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than any other office, I will cite the postoffice at Muncie, Ind., as evidence to show what changes these six years have wrought. This is an office of eighteen carriers and three substitutes, serving 33,000 people and is a fair type of cities of its class. Here is what we find:

Six years ago the maximum salary for letter carriers was $850 per annum. Now it is $1,200.

pride in the service has displaced discontent.

In six years the door of the Postmaster General's office has swung freely open to the carriers and a representative of the Department has met us at every State convention.

Here are the tangible results of six years of the administration of Frank H. Hitchcock, as an executive in the Post Office Department, as indicated

Six years ago carriers received fif- by one of the 1,500 free delivery offices teen days' vacation. in the country.

Now they are are granted seventeen, eighteen and nineteen days.

Six years ago, carriers worked every Sunday.

Now, no Sunday work.

Six years ago, carriers swung daily. Now, no swings, and continuous morning and evening schedules.

Six years ago, holidays for the carriers was largely a myth.

Now, residence delivery is practically discontinued.

Six years ago, carriers made early morning and late evening collections. Now made by auxiliary service. Six years ago, substitutes received $1.65 for vacation work.

Now they receive $2.40 per day. Six years ago, special delivery letters were carried by messenger.

Now delivered by substitute. Figures furnished by substitutes show that since this change was made the average wage for substitutes in this office is $14.75 per week.

Six years ago the assistant postmaster was selected from the ranks of the civilians.

Now our present assistant postmaster was promoted from the office force. and is protected by the merit system.

In six years one carrier has been promoted to post office inspector, one transferred to post office clerk, and two to railway mail clerks.

In six years civil service has been strengthened, the law against campaign contributions rigidly enforced and

With the exception of the larger offices, whose maximum salary six years ago was $1,000, and the smaller offices who have not yet reached the $1,200 maximum, this standard of advancement has been shared alike by all the carriers in the service, and in reviewing it, I challenge comparison with any other craft of any kind, anywhere and at any time. It is not the purpose of this article to minimize the part that contributing factors have played to make this remarkable record, but a survey of these concessions will reveal that many of them are a matter of Departmental regulation and not statutory

law.

But, while these are the benefits we now enjoy, let us not forget that all the recommendations of Frank H. Hitchcock have not become laws.

He has urged that Postmasters be placed under civil service and that this position be opened to employees in the service through promotion. Time and again he has recommended thirty days' vacation. He has favored the retirement of superannuated employees. He has advised that a fund be set aside to reward inventors in the service whose device has been accepted by the Post Office Department. He has recommended that the Government bond postal employees with a fund created for that purpose. He has recommended that letter carriers be compensated for injuries received during performance of duty.

Unparalleled as has been the progress of the letter carriers since Mr. Hitchcock took charge of their department, other branches of the service have shared in the general advancement. While the average salary of the letter carrier has been increased from $895 to $1,070 per annum, that of the post office clerk has risen from $854 to $1,051. Rural carriers with a salary of $1,000 per annum, effective July 1, 1911, now receive $871.

Beginning last year, an appropriation of $250,000 for travel allowance for railway post office clerks was made and increased this year to $769,000. The indemnity for death of a postal clerk killed while on duty has been doubled. When Mr. Hitchcock became Postmaster General, there were twenty steel and steel underframe cars in the service. Now there are 500 and an agreement with railroad officials, reinforced by Congressional statute, marks the passing of the wooden railway postoffice car.

This is the story of Mr. Hitchcock's relations with the employees of the postal service in six years as First Assistant and Postmaster General. By men as familiar with the facts as the writer maybe this article will be read. They will know whether he has set out a true report or not. They understand what courage and capacity it has taken to stand sponsor for these innovations and any insinuation that they are not honestly appreciative is a libel on their intelligence and gratitude.

But it is not fair to view the postal service from the standpoint of the employee alone. It is the people's department. It must be judged on a higher plane than merely a satisfied working force. A dangerous benefactor would he be who would befriend the employees at the expense of the service. And yet the test of success in public business and private business is not the same. In private business an enterprise is a failure if it does declare dividends; not

necessarily so in public business. The debates in Congress as well as the utterances of previous postmasters general reveal that the desires of the people in this business are:

First. Efficiency and usefulness of the service.

Second. Cost of the service. Third. Compensation and well being of employees.

As judged by this policy, how has the Post Office Department fared in the past six years? Has its efficiency been maintained? Has its usefulness kept pace with progress? Has it the confidence of the people? Much could be written on this subject, but the recent agitation for closing of postoffices on Sunday gives the most complete answer to this question.

