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  The Conquest

  _The Story of a <DW64> Pioneer_

  BY THE PIONEER

  1913
  THE WOODRUFF PRESS
  Lincoln, Nebr.




Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1913,
  by the Woodruff Bank Note Co., in the office of the
    Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.

First Edition, May 1, 1913




_To the_
_HONORABLE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON_




_INTRODUCTORY_


_This is a true story of a <DW64> who was discontented and the
circumstances that were the outcome of that discontent._




INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS


                                      PAGE

  Became number one in the opening      56

  Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to
    celebrate      113

  Made a declaration that he would build a town      128

  Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production
    of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on
    either side were great mountains of sand      133

  On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek
    their level      140

  The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader      145

  Everything grew so rank, thick and green      160

  Had put 280 acres under cultivation      177

  Bringing stock, household goods and plenty of money      192

  Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in
    Tipp county      209

  As the people were all now riding in autos      241

  A beautiful townsite where trees stood      251

  Ernest Nicholson takes a hand      256

  The crops began to wither      289

  The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I
    cared for the stock      304




LIST OF CHAPTERS


                                              PAGE

        I Discontent--Spirit of the Pioneer      9

       II Leaving Home--A Maiden      18

      III Chicago, Chasing a Will-O-The-Wisp      24

       IV The P----n Company      34

        V "Go West Young Man"      48

       VI "And Where is Oristown?"      54

      VII Oristown, the "Little Crow" Reservation      61

     VIII Far Down the Pacific--The Proposal      67

       IX The Return--Ernest Nicholson      72

        X The Oklahoma Grafter      74

       XI Dealin' in Mules      79

      XII The Homesteaders      86

     XIII Imaginations Run Amuck      91

      XIV The Surveyors      94

       XV "Which Town Will the R.R. Strike?"      104

      XVI Megory's Day      108

     XVII Ernest Nicholson's Return      117

    XVIII Comes Stanley, the Chief Engineer      123

      XIX In the Valley of the Keya Paha      126

       XX The Outlaw's Last Stand      132

      XXI The Boom      134

     XXII The President's Proclamation      140

    XXIII Where the <DW64> Fails      142

     XXIV And the Crowds Did Come--The Prairie Fire      148

      XXV The Scotch Girl      153

     XXVI The Battle      164

    XXVII The Sacrifice--Race Loyalty      168

   XXVIII The Breeds      175

     XXIX In the Valley of the Dog Ear      182

      XXX Ernest Nicholson Takes a Hand      186

     XXXI The McCralines      193

    XXXII A Long Night      201

   XXXIII The Survival of the Fittest      208

    XXXIV East of State Street      216

     XXXV An Uncrowned King      233

    XXXVI A Snake in the Grass      241

   XXXVII The Progressives and the Reactionaries      251

  XXXVIII Sanctimonious Hypocrisy      265

    XXXIX Beginning of the End      273

       XL The Mennonites      280

      XLI The Drouth      284

     XLII A Year of Coincidences      294

    XLIII "And Satan Came Also"      297




The Conquest




CHAPTER I

DISCONTENT--SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER


Good gracious, has it been that long? It does not seem possible; but it
was this very day nine years ago when a fellow handed me this little
what-would-you-call-it, Ingalls called it "Opportunity." I've a notion
to burn it, but I won't--not this time, instead, I'll put it down here
and you may call it what you like.

    Master of human destinies am I.
    Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait.
    Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate
    Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
    Hovel, and mart, and palace--soon or late
    I knock unbidden once at every gate.
    If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before
    I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
    And they who follow me reach every state
    Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
    Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
    Condemned to failure, penury, and woe
    Seek me in vain and uselessly implore,
    I answer not, and I return no more.

Yes, it was that little poem that led me to this land and sometimes I
wonder well, I just wonder, that's all. Again, I think it would be
somewhat different if it wasn't for the wind. It blows and blows until
it makes me feel lonesome and so far away from that little place and the
country in southern Illinois.

