Na Sunday in 1906 a remark, apparently trivial at the time, gave birth to one of the most important reform movements in the history of these United States. It was made at the Walton Methodist Episcopal Church, in 24th St., Pittsburgh. The pastor, the Rev. George W. Grannis, had been impressed with the fact that very few men in the City of Steel attended church service.

"Why don't more of you fellows come to church?" he asked a burly Bethlehem roller.

"Huh, precious little chance we have of going to church or anywhere else on Sunday. You stop this infernal Sunday work, then perhaps we may come to church."

"Well," said Pastor Grannis, "I will see what I can do."

A petition was drawn up to all employers of labor, being endorsed by the majority of the churches, thirty-eight labor organizations, and the Pittsburgh Chamber of Commerce. The employers were told plainly that Sunday work did not pay, and that no good would come of it in the long run. Several prominent steel companies quietly made an

investigation of which the public heard very little indeed. After a lapse of two or three years the United States Steel Corporation said they were satisfied that Sunday work was bad from every point of view, and in an order directing the abolition of Sunday labor to the largest possible extent at the plants of the various subsidiary companies, Judge Gary said: "Mr. Corey, Mr. Dickson and I have lately given much serious thought to the subject of Sunday or seventh day labor. I emphasize the fact that there should be at least twenty-four continuous hours interval during each week in the production of ingots." The writer happened to be in Homestead, Pennsylvania, one Sunday morning in July and on the car to Pittsburgh sat down with a workman from the Carnegie mills, who was covered from head to foot with the

oil and grime of the shop. He was asked if there had been any reduction of Sunday work since the order had been issued.

"Reduction be !" he ejaculated, explosively. "Why, I haven't had a Sunday off in five years." Then he suddenly became very serious, and looking fearfully around the car (the steel workers have learned by bitter experience that the spies

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of the corporation are everywhere), bent down-he was over six feet-and whispered in my ear, "This morning I skipped without saying a word to the boss. I don't know what'll happen, and I have a wife and five kids at home. But I think I might have at least one halfSunday in five years, don't you?"-This last an almost pathetic appeal.

Here was an American citizen who had been working twelve hours a day, seven days (eighty-four hours) a week for five consecutive years. He was a laborer in the blast furnace, and the Steel Trust paid him, for his endless toil, sixteen and a half cents an hour. He wanted to spend the rest of that Sunday with his wife and children, but there was very little doubt in my mind that when he returned to work on Monday morning he would be promptly discharged for quitting work, without permission, on the "day of rest."

In the latter part of January, 1910, a machinist in shop No. 4 of the Bethlehem

Steel Company (the great rival of the Steel Trust) at South Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, remained away from his job on Saturday in order to avoid the possibility of being ordered to work on the following Sunday. He was not, mind you, a seven-day man, but one who formerly worked ten hours and twenty-five minutes from Monday to Friday, and five hours and twenty minutes on Saturday. But he, in common with other workmen of that shop, had been frequently made to work over-time and Sundays, and it was feared that these encroachments might ultimately result in the longest hours; i. e., twelve hours, seven days a week, being made the uniform ones for the entire plant.

When the machinist referred to, whom we will call Smith, returned to work on Monday, he told his comrades of his reason for staying away. The foreman heard of it and he was immediately discharged. His fellow workmen talked the