On this proposition, the sentiment of the people was tested in every part of the United States and everywhere the answer was the same. Whether in Detroit or Birmingham, in New York or San Francisco, the almost unanimous verdict of the people endorsed this innovation. Scarcely one patron out of one thousand opposed it. Can the reader think of any proposition, anywhere, that was as favorably received? Would this have been so were the people dissatisfied with the service they were receiving? Could this have been true if the people did not take pride in the postal business and desired to make it a model industry? Certainly not. The introduction of the postal savings banks again indicates the growing usefulness and efficiency of the Post Office Department, and the insistent demand for their introduction shows better than any argument how complete is the confidence of the people in this branch of the Government.

More than this, the clamor for a parcel post, an agitation that will not down, reveals a determination on the part of the people to still broaden the activities of the Post Office Depart

ment.

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And when we remember that in a business totaling $209,000,000 last year, that under Postmaster General Hitchcock's regime, wages of employees have been increased $11,000,000 annually, that the usefulness of the service has grown, that the working conditions of the employees have improved, and an annual deficit of $17,000,000 has been wiped out; when we remember all this, we can not help but marvel at the magnitude of the performance, and we will scan the field of all industry in vain to find a parallel of administrative efficiency.

"To be great," said Emerson, "is to be misunderstood." History teaches the unvarying lesson that he who changes the established order of things will win the intense opposition of every special privilege he would disturb, while movements for the uplift of mankind most often meet with the indifference or the opposition of those who were most to be benefited. It is well then, while this evolution in the greatest of all public utilities is proceeding on its way, for the privates in the ranks to bear witness that they know and they understand. They know and understand that Frank H. Hitchcock is practically and capably directing the Post Office Department for the nation's benefit, and they know and understand that the welfare and well being of the employees will keep pace with the service as long as he directs it.

C

The Crimson Eyes of the Cajan's Gold

Julia Lester Dillon

HUCK, chuck," said the engine, "Swish, swish," said the water as the little government launch swiftly sped through the green waters of the Bayou Boeuf.

"My God, what a country!" said Dr. Nelson, from his seat in the bow.

"Give me Cuba, every time," put in Dr. Gates as he looked over the fields and far away.

"Me too, boss; this ain't no country fitten for white folks to live in. If it ain't one thing the matter, 'tis another. 'Fore God, you couldn't give me no land in this here lonesome Bayou Boeuf prairie."

"What you talkin' 'bout, nigger? This ain't nothing like that place som'ers up there whar we's goin' whar there ain't no folks like our folks at

all. Ain't nobody there but jes' them French Cajans and Dagoes. They can't none of them talk even white folks talk-don't know nothin' but jes' crazy French talk," said the black man who made the fourth member of the relief party sent out by the Chief Surgeon in charge of the yellow fever situation in Louisiana, when a telegram was received saying: "Send supplies at once. People starving at Pointe Aride, Bayou Boeuf."

Early in the morning the rescue party of immunes had started out, with Dr. Nelson in charge. They expected to reach the Pointe at noon and return to the city in the afternoon. now noon and they had not yet sighted any of the landmarks which the negro guide had told them they might expect.

It was

The launch was loaded with the necessary provisions, its emergency cases of medicine, ice and supplies for the four men on board, who hoped to be able to return to the city at once, but who were prepared to stay an indefinite time, in case the situation required it.

Lunch was eaten in silence. The heat of the August sun was too fierce to make even the slightest exertion a matter of comfort. The chuck, chuck, of the gasoline engine was the only sound that broke the stillness. The earth seemed like a fiery oven covered by a dome of burning glass, whose rays of white heat made the dancing waves that rose from the surface of the green water mock the occupants of the boat. The passing of the launch cut the brown and green scum of the water, but the incoming tide was not of sufficient strength, thus far from the bay, to sweep the refuse from the tangled mass of weeds and briers that lined the bayou banks. The weary trees listlessly hung their drooping heads, the heavy portage of gray moss, borne at other times with delicate grace, seemed to be more of a burden than they could now bear. The shadow cast by the dark green water oaks, and the dank red cypresses fell black and forbidding, and added another note of melancholy to the desolate scene. The glimpses of the fields which occasionally appeared through the breaks in the foliage, showed them to be deserted and forsaken. Not a sign of life broke the monotony of the desolation. "The pestilence that walketh in darkness, and the destruction that wasteth at noonday" was the only presence which was felt.

"Chuck, chuck," said the engine; "swish, swish," said the water, but not another sound fell on the ears of the listening men, and even the solitary buzzard which rose high in air, black and forbidding, was as silent as the rest.

