The Eternal Question

The Eternal Question By Fred L. W. Bennett My companion shuddered. "But why do these people pre- fer to spend the night beside this river, of all places?" he asked. "I suppose they come here so that they can take a dive whenever they feel that is best," I said with a lightness I did not feel. It was past midnight and we were on the famous Thames Embankment, the rendezvous of many of London's outcasts: people whose resources are so slender that they cannot even muster the few pennies necessary to provide them with a bed in a common lodging house and who, where they are not un- willing to make their plight known to their friends, have al- ready claimed more than friendship was willing to concede. Here was a white-haired old woman asleep on a bench with her head hanging over the arm. A little further on was what ap- peared to be a whole family. The children seemed to be re- posing peacefully, but the parents were not, and I can see them now as they sat staring into space, the picture of despair. As we passed, one of us held out a coin to the man who took it eagerly with a fervent, "Thank you, Sir!" Here was a couple of the most hardened and roughest looking men I had ever seen. One of them was snoring loudly whilst the other sat with one leg over the arm of the bench cursing to himself. On one seat sat a young fellow with light wavy hair and a boyish face such as would win the heart of the most skeptical. He was looking out across the river and seemed to be quite alone. We sat down beside him and tried to get into conversation, but he was nervous and seemed afraid to talk. Some of the poor creatures started at our approach, but settled down again when they saw we were not in uni- form. The police move them along occasionally, as it is against the law there, as elsewhere, to sleep out on the highway. We made our way slowly back to Blackfriar's Bridge. The great Thames looked unusually forbidding that night — or rather morning, for it was then past 2 a. m. We were passing Cleo- patra's Needle, which stands near the cement wall on the edge of the river, when my companion suddenly exclaimed: "I think there is something rotten in a state of society that permits such a condition of affairs as this. I would not have gone to that banquet tonight had I come here first and known that within

THE ETERNAL QUESTION 29 alinost calling distance the lives of others were ebbing out for the want of the mere necessaries of existence. No one has a right to spend as much on, a single meal as it would cost to keep, at least two of these wretched people about us in food and shelter for a week. It is time there was a revolution and I should like to ." "Hush!" I said. "A policeman is standing in the shadow there. If he hears you he will think we are here for an un- lawful purpose and it will be embarrassing." We walked along in silence stopping now and then to look at the dark, inhospitable waters below. The moon had hidden behind a cloud and a rustling in the leaves suggested a storm. We were just discussing the nearest point at which to hail a cab, when there was an awful splash in the water. My companion turned pale. "What is it?" he asked. Before I could speak there was another splash and running back a short distance we were just in time to see a figure in a blue uniform emerge from the water with a limp form in his arms. * * * As we climbed into the cab on our way home I said to my companion: "Whom do you suppose, then, is responsible for the unhappy state of affairs we have seen tonight and how would you remedy them? I have thought a great deal about the problem since I first came here, but the more I have thought about it, the less easy did a solution appear." "But, surely there is a way out," said the young man a little impatiently. "Why not find them work and let them support themselves," as if that were the easiest thing in the world. I turned on him sharply, "This thing we have seen tonight is the greatest problem of civilization," I said. "It is the eternal question, and it is such as you who stand in the way of such improvements as are possible. You pretend to be horror stricken at the lot of those wretched people, and yet you are always among the first to help shout down the only real remedies that are proposed." "What do you mean?" he demanded, staring at me in- credulously. "When have I ever said anything against helping them?" "Only this morning," I retorted promptly. "It has been obvious to me for sometime that the only possible way to make quite sure that no one will ever go hungry or have to sleep by the side of that dreary river is for the Government to assume charge of every child at birth and continue a strict supervision until death. Then no one could waste his money or indulge in vices that lead to a feeble body or mind or a

30 IMPROVEMENT ERA reputation that renders him unacceptable in the society of ' decent people and as a worker." My companion looked astonished at this recital and al- most collapsed, so after assuring him that I did not favor such a drastic program I went on: "You must remember that prevention is always better than cure, and it is the duty of the state or nation to forbid the formation of syndicates by cun- ning men who desire to exploit the weaknesses of their fel- lows. You have been sneering today about the anti- liquor and anti-tobacco laws in your own country and when gambling was mentioned you seemed to rejoice in the fact that the authorities found it hard to put it down. Curfew and dancing laws, and in fact, any kind of government or muni- cipal regulation you regard as fanatical. Efforts toward the preservation of the Sabbath — the violation of which is the be- ginning of the downfall of many — meet with your contempt. In short, you are opposed to any interference with the indi- vidual from the state, and yet you think the state is under con- demnation if it does not assume the role of a parent when the individual is down and out. The obligation of the state to the\ individual is in exact proportion to the willingness of the indi- vidual to acknowledge the right of the state to have a part in his affairs." When Evening's Curtain Falls When evening's curtain gently falls Across the western sky; With cadence sweet the vesper calls, In pensive mood am I: "What have you done," will conscience ask, "With all your time today? Have you performed some noble task?" Can I speak up and say, "The hours were spent in earnest quest Of life's supremest joy, In every act I did my best My talents to employ: I kept my heart from envy free, Each deed with honor wrought; In every one I tried to see The soul with virtue fraught." Or must I answer guiltily, "No worthy act I did, Sad, vain regret bangs heavily, My talent deep I hid." Springville, Utah Myron E. Crandktll Jr.