And Joe's books argued that all this change had been wrought by the
invention of machinery, that only through steam, steel, and electricity
could world-wide organization take place, that only through these arose
the industrial city, the modern mill. The very things that should have
set man free, the enormous powers he snatched from nature and harnessed
to do his work, powers with the strength of a nation of men--these very
things had been seized by a few for their own profit, and had enslaved
the majority. Over and over again could the race be fed, clothed,
housed, and enriched by these powers, and that with lessened hours of
toil and more variety of work.

But Joe's books argued further and most dogmatically that this
organization by the selfish few was a necessary step in progress, that
when their work was finished the toilers, the millions, would arise and
seize the organization and use it thereafter for the good of all.
Indeed, this was what Sally's labor movement meant: the enlightenment of
the toilers as to the meaning of industrialism, and their training for
the supreme revolution.

And out of all this arose the world-vision. At such moments Joe walked
in a rarer air, he stepped on a fairer earth than ordinarily obtains. It
was the beauty and loveliness of simple human camaraderie, of warm human
touch. And at such times Joe had no doubt of his life-work. It lay in
exquisite places, in chambers of jolly grandeur, in the invisible halls
and palaces of the human spirit. He was one with the toilers of earth,
one with the crowded underworld. It was that these lives might grow
richer in knowledge, richer in art, richer in health, richer in
festival, richer in opportunity, that Joe had dedicated his life. And so
arose that wonderful and inexpressible vision--a picture as it were of
the far future--a glimpse of an earth singing with uplifted crowds of