Cabin after cabin of the "habitants" was passed, with never a stray chicken

to indicate that once they had been occupied. cupied. The yellow fever had driven these ignorant Acadian Frenchmen from their homes on the bayou banks, for they feared that contagion might lurk in some chance passer-by. The trains which passed some twenty miles away, had been stopped at the point of a rifle, the provisions brought from the railroad station had given out, the always meager supply of the corner grocery store had been sold until the last kernel of coffee was gone and the last pound of flour had been made into bread. The rice was not yet ripe, the old crop was exhausted. Therefore, it was either death from starvation or yellow fever. Which should it be? Neither, if it depended on Dr. Nelson.

Just when the desolation was most pressing, when the silence was of that kind that tries men's souls, when the two negroes were ready to turn back and say that they could not find "Point Aride," above the chuck, chuck of the motor, and the rushing of the water, a cry as of a human being in distress was borne to the ears of the party. Nearer and nearer it came, until at a signal from Dr. Nelson, the boat was brought to a standstill at a point of land, just at the foot of a little knoll on the top of which stood a rude hut of rough boards, from which the cries of distress came.

"That man is suffering," said Dr. Nelson, "no one in his senses ever uttered sounds like that. Listen!"

Through the the stillness came the broken wail of a soul in mortal agony. The words were Cajan French, but the hearers knew the patois well enough to understand that the man was crying:

"Bring me a priest. Regard the eyes. Blood on the gold-look! look! there they are! See them! There! There! God's eyes; cover them up. They are crimson eyes. Red eyes-like blood."

Dr. Nelson turned to the man who had been his companion on many hazardous trips, and said:

"Gates, you go on to Point Aride,

deliver the supplies, see if there are many cases of fever there, and if not come back for me as soon as you can. If you have to stay there, send the boat back for me."

"How long do you think it will take us to make the run?" said Dr. Gates. "How far is it now?" Dr. Nelson asked the negro guide.

"Lord knows, boss; we ought to have been there a long time ago."

"Water, water," came the voice from the cabin on the bayou bank. "Take the gold. Where is the priest? Lookthey are laughing at me-look-they are laughing at me! Look! They shake their fists at me. Look!" screamed the lonely "habitant," until the voice trailed away into incoherent mutterings.

"Go, and be in haste. This poor fellow must have the fever and been deserted by everybody. I must stop for humanity's sake and see if I can do anything for him.”

The motor started, the engine engine began to thump, and then again the silence was broken by the chuck, chuck of the launch and the swish, swish of the water.

The doctor stood for a moment and watched his companions out of sight, for, on account of a sudden turn in the channel the boat was lost to view at once. Leaving the ice that he had told one of the negroes to put on the bank, he quickly passed up the well-worn path through the weeds and mounted the four steps of the rude stile which was the only entrance to the yard of the cabin. The barbed wire fence was barrier sufficient to keep the animals in and out also.

When the doctor reached the top of the stile, he stopped and looked around him. With his medicine case in his hand, his strong face browned by the warm sun of the tropics, his well-knit figure was the incarnation of energy, efficiency, power; and the slovenliness of the surroundings, the rudeness of the

cabin, the absence of any attempt at comfort or beauty, or any evidences of care, the abandonment of desolation made a contrast most marked.

The cabin was built of pieces of planks, which from the watermarks, must have been brought down the bayou in the time of high water. The chimney was rudely plastered. The roof was covered with rusty sheets of iron, evidently the cast-off remnants of some more prosperous neighbor. Everywhere primitive living arrangements, and the neglect that comes from sickness and desertion, made a scene which stamped itself on the doctor's mind as dreariness personified. Through the break in the trees that grew only on the bayou banks, he could see far across the prairie, and for many, many miles, here a little cabin, there a little hut, showed the homes of the Cajan "habitants" of that prairie region. All were deserted. Not a sign of life was to be seen anywhere only parched and burning fields, that stared upward to the pitiless burning sky. The heat devils danced in the sun, and even their presence was a relief from the absolute stillness.

For a moment only, the quiet figure stood silhouetted against the sun and sky, then stepping down the other side of the fence took the few steps which brought him to the cabin door. The scene outside was depressing enoughwas still enough, was repulsive enough, to daunt even the bravest spirit, but inside the cabin door was such loathsomeness as is indescribable. Deserted by his friends and family, if he had any, on a rude cot made by his own hands, lay a man, burning with the plague. Everywhere were the evidences of his vain attempts to find comfort. Through the wide cracks in the uncovered walls came the rays of the summer sun, while the batten windows and the wide-open door provided entrance for the millions of flies that swarmed around and over and on everything. The cot on which

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