There comes along a grimy,ragged,footsore tramp,his feet bursting out from the sides of his shoes,his clothes all rags,with filthy shirt and towselled hair.He has been,he tells you,on the tramp for the last three weeks,seeking work and finding none,slept last night on the Embankment,and wants to know if you can give him a bite and a sup,and shelter for the night.Has he any money?Not he;he probably spent the last penny he begged or earned in a pipe of tobacco,with which to dull the cravings of his hungry stomach.What are you to do with this man?
Remember this is no fancy sketch--it is a typical case.There are hundreds and thousands of such applicants.Any one who is at all familiar with life in London and our other large towns,will recognise that gaunt figure standing there asking for bread and shelter or for work by which he can obtain both.What can we do with him?Before him Society stands paralysed,quieting its conscience every now and then by an occasional dole of bread and soup,varied with the semi-criminal treatment of the Casual Ward,until the manhood is crushed out of the man and you have in your hands a reckless,despairing,spirit-broken creature,with not even an aspiration to rise above his miserable circumstances,covered with vermin and filth,sinking ever lower and lower,until at last he is hurried out of sight in the rough shell which carries him to a pauper's grave.
I propose to take that man,put a strong arm round him,and extricate him from the mire in which he is all but suffocated.As a first step we will say to him,"You are hungry,here is food;you are homeless,here is a shelter for your head;but remember you must work for your rations.This is not charity;it is work for the workless,help for those who cannot help themselves.There is the labour shed,go and earn your fourpence,and then come in out of the cold and the wet into the warm shelter;here is your mug of coffee and your great chunk of bread,and after you have finished these there is a meeting going on in full swing with its joyful music and hearty human intercourse.There are those who pray for you and with you,and will make you feel yourself a brother among men.There is your shake-down on the floor,where you will have your warm,quiet bed,undisturbed by the ribaldry and curses with which you have been familiar too long.There is the wash-house,where you can have a thorough wash-up at last,after all these days of unwashedness.There is plenty of soap and warm water and clean towels;there,too,you can wash your shirt and have it dried while you sleep.