I was born twenty-nine years ago near the Ohio River, about forty miles
above Cairo, the fourth son and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by
the name of Devereaux--which, of course, is not my name but we will call
it that for this sketch. It is a peculiar name that ends with an "eaux,"
however, and is considered an odd name for a <DW52> man to have, unless
he is from Louisiana where the French crossed with the Indians and
slaves, causing many Louisiana <DW64>s to have the French names and many
speak the French language also. My father, however, came from Kentucky
and inherited the name from his father who was sold off into Texas
during the slavery period and is said to be living there today.

He was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land and was, therefore,
considered fairly "well-to-do," that is, for a <DW52> man. The county
in which we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles, and took its
name from an old fort that used to do a little cannonading for the
Federal forces back in the Civil War.

The farming in this section was hindered by various disadvantages and at
best was slow, hard work. Along the valleys of the numerous creeks and
bayous that empty their waters into the Ohio, the soil was of a rich
alluvium, where in the early Spring the back waters from the Ohio
covered thousands of acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding
left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and clay which greatly
added to the soil's productivity. One who owned a farm on these bottoms
was considered quite fortunate. Here the corn stalks grew like saplings,
with ears dangling one and two to a stalk, and as sound and heavy as
green blocks of wood.

The heavy rains washed the loam from the hills and deposited it on these
bottoms. Years ago, when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the
excessive rainfall had washed away the loose surface, the highlands were
considered most valuable for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable
as the bottoms now are. Farther back from the river the more rolling the
land became, until some sixteen miles away it was known as the hills,
and here, long before I was born, the land had been very valuable. Large
barns and fine stately houses--now gone to wreck and deserted--stood
behind beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old oaks, where
rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made their homes, and sometimes a
raccoon or opossum founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days.
The orchards, formerly the pride of their owners, now dropped their
neglected fruit which rotted and mulched with the leaves. The fields,
where formerly had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy and
clover, were now grown over and enmeshed in a tangled mass of weeds and
dew-berry vines; while along the branches and where the old rail fences
had stood, black-berry vines had grown up, twisting their thorny stems
and forming a veritable hedge fence. These places I promised mother to
avoid as I begged her to allow me to follow the big boys and carry their
game when they went hunting.

In the neighborhood and throughout the country there had at one time
been many  farmers, or ex-slaves, who had settled there after the
war. Many of them having built up nice homes and cleared the valley of
tough-rooted hickory, gum, pecan and water-oak trees, and the highlands
of the black, white, red or post oak, sassafras and dogwood. They later
grubbed the stumps and hauled the rocks into the roads, or dammed
treacherous little streams that were continually breaking out and
threatening the land with more ditches. But as time wore on and the
older generation died, the younger were attracted to the towns and
cities in quest of occupations that were more suitable to their
increasing desires for society and good times. Leaving the farms to care
for themselves until the inevitable German immigrant came along and
bought them up at his own price, tilled the land, improved the farm and
roads, straightened out the streams by digging canals, and grew
prosperous.

As for me, I was called the lazy member of the family; a shirker who
complained that it was too cold to work in the winter, and too warm in
the summer. About the only thing for which I was given credit was in
learning readily. I always received good grades in my studies, but was
continually criticised for talking too much and being too inquisitive.
We finally moved into the nearby town of M--pls. Not so much to get off
the farm, or to be near more <DW52> people (as most of the younger
<DW64> farmers did) as to give the children better educational
facilities.

The local  school was held in an old building made of plain
boards standing straight up and down with batten on the cracks. It was
inadequate in many respects; the teachers very often inefficient, and
besides, it was far from home. After my oldest sister graduated she went
away to teach, and about the same time my oldest brother quit school and
went to a near-by town and became a table waiter, much to the
dissatisfaction of my mother, who always declared emphatically that she
wanted none of her sons to become lackeys.

When the Spanish-American War broke out the two brothers above me
enlisted with a company of other patriotic young fellows and were taken
to Springfield to go into camp. At Springfield their company was
disbanded and those of the company that wished to go on were accepted
into other companies, and those that desired to go home were permitted
to do so. The younger of the two brothers returned home by freight; the
other joined a Chicago company and was sent to Santiago and later to San
Luis DeCuba, where he died with typhoid pneumonia.

