Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/179

 They never knew the little kid—the kid I used to know; The little bare-legged girl back home, The little kid that played alone— They don't know half the things I know, kid, ain't it so?

They got y', kid, they got y'—you know they got y' right; They waited till they saw y' limp, Then introduced y' to the pimp— Ah, you were down then, kid, and couldn't fight!

I guess y' know what some don't know, and others know damn well— That sweatshops don't grow angels' wings, That workin' girls is easy things, And poverty's the straightest road t' Hell!

The "Cadet"

(From "The House of Bondage")

(See page 53)

Wherever there is squalor seeking ease, he is there. Wherever there is distress crying for succor, discontent complaining for relief, weariness sighing for rest, there is this missionary, offering the quack salvation of his temporal church. He knows and takes subtle advantage of the Jewish sisters sent to work for the education of Jewish brothers; the Irish, the Germans, the Russians, and the Syrians ground in one or another economic mill; the restless neurotic native daughters untrained for work and spoiled for play. He is at the