“McGinnis talked to you about the conflict between capital and labor.  That is all rot.  There is not and there cannot be such a conflict.  Labor makes capital, and without capital there would be no object in labor.  They are mutually dependent upon each other, and there can be no quarrel between them, for neither could exist after the death of the other.  The capitalist is only a laborer who has saved a part of his wages, —­either in his generation or in some preceding one.  Any man with a sound mind and a sound body can become a capitalist.  When the laborer has saved one dollar he is a capitalist,—­he has money to lend at interest or to invest in something that will bring a return.  The second dollar is easier saved than the first, and every dollar saved is earning something on its own account.  All persons who have money to invest or to lend are capitalists.  Of course, some are great and some are small, but all are independent, for they have more than they need for immediate personal use.

“I am going to tell you how you may all become capitalists; but first I want to point out your real enemies.  The employer is not your enemy, capital is not your enemy, but the saloonkeeper is,—­and the most deadly enemy you can possibly have.  In that fringe of shanties over yonder live the powers that keep you down; there are the foes that degrade you and your families, forcing you to live little better than wild beasts.  Your food is poor, your clothing is in rags, your children are without shoes, your homes are desolate, there are no schools and no social life.  Year follows year in dreary monotone, and you finally die, and your neighbors thrust you underground and have an end of you.  Misery and wretchedness fill the measure of your days, and you are forgotten.

“This dull, brutish condition is self-imposed, and to what end?  That some dozen harpies may fatten on your flesh; that your labor may give them leisure; that your suffering may give them pleasure; that your sweat may cool their brows, and your money fill their tills!

“What do you get in return?  Whiskey, to poison your bodies and pervert your minds; whiskey, to make you fierce beasts or dull brutes; whiskey, to make your eyes red and your hands unsteady; whiskey, to make your homes sties and yourselves fit occupants for them; whiskey, to make you beat your wives and children; whiskey, to cast you into the gutter, the most loathsome animal in all the world.  This is cheap whiskey, but it costs you dear.  All that makes life worth living, all that raises man above the brute, and all the hope of a future life, are freely given for this poor whiskey.  The man who sells it to you robs you of your money and also of your manhood.  You pay him ten times (often twenty times) as much as it cost him, and yet he poses as your friend.

“I’m not going to say anything against beer, for I don’t think good beer is very likely to hurt a man.  I will say this, however,—­you pay more than twice what it is worth.  This is the point I would make:  beer is a food of some value, and it should be put on a food basis in price.  It isn’t more than half as valuable as milk, and it shouldn’t cost more than half as much.  You can have good beer at three or four cents a quart, if you will let whiskey alone.