M--pls was an old town with a few factories, two flour mills, two or
three saw mills, box factories and another concern where veneering was
peeled from wood blocks softened with steam. The timber came from up the
Tennessee River, which emptied into the Ohio a few miles up the river.
There was also the market house, such as are to be seen in towns of the
Southern states--and parts of the Northern. This market house, or
place, as it is often called, was an open building, except one end
enclosed by a meat-market, and was about forty by one hundred feet with
benches on either side and one through the center for the convenience of
those who walked, carrying their produce in a home-made basket. Those in
vehicles backed to a line guarded by the city marshall, forming an
alleyway the width of the market house for perhaps half a block,
depending on how many farmers were on hand. There was always a rush to
get nearest the market house; a case of the early bird getting the worm.
The towns people who came to buy, women mostly with baskets, would file
leisurely between the rows of vehicles, hacks and spring wagons of
various descriptions, looking here and there at the vegetables
displayed.

We moved back to the country after a time where my father complained of
my poor service in the field and in disgust I was sent off to do the
marketing--which pleased me, for it was not only easy but gave me a
chance to meet and talk with many people--and I always sold the goods
and engaged more for the afternoon delivery. This was my first
experience in real business and from that time ever afterward I could
always do better business for myself than for anyone else. I was not
given much credit for my ability to sell, however, until my brother, who
complained that I was given all the easy work while he had to labor and
do all the heavier farm work, was sent to do the marketing. He was not a
salesman and lacked the aggressiveness to approach people with a basket,
and never talked much; was timid and when spoken to or approached
plainly showed it.

On the other hand, I met and became acquainted with people quite
readily. I soon noticed that many people enjoy being flattered, and how
pleased even the prosperous men's wives would seem if bowed to with a
pleasant "Good Morning, Mrs. Quante, nice morning and would you care to
look at some fresh roasting ears--ten cents a dozen; or some nice ripe
strawberries, two boxes for fifteen cents?" "Yes Maam, Thank you! and O,
Mrs. Quante, would you care for some radishes, cucumbers or lettuce for
tomorrow? I could deliver late this afternoon, you see, for maybe you
haven't the time to come to market every day." From this association I
soon learned to give to each and every prospective customer a different
greeting or suggestion, which usually brought a smile and a nod of
appreciation as well as a purchase.

Before the debts swamped my father, and while my brothers were still at
home, our truck gardening, the small herd of milkers and the chickens
paid as well as the farm itself. About this time father fell heir to a
part of the estate of a brother which came as a great relief to his ever
increasing burden of debt.

While this seeming relief to father was on I became very anxious to get
away. In fact I didn't like M--pls nor its surroundings. It was a river
town and gradually losing its usefulness by the invasion of railroads up
and down the river; besides, the <DW52> people were in the most part
wretchedly poor, ignorant and envious. They were set in the ways of
their localisms, and it was quite useless to talk to them of anything
that would better oneself. The social life centered in the two churches
where praying, singing and shouting on Sundays, to back-biting,
stealing, fighting and getting drunk during the week was common among
the men. They remained members in good standing at the churches,
however, as long as they paid their dues, contributed to the numerous
rallies, or helped along in camp meetings and festivals. Others were
regularly turned out, mostly for not paying their dues, only to warm up
at the next revival on the mourners bench and come through converted and
be again accepted into the church and, for awhile at least, live a
near-righteous life. There were many good Christians in the church,
however, who were patient with all this conduct, while there were and
still are those who will not sanction such carrying-on by staying in a
church that permits of such shamming and hypocrisy. These latter often
left the church and were then branded either as infidels or human devils
who had forsaken the house of God and were condemned to eternal
damnation.

My mother was a shouting Methodist and many times we children would slip
quietly out of the church when she began to get happy. The old and less
religious men hauled slop to feed a few pigs, cut cord-wood at fifty
cents per cord, and did any odd jobs, or kept steady ones when such
could be found. The women took in washing, cooked for the white folks,
and fed the preachers. When we lived in the country we fed so many of
the Elders, with their long tailed coats and assuming and authoritative
airs, that I grew to almost dislike the sight of a <DW52> man in a
Prince Albert coat and clerical vest. At sixteen I was fairly disgusted
with it all and took no pains to keep my disgust concealed.

