ONLY FORTY-SIX CENTS by Maj. E. T. Scott

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 14, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 39.

"ONLY FORTY-SIX CENTS."

By Maj. E. T. Scott

WALKING leisurely up the main business street of the city the other day, I saw that the display window of a large clothing establishment was entirely filled with an artistic adjustment of white shirts. On a spacious cardboard was this notice, which I give verbatim:—

"One hundred dozen of these unlaundried shirts, all-linen bosoms, cuffs and bands, at ONLY FORTY-SIX CENTS."

Nothing strange about that! To the average passer-by, perhaps not. It might not attract attention, save to one in need of the article, or to a competitor in the trade. To me, however, it meant a great deal.

Entering the store I saw the proprietor, and asked if those goods were a part of a sheriff's or assignee's sale, as the reason for their very low price.

"No, sir; they are a regular-made shirt, and come from a first-class house in New York."

Continuing the conversation, I added: "You expect to realize something for handling these goods, don't you?"

"I expect to; yes."

"And the jobber that took your order had a margin of profit, I suppose?"

"That's what I argue."

"What about the wholesaler who sold to the jobber; doesn't he receive something for his trouble?"

"He intends to make a living, no doubt," was the terse reply.

"There's the manufacturer; he is to have some share of the profits, isn't he?"

"That's what he makes shirts for, I believe."

"Yes; then there is the raw material, spinning, etc.; all must be added to the original cost. Now, how much do you suppose the girl receives that made one of those shirts?"

The merchant shrugged his shoulders, gave me a searching look, and in a slow and distinct manner, as if he intended that he should not be misunderstood, said: "I don't know, and it is not my business."

"Yes it is," I rejoined, "it is everybody's business. Only forty-six cents for a shirt, bosom, cuffs, and bands all linen. The girl that made that shirt must soon starve, sir, go on to the street, commit suicide, or go mad. I wouldn't wear one of them if you were to pay me for it; my conscience wouldn't let me."

Noticing a look of incredulity, not unmingled with scorn, I read him the following, which I had only an hour before cut from an Eastern newspaper:—

"BANGOR, ME., July 27.—On the 18th inst., Blanche M. Abbott, of Bucksport, eighteen miles down the river, shot herself in this city. She had formerly worked in a ready-made clothing factory. On the very morning that the unhappy girl shot herself, a man purchased a pair of trousers at a store in Brockport, Mass., and in one of the pockets he found this note:—

"Bucksport, December 2, 1887. I wonder into what part of the world these pants will roam, and hope that the one who buys them will send me a penny, as we have to work at starvation wages to make them. BLANCHE M. ABBOTT."

"Now, after reading this message do you tell me that it is not your business?" He turned on his heel and left me.

A set of men like a hungry horde of human wolves, conscienceless, heartless as to who goes down—whose life goes out—would crunch between the teeth of avarice, greed and gain, all hope, every honest and honorable impulse of the heart for a nobler and a purer life, and, like the galley slave of imperial Rome, death would be the "surcease of sorrow" to these poor working-girls. Are they not as those who in the morning say, "Would God it were even!" and at even say, "Would God it were morning?"

Talk about "the cry of the outcast of London!" The cry of the starving sewing-girls of America almost makes one to say, There is need of another Christ to die for the world!

Which shall it be, starve? go mad? Suicide? or to the bad? —Maj. E. T. Scott.