﻿T-BONE SLIM DISCUSSES “HE’S GOT IT COMING” 
 
Eugene V. Debs is getting more subtle every day for we read: 
“Labor Gets Wgat It Votes For.” — “Workers should not complain because capitalist legislators ignore [unclear], for it is their votes that [unclear] these capitalist representatives, [unclear] the vote of Labor that keeps the workers in industrial servitude emphasis [unclear] and makes wage-slavery a horrid reality. Remember [unclear] fact Labor everywhere, gets what it votes for.”—E. V. D. 

But what does it vote for” — T-b. S. 

Let’s see- Put of 110,000,000 men, women and children there are 36,000,000 men, women and children working in the industries. That leaves 74,000,000 men, women and children that are strangers tot the industries and strangers to the aspirations of Industrial Labor. It is idle to think that the 26,000,000 men, women and children — three-fourths of them disqualified — can impress upon the 74,000,000 men, women and children the advisability of electing workers to represent Labor in the legislatures—bot while finks abound. Admittedly Labor is getting the dirty end of it—and damn little at that—and it is to the interest of the 74,000,000 to see to it that the men, women and children that fetch and haul and load for them should always receive wages instead of wealth, pay intsead of property and compensation instead of comfort—sure, Labor gets just what it voted for. And cannot very well [unclear] getting it while the other side [unclear] the VOTES. And can’t dodge [unclear]. He’ll get what he votes for whatever he votes of no—”he’s got it coming,” so they say. 
Now that he can’t lose out in the [unclear] it might be well for labor to [unclear] some time and attention to Industrial Unionism- He is perfectly safe at the ballot box—he will not go more and can’t get less. 
It is in the industrial field he’s labor [most of the rest of the text is unclear showing only a word here and a word there] 
T-b. S. 
P. S..—I’ve been slurrerd—either [unclear] or the horses I’m driving have been complimented: I’m sitting on the deacon seat unsuspicious, bragging about the candle-power of my [unclear] and horse-power of my team,. when an innocent looking gyppo politely required [?] if I had heard the story of the swamper who left this brains and watch in town to be cleaned—the watch had stopped. 
“Well,” sez he, “the doctor told him that seeing as how the brains were in pretty hard shape—dusty and full of cobwebs and bedbug powder he had been breathing, he better leave ‘em in town for a week.” The swamper agreed and admonished the doctor to adjust them to three positions: moonshine, canned heat and dehorn. A week rolled around and the swamper didn’t return to “gather his wits,” so the doc. wrote him a letter telling him “the brains are completely renovated.” 
“Don’t need ‘em,” wrote back the swamper, “I’m driving a team now.”