This didn't have the effect of burdening me with many friends in M--pls
and I was regarded by many of the boys and girls, who led in the
whirlpool of the local <DW52> society, as being of the
"too-slow-to-catch-cold" variety, and by some of the Elders as being
worldly, a free thinker, and a dangerous associate for young Christian
folks. Another thing that added to my unpopularity, perhaps, was my
persistent declarations that there were not enough competent <DW52>
people to grasp the many opportunities that presented themselves, and
that if white people could possess such nice homes, wealth and luxuries,
so in time, could the <DW52> people. "You're a fool", I would be told,
and then would follow a lecture describing the time-worn long and cruel
slavery, and after the emancipation, the prejudice and hatred of the
white race, whose chief object was to prevent the progress and
betterment of the <DW64>. This excuse for the <DW64>'s lack of ambition
was constantly dinned into my ears from the Kagle corner loafer to the
minister in the pulpit, and I became so tired of it all that I declared
that if I could ever leave M--pls I would never return. More, I would
disprove such a theory and in the following chapters I hope to show that
what I believed fourteen years ago was true.




CHAPTER II

LEAVING HOME--A MAIDEN


I was seventeen when I at last left M--pls. I accepted a rough job at a
dollar and a quarter a day in a car manufacturing concern in a town of
eight thousand population, about eight hundred being. I was
unable to save very much, for work was dull that summer, and I was only
averaging about four days' work a week. Besides, I had an attack of
malaria at intervals for a period of two months, but by going to work at
five o'clock A.M. when I was well I could get in two extra hours, making
a dollar-fifty. The concern employed about twelve hundred men and paid
their wages every two weeks, holding back one week's pay. I came there
in June and it was some time in September that I drew my fullest pay
envelope which contained sixteen dollars and fifty cents.

About this time a "fire eating"  evangelist, who apparently
possessed great converting powers and unusual eloquence, came to town.
These qualities, however, usually became very uninteresting toward the
end of a stay. He had been to M--pls the year before I left and at that
place his popularity greatly diminished before he left. The greater part
of the <DW52> people in this town were of the emotional kind and to
these he was as attractive as he had been at M--pls in the beginning.

Coincident with the commencement of Rev. McIntyre's soul stirring
sermons a big revival was inaugurated, and although the little church
was filled nightly to its capacity, the aisles were kept clear in order
to give those that were "steeping in Hell's fire" (as the evangelist
characterized those who were not members of some church) an open road to
enter into the field of the righteous; also to give the mourners
sufficient room in which to exhaust their emotions when the spirit
struck them--and it is needless to say that they were used. At times
they virtually converted the entire floor into an active gymnasium,
regardless of the rights of other persons or of the chairs they
occupied. I had seen and heard people shout at long intervals in church,
but here, after a few soul stirring sermons, they began to run outside
where there was more room to give vent to the hallucination and this
wandering of the mind. It could be called nothing else, for after the
first few sermons the evangelist would hardly be started before some
mourner would begin to "come through." This revival warmed up to such
proportions that preaching and shouting began in the afternoon instead
of evening. Men working in the yards of the foundry two block away could
hear the shouting above the roaring furnaces and the deafening noise of
machinery of a great car manufacturing concern. The church stood on a
corner where two streets, or avenues, intersected and for a block in
either direction the influence of fanaticism became so intense that the
converts began running about like wild creatures, tearing their hair and
uttering prayers and supplications in discordant tones.

At the evening services the sisters would gather around a mourner that
showed signs of weakening and sing and babble until he or she became so
befuddled they would jump up, throw their arms wildly into the air,
kick, strike, then cry out like a dying soul, fall limp and exhausted
into the many arms outstretched to catch them. This was always
conclusive evidence of a contrite heart and a thoroughly penitent soul.
Far into the night this performance would continue, and when the
mourners' bench became empty the audience would be searched for sinners.
I would sit through it all quite unemotional, and nightly I would be
approached with "aren't you ready?" To which I would make no answer. I
noticed that several boys, who were not in good standing with the
parents of girls they wished to court, found the mourners' bench a
convenient vehicle to the homes of these girls--all of whom belonged to
church. Girls over eighteen who did not belong were subjects of much
gossip and abuse.

