sad that it was not hard to tell how the question moved him. Dr.
Bruce had his head bowed. The human problem had never seemed to him
so tragical as since he had taken the pledge and left his church to
enter the Settlement. What would Jesus do? It was a terrible
question. And still the man stood there, tall and gaunt and almost
terrible, with his arm stretched out in an appeal which grew every
second in meaning. At length Mr. Maxwell spoke.

"Is there any man in the room, who is a Christian disciple, who has
been in this condition and has tried to do as Jesus would do? If so,
such a man can answer this question better than I can."

There was a moment's hush over the room and then a man near the
front of the hall slowly rose. He was an old man, and the hand he
laid on the back of the bench in front of him trembled as he spoke.

"I think I can safely say that I have many times been in just such a
condition, and I have always tried to be a Christian under all
conditions. I don't know as I have always asked this question, 'What
would Jesus do?' when I have been out of work, but I do know I have
tried to be His disciple at all times. Yes," the man went on, with a
sad smile that was more pathetic to the Bishop and Mr. Maxwell than
the younger man's grim despair; "yes, I have begged, and I have been
to charity institutions, and I have done everything when out of a
job except steal and lie in order to get food and fuel. I don't know
as Jesus would have done some of the things I have been obliged to
do for a living, but I know I have never knowingly done wrong when
out of work. Sometimes I think maybe He would have starved sooner
than beg. I don't know."

The old man's voice trembled and he looked around the room timidly.
A silence followed, broken by a fierce voice from a large,
black-haired, heavily-bearded man who sat three seats from the
Bishop. The minute he spoke nearly every man in the hall leaned
forward eagerly. The man who had asked the question, "What would
Jesus do in my case?" slowly sat down and whispered to the man next
to him: "Who's that?"

"That's Carlsen, the Socialist leader. Now you'll hear something."

"This is all bosh, to my mind," began Carlsen, while his great
bristling beard shook with the deep inward anger of the man. "The
whole of our system is at fault. What we call civilization is rotten
to the core. There is no use trying to hide it or cover it up. We
live in an age of trusts and combines an