﻿A B C — 
We hear so much about vitimins over the radio and just what to give the kids three times a day—I’ll stick my neck out. 
Give the little rascal a porkchop, well-buttered on both sides—and a glass of cows milk for a chase. 
The little angels are hungry—skip the jam—don’t expose your hand—grow up yourself first. 

 
Major labor unions are at war with each other and unemployed are both locked-out and carrying the banner for the brothers. In labor circles the boss is the forgotten man and he isn’t climbing the housetops or pounding his chest. 
Such a condition in the labor world makes for special privileges in varying degrees throughout the workingclass; a form of self-appraisal, condemnation of fellow workers to everlasting idleness and separation from all contact with decent livlihood—a service they perform for the boss. 
Was there ever such a row of donkeys? 
They can’t organize a one big union and decide those questions in a single body by a vote of thanks? Oh no, they are such superior beings they must have separate unions and keep the war in the ranks of the workers, brother against brother. 
There they stand on pins and needles ready to climb on the boss’ bandwagon 
Does that mean anything to you; it does to me. 
Europe has it today 
Spain came to grief because her workers were divided into several factions; two major. 
Skandinavia had her workers split up as between social-democrats, syndicalists and national jalousies (Map of the partition is dead give-away).