The car slowly came to a stop. After Elvin got out of the car and looked around, and only after Mador confirmed there was no danger, did Lance emerge from the vehicle.
The children who had been waiting eagerly nearby ran over, chasing after him. They kept a certain distance from Lance, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
Ever since Lance first gave them some change, the number of children chasing his car every day had increased, especially near the company.
Many children would start running after his car as soon as they saw it. To prevent them from running out of breath, Lance would sometimes ask the driver to slow down a bit.
He gave Elvin a look. The latter returned to the front passenger seat, opened the glove compartment, took out a handful of change, and tossed it towards the children.
The children’s laughter and their gratitude “Thank you, Mr. Lance, thank you, Mr. Elvin,” blended together, making one’s mood much more pleasant.
After the children had picked up all the coins from the uneven ground, they said goodbye to Lance one by one.
Some homeless people nearby also looked at the children with envy; they didn’t have this benefit.
Someone once tried to walk over and beg from Lance. He wanted a little money to buy some food and a pack of cigarettes. That guy was then sent by Lance to the docks to work.
Lance gave money to children because with that money, they could avoid or reduce their working hours.
The Federation allowed the hiring of child labor, legal child labor. If you saw some short children working, don’t be surprised.
As one of the representatives of civilized society, the Federation government raising the minimum working age from eight to ten was already a gesture of their gentlemanliness.
Yes, children over the age of ten could work. According to Federation government regulations, as long as it did not exceed six hours a day, neither their parents nor the enterprises that hired them were breaking the law.
Hiring child labor was something capitalists were fond of, because they could pay children less money to get more labor value.
Especially in some labor-intensive light industries, the factories were almost all filled with half-grown children of twelve or thirteen. They wore work clothes just like adults and sat in front of the assembly line for hours at a time.
Capitalists, in order to save on a meal, would often arrange their working hours to miss lunch and dinner, so they could only bring some food from home.
Some whole-wheat black bread with wood fiber added, or something else.
Their income was very low, but if Lance occasionally gave the children a little money here, maybe their parents would be able to let them go.
Amidst the children’s polite thanks, Lance’s mood also became pleasant.
In the distance, some homeless people looked on with envy and jealousy at what was happening here. Although Lance wouldn’t give money to the homeless and might even send them to the docks to work…
But sometimes Lance would still distribute some free food to them so they wouldn’t go hungry.
However, the food had to be eaten here; otherwise, there would be no next time.
Some people didn’t understand Lance’s approach, why he insisted they finish the food here when he distributed it.
That was because some of the homeless people who came to receive food were women, or younger half-grown children.
If they didn’t finish the food here and were allowed to take it away, there was a high probability that they themselves wouldn’t get to eat most of it.
Even among the homeless, there are classes, exploitation, and oppression.
Letting them eat here at least allowed them to fill their stomachs.
“Mr. Lance is a good man,” a homeless man commented. The clothes on his body looked slightly cleaner than the others’.
He washed his clothes from time to time. This set of clothes had a special meaning.
He was considering going to work. He was emerging from a failed period of his life. Someone had shone like sunlight into his life, illuminating his gray existence.
He had decided to make some changes, this summer.
Right now, there were still some things he hadn’t figured out. Once he did, he would say goodbye to everything that had happened in the past.
The surrounding homeless people also expressed their agreement. Mr. Lance was indeed a good man.
A homeless man said with a laugh, “If he could give me a glass of wine, he would be God!”
The others all burst into laughter. Wine was so expensive, even the cheapest wine was very expensive, for them.
Some licked their lips; they indeed hadn’t had a drink for a long time.
Because of Prohibition, shops no longer openly sold alcoholic beverages, and the soaring prices left them with no options.
Before, a few of them could pool together fifty cents to buy a bottle of cheap liquor to satisfy their craving. But now, the worst liquor cost three or four dollars. A seven or eight-fold increase made it very difficult for them to make up their minds.
The neatly dressed homeless man was talking with the homeless person next to him with a smile on his face. Sometimes, when a person’s thinking is cleared up, they become like a different person.
He was no longer sad, no longer desperate. He was a little excited, looking forward to the arrival of a new life.
Inadvertently, he glanced at a homeless man in the corner. This homeless man had only recently arrived. He was a cripple and had difficulty walking.
