Far better to have the front of one's
face pushed in by the fist of an honest prize-fighter than to have
the lining of one's stomach corroded by the embalmed beef of a
dishonest manufacturer.
In a prize-fight men are classed. A lightweight fights with a light-
weight; he never fights with a heavy-weight, and foul blows are not
allowed. Yet in the world of the somnambulists, where soar the
sublimated spirits, there are no classes, and foul blows are
continually struck and never disallowed. Only they are not called
foul blows. The world of claw and fang and fist and club has passed
away--so say the somnambulists. A rebate is not an elongated claw.
A Wall Street raid is not a fang slash. Dummy boards of directors
and fake accountings are not foul blows of the fist under the belt.
A present of coal stock by a mine operator to a railroad official is
not a claw rip to the bowels of a rival mine operator. The hundred
million dollars with which a combination beats down to his knees a
man with a million dollars is not a club.
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