A report, in some inconceivable manner, soon became spread that Oscar
Devereaux had said that he wanted to die and go to hell. Such a
sensation! I was approached on all sides by men and women, regardless of
the time of day or night, by the young men who gloried in their
conversion and who urged me to "get right" with Jesus before it was too
late. I do not remember how long these meetings lasted but they suddenly
came to an end when notice was served on the church trustees by the city
council, which irreverently declared that so many converts every
afternoon and night was disturbing the white neighborhood's rest as
well as their nerves. It ordered windows and doors to be kept closed
during services, and as the church was small it was impossible to house
the congregation and all the converts, so the revival ended and the
community was restored to normal and calm once more prevailed.

That was in September. One Sunday afternoon in October, as I was walking
along the railroad track, I chanced to overhear voices coming from under
a water tank, where a space of some eight or ten feet enclosed by four
huge timbers made a small, secluded place. I stopped, listened and was
sure I recognized the voices of Douglas Brock, his brother Melvin, and
two other well known <DW52> boys. Douglas was betting a quarter with
one of the other boys that he couldn't pass. (You who know the dice and
its vagaries will know what he meant.) This was mingled with words and
commands from Melvin to the dice in trying to make some point. It must
have been four. He would let out a sort of yowl; "Little Joe, can't you
do it?" I went my way. I didn't shoot craps nor drink neither did I
belong to church but was called a dreadful sinner while three of the
boys under the tank had, not less than six weeks before, joined church
and were now full-fledged members in good standing. Of course I did not
consider that all people who belonged to church were not Christians, but
was quite sure that many were not.

The following January a relative of mine got a job for me bailing water
in a coal mine in a little town inhabited entirely by <DW64>s. I worked
from six o'clock P.M. to six A.M., and received two dollars and
twenty-five cents therefor. The work was rough and hard and the mine
very dark. The smoke hung like a cloud near the top of the tunnel-like
room during all the night. This was because the fans were all but shut
off at night, and just enough air was pumped in to prevent the formation
of black damp. The smoke made my head ache until I felt stupid and the
dampness made me ill, but the two dollars and twenty-five cents per day
looked good to me. After six weeks, however, I was forced to quit, and
with sixty-five dollars--more money than I had ever had--I went to see
my older sister who was teaching in a nearby town.

I had grown into a strong, husky youth of eighteen and my sister was
surprised to see that I was working and taking care of myself so well.
She shared the thought of nearly all of my acquaintances that I was too
lazy to leave home and do hard work, especially in the winter time.
After awhile she suddenly looked at me and spoke as though afraid she
would forget it, "O, Oscar! I've got a girl for you; what do you think
of that?" smiling so pleasantly, I was afraid she was joking. You see, I
had never been very successful with the girls and when she mentioned
having a girl for me my heart was all a flutter and when she hesitated I
put in eagerly.

"Aw go on--quit your kidding. On the level now, or are you just chiding
me?" But she took on a serious expression and speaking thoughtfully, she
went on.

"Yes, she lives next door and is a nice little girl, and pretty. The
prettiest <DW52> girl in town."

Here I lost interest for I remembered my sister was foolish about
beauty and I said that I didn't care to meet her. I was suspicious when
it came to the pretty type of girls, and had observed that the prettiest
girl in town was oft times petted and spoiled and a mere butterfly.

"O why?" She spoke like one hurt. Then I confessed my suspicions. "O,
You're foolish," she exclaimed softly, appearing relieved. "Besides,"
she went on brightly "Jessie isn't a spoiled girl, you wait until you
meet her." And in spite of my protests she sent the landlady's little
girl off for Miss Rooks. She came over in about an hour and I found her
to be demure and thoughtful, as well as pretty. She was small of
stature, had dark eyes and beautiful wavy, black hair, and an olive
complexion. She wouldn't allow me to look into her eyes but continued to
cast them downward, sitting with folded hands and answering when spoken
to in a tiny voice quite in keeping with her small person.

During the afternoon I mentioned that I was going to Chicago, "Now
Oscar, you've got no business in Chicago," my sister spoke up with a
touch of authority. "You're too young, and besides," she asked "do you
know whether W.O. wants you?" W.O. was our oldest brother and was then
making Chicago his home.

