend half a dead old lady's cash investigating poverty and the
other half in keeping the public from learning what they've discovered.
But we're going to furnish publicity to this secluded work of art.

"On Saturday afternoon," he continued, "I went along the North River
docks. I found