Every day he would disappear for a period of time, probably to find something to eat. This person didn’t communicate with others, but he sat with everyone.
There are many strange people, and even more strange homeless people. He used to be a strange person too.
He walked over to this cold, matted-haired homeless man and sat down. “Hey, brother, willing to share your story with me?”
The homeless man glanced at him sideways. “Get lost.”
The neatly dressed homeless man was taken aback for a moment. He cursed “Fuck” and then stood up.
“His brain isn’t right, don’t talk to him,” someone reminded him. It seemed someone had tried to talk to him before and failed.
The neatly dressed homeless man nodded. A group of people sat on the roadside, begging.
They smoked a very special kind of home-rolled cigarette. These were made from cigarette butts found in the trash, which still had a little bit of tobacco left (without a filter). The collected tobacco was re-rolled together, and that was their cigarette.
The taste was strange, but at least it could provide them with nicotine.
If brewing alcohol wasn’t so complicated, they might have started brewing their own long ago.
The neatly dressed homeless man smoked his cigarette, occasionally paying attention to the crippled homeless man. He always felt that this guy was a bit strange.
However, he wouldn’t stare at him all the time. He would also think, and read newspapers.
There were many newspapers in the trash cans. From these newspapers, he could sometimes get some inspiration.
The running newsboy waved the newspaper in his hand. Inside it was hidden his future and his dreams.
The next morning, the freshly printed newspapers were brought to the hospital ward by Owen, tucked under his arm. The Mayor was sitting up in bed. In just a few days, he seemed to have lost a lot of weight.
The contours of his cheeks had become more pronounced, and his face was pale.
“These are today’s newspapers,” the secretary handed over a stack of newspapers.
On top was “Golden Port Today.”
The heat from his shooting was subsiding. Instead, the heat of the dock strike was beginning to rise continuously. The front-page headline was “Docks Shut Down, Trade Suffers Huge Losses.”
The newspaper’s editor-in-chief understood visuals. The picture on the front page was very impactful. On the left was a group of people in blue work clothes gathered together, and on the right was a small group of managers in red clothes, huddled together with worried faces.
The sharp contrast between red and blue made the picture even more impactful.
One side was full of strength, passion, and surging vitality.
The other side looked pathetic, worried, and without motivation.
The Mayor picked up his glasses and put them on. He looked at it for a while before saying uncertainly, “This person inside… is Lance?”
The printing technology was limited, so it was impossible to print Lance very clearly. Under the dot-matrix image, Lance’s appearance could still be roughly seen, but it was not very real.
Or rather, preconceptions would make the person in the photo look like anyone.
The secretary glanced at it and nodded. “Yes, he distributed blue work uniforms to the workers at the docks yesterday. Now they have become more united and have more momentum.”
The Mayor smacked his lips; his saliva was a bit bitter. He picked up a cup of milk with coffee and took a sip. “He’s very smart. I always wanted him to come over to my side, but he refused me.”
The secretary smiled at his side, trying to resolve the possible or non-existent embarrassment of the Mayor’s “failure.” “This just proves that he is not a smart person, because a smart person would definitely choose you.”
This sentence made the Mayor burst out laughing, but after two laughs, he squinted and clutched his body. The vibration and change in abdominal pressure from laughing made him feel pain.
After a while, he calmed down. “It’s really suffering, but it’s worth it.”
He commented, “Lance is very smart. He is uniting these striking groups, making them rally around him.”
“And the docks are very important…”
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. The secretary got up and opened it. It was one of their own men.
After the two talked at the door for a while, the secretary returned to the room. The Mayor looked at him. “What happened?”
“The governor wants to speak with you, in five minutes.”
The hospital room, or rather, the patient suite, had its own phone. After hearing this, the Mayor’s gaze fell on the newspaper again. “It must be about this.”
“The strike?”
“Mm.”
The Mayor closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. “Go and lock the door.”
Less than five minutes, at most three, the phone rang. When it rang for the third time, he pressed the speaker button.
“It’s me.”
“Sidney, I want to know what’s going on with the strike!”
The secretary didn’t dare to speak, even slowing his breathing, not moving at all.
The Mayor smacked his lips. “What else could be going on?”
“They’re not satisfied with their salaries, so they’re not working now.”
“Your Excellency the Governor, I am a patient right now, still lying in the hospital. You have to be considerate of my situation.”
(End of chapter)