"Huh!" I snorted "I'm going on my own hook," and drawing up to my full
six feet I tried to look brave, which seemed to have the desired effect
on my sister.

"Well" she said resignedly, "you must be careful and not get into bad
company--be good and try to make a man of yourself."




CHAPTER III

CHICAGO, CHASING A WILL-O-THE-WISP


That was on Sunday morning three hundred miles south of Chicago, and at
nine-forty that night I stepped off the New Orleans and Chicago fast
mail into a different world. It was, I believe, the coldest night that I
had ever experienced. The city was new and strange to me and I wandered
here and there for hours before I finally found my brother's address on
Armour Avenue. But the wandering and anxiety mattered little, for I was
in the great city where I intended beginning my career, and felt that
bigger things were in store for me.

The next day my brother's landlady appeared to take a good deal of
interest in me and encouraged me so that I became quite confidential,
and told her of my ambitions for the future and that it was my intention
to work, save my money and eventually become a property owner. I was
rather chagrined later, however, to find that she had repeated all this
to my brother and he gave me a good round scolding, accompanied by the
unsolicited advice that if I would keep my mouth shut people wouldn't
know I was so green. He had been traveling as a waiter on an eastern
railroad dining car, but in a fit of independence--which had always been
characteristic of him--had quit, and now in mid-winter, was out of a
job. He was not enthusiastic concerning my presence in the city and I
had found him broke, but with a lot of fine clothes and a diamond or
two. Most folks from the country don't value good clothes and diamonds
in the way city folks do and I, for one, didn't think much of his
finery.

I was greatly disappointed, for I had anticipated that my big brother
would have accumulated some property or become master of a bank account
during these five or six years he had been away from home. He seemed to
sense this disappointment and became more irritated at my presence and
finally wrote home to my parents--who had recently moved to
Kansas--charging me with the crime of being a big, awkward, ignorant
kid, unsophisticated in the ways of the world, and especially of the
city; that I was likely to end my "career" by running over a street car
and permitting the city to irretrievably lose me, or something equally
as bad. When I heard from my mother she was worried and begged me to
come home. I knew the folks at home shared my brother's opinion of me
and believed all he had told them, so I had a good laugh all to myself
in spite of the depressing effect it had on me. However, there was the
reaction, and when it set in I became heartsick and discouraged and then
and there became personally acquainted with the "blues", who gave me
their undivided attention for some time after that.

The following Sunday I expected him to take me to church with him, but
he didn't. He went alone, wearing his five dollar hat, fifteen dollar
made-to-measure shoes, forty-five dollar coat and vest, eleven dollar
trousers, fifty dollar tweed overcoat and his diamonds. I found my way
to church alone and when I saw him sitting reservedly in an opposite
pew, I felt snubbed and my heart sank. However, only momentarily, for a
new light dawned upon me and I saw the snobbery and folly of it all and
resolved that some day I would rise head and shoulders above that
foolish, four-flushing brother of mine in real and material success.

I finally secured irregular employment at the Union Stock Yards. The
wages at that time were not the best. Common labor a dollar-fifty per
day and the hours very irregular. Some days I was called for duty at
five in the morning and laid off at three in the afternoon or called
again at eight in the evening to work until nine the same evening. I
soon found the mere getting of jobs to be quite easy. It was getting a
desirable one that gave me trouble. However, when I first went to the
yards and looked at the crowds waiting before the office in quest of
employment, I must confess I felt rather discouraged, but my new
surroundings and that indefinable interesting feature about these crowds
with their diversity of nationalities and ambitions, made me forget my
own little disappointments. Most all new arrivals, whether skilled or
unskilled workmen, seeking "jobs" in the city find their way to the
yards. Thousands of unskilled laborers are employed here and it seems to
be the Mecca for the down-and-out who wander thither in a last effort to
obtain employment.

The people with whom I stopped belonged to the servant class and lived
neatly in their Armour Avenue flat. The different classes of people who
make up the population of a great city are segregated more by their
occupations than anything else. The laborers usually live in a laborer's
neighborhood. Tradesmen find it more agreeable among their fellow
