I woke up in the morning, prayed, had a bite to eat, and went out to see what was going on in the streets. Large trucks, small Fords, strong expressmen with weak horses, are roaring, ringing, neighing. Life is teeming, life has reached the boiling point in the gigantic kettle--Chicago.

A peddler, with a wagon full of vegetables from the market, stands at the corner of Halsted and Twelfth Streets. His horse disregards the fact that in front of it, behind it, all around it, automobiles are flying. The horse standing there looks like a relic from the nineteenth century, like a candle against an electric light, but the horse does not care. It is not even insulted by the harsh words addressed to it by the passers-by. It trots slowly and thinks: "What good does your progress, and your civilization do you human beings, when only one man, a Mr. Blair, can compel millions of you to walk?"

2

In the newspapers, I read an appeal by the chief of police and president of the Chicago Motor Club to automobile owners, asking them to exhibit, as a matter of good citizenship and loyalty, an American flag on their car as a sign that they will give a free ride to anyone who is going in the same direction.

I stand at the corner and wait. The first five machines that are going my way, do not have any flags. Two trucks have flags but one is loaded with sand and the other with coal. A few empty cars without flags pass by, and, at last, a big automobile with a flag stops. The owner of that car, however, demands twenty-five cents from anyone who wants a ride.

Many people sell their duties as a citizen for a quarter.

I see three Jews dragging a small Ford out of a garage. One wipes the dust, another puts in a few broken chairs, and the third writes out a sign: "Loop--25 cents".

3

A few Jewish workers get in, pay the required twenty-five cents and wait for the trip to begin. One of the three owners looks at his customers, looks at the motor, smiles into his moustaches, sits down in the driver's seat and...the machine does not move an inch. His two comrades put their shoulders to the auto and push. The machine rattles, groans, emits smoke, but does not move. The passengers alight and the machine begins to move, but as soon as the Jews get back into it, the Ford strikes. The owner stands there, angry and perspiring; he bitterly curses Ford and all his factories, but it is no use. You can flatter, praise, and smile at an anti-Semite, but he still remains an enemy of Israel.

At Blue Island [Avenue] and Twelfth Street, I see a machine rushing by with eight people in it. Two young ladies are sitting on the laps of young men who are perspiring and whose faces are red, whether from the heat or from the young ladies, I do not know. In the eyes of the young men, I can see clearly what they are thinking--we wish the strike would last a whole year.

4

I see a coal wagon on the corner of Racine Avenue and Fourteenth Street. The sides of the wagon are broken; inside the wagon are empty soap boxes. A healthy, strong Jew of about forty stands near the wagon. He has a sign in his hand. "Loop--15 cents" is written in blue pencil on one side of the sign, and on the other side--"Loop--25 cents". When the Jew saw three customers approaching at the same time, he displayed the "25 cents" a ride sign. When he saw them hesitating, he turned the sign over to read "15 cents". Just then a truck approached with a sign--"15 cents to the Loop". The prospective customers of the Jew jumped into the truck. The Jew stood there, a disappointed man, and his skinny horse neighed and smiled at its two-legged comrade.

I see a Jewish butcher standing with a big wagon at the corner of Maxwell and Morgan Streets. The wagon is loaded with crates full of live poultry. On the other corner, a small grocery wagon crowded with men and women has stopped. The people are nearly suffocating; they curse and yell. The fowl stretch their necks, look at the big, wise people, and murmur: "We are led to slaughter in closed boxes, with our feet bound, but men pay money to be led to the 5slaughterhouse (shop) in dirty wagons."

I see a large crowd of men and women, standing on the corner of Loomis and Hastings Streets, waving and yelling. I rush over there. A fat Jewish woman with thick cheeks, thin lips, and small eyes stands near a thin, pale Jew with a small, thin beard, who is shaking in all his limbs. "Did you ever hear anything like it?" yells the woman. "I gave my husband a horse, a wagon, and a whip so that he can go out and earn a few dollars during the strike, and he comes home without a horse, without a wagon, and without a cent in his pocket." She shakes him by the shoulders and yells: "You brute, what do you want of my 'young' life?"

The people around her nod their heads and say: "She is right. A husband like that deserves to be burned alive."

"Where is that horse and wagon?" the woman yells still louder.

6

In a hoarse voice, with eyes red from weeping, the skinny little Jew makes his excuses to the public: "My wife drove me out of bed to get the wagon, told me to drive it, and to collect fifteen cents [a ride]. But I could not drive without first saying my morning prayers. I turned my head to the east, began to pray, and let the horse go its own way. The horse, I presume, went the wrong way because my passengers cursed me, and refused to pay. Just then two young Gentile fellows came up to me, snatched the reins from my hand, and threw me out of the wagon."

The woman beat her husband, the audience laughed, and the husband shed heart-rending tears.