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Fitzgerald, Robert

"The Statesmen Snowbound"

About us in all directions towered huge
monuments of apoplectic wealth--teeming hives, draining the honey from
each bee, tearing from thousands their best years, their finest
endeavors, their very hearts' blood--all to swell the wealth of a
bloated few! And we, the drones, sat mildewing in the little open space
below!
"The man next to me, his head hanging over the back of the bench in
ghastly jointlessness, awoke with a snort, stared about him stupidly,
and something like a sob bubbled up from his Adam-appled throat. He
wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy paw, and diving into a greasy
pocket pulled out a short black pipe. Between consoling puffs he jerked
out, 'A man's a damn fool--a damn fool, I say, to come to New York to
look for a job! That's why _you_ are here. Oh, I know. I can tell.
You're a stranger all right; that's easy to see. You look the part.'
"'That's so,' said I, 'and worse. I am about down and out. Financially,
I stand exactly twenty-one--no--twenty-three cents to the good.'
"'I am right with you, friend--only more so. I have nothing, absolutely
nothing! You've twenty-three cents, hey? A bad number, that
twenty-three. Give me the odd penny, and perhaps luck'll change for both
of us.' I put the copper into his hand, and in chucking it into his
pocket he dropped it.


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