The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) January 06, 1917,

THE HOBO. Golden Rule Jones
used to tell a story that might help
Jack Lait and others understand the
hobo. Once a man got out of work
in a small town. Not because he
didn’t want to work, but because
there wasn’t enough work to go
around, and he couldn’t get enough
to keep him going. He thought he
would work on to the next village
and ‘look for work there. But he
didn’t find work there, and kept on
his way. He wasn’t a bum. He
wasn’t a loafer. He was as good as
the rest of the people in his home
town, but there was no place for
him. He walked, or tramped if you
please, because he hadn’t the money
for railroad fare. , He was willing to
work and did work when he could
get work. So much for the hobo end
of the story. But .here’s the part of
it that I enjoyed most It so hap
pened that our honest hobo friend
was hungry one day and without
money to buy food. He knocked at
the front door of a neat-appearing
house and a preacher came to the
door. Our hobo said he was hungry
and would be glad to saw wood or do
any other chore to pay for some
thing to eat. The preacher asked
him numerous questions about who
he was, what he did, where he came
from, all of which the hobo willingly
answered. Finally the preacher
asked: “Do you ever pray, brother?”
Brother Hobo admitted that he did
not, but had no objection to praying
if he thought it would help get him
work and food. Seeing that Brother
Hobo’s soul wasn’t wholly gone and
might be saved with little effort,
Brother Preacher handed out a little
sermon on prayer and told Brother
Hobo to go to the back door and
Brother Preacher would bring him a
sandwich. At the back door the
sandwich was delivered and then the
hobo, who had been thinking, said to
Ifce preacheri “Jyst a few. moments
ago you called me brother. Am I
your brother?”
“Certainly you are my .brother,”
gently replied the preacher. “All
men are brothers. We are “all chil
dren of the same God and alika we
partake of the bounty of His infinite
This impressed the hobo. Hungry
as he was he meditated, holding in
his hand the backdoor sandwich.
“And I am really your brother?” he
Again Brother Preacher i assured
him. “Why, certainly you are my
brother,” and the good man beamed
as he said it.
At last the truth dawned upon the
poor brother who was looking for
work. He looked at the preacher, at
the back door, at himself, at the
sandwich in his hand and then again
at the preacher. And he said:
“Well, brother, if I am really your
brother and you are my brother,
don’t you thing it’s a pretty cold deal
for you to give your brother this
backdoor handout, instead of invit
ing your brother into the house to sit
down at the family table to a square
And the pious brother was shocked
at the lack of understanding, not to
say the base ingratitude of the hobo
brother, .who was almost foolish
enough to believe that the preacher
meant what he preached.