But their bosses with appetites whetted to luxury will be out of a job “for fair” for with the exception of the mines and foreign commerce, the Roadtown will leave them no chance to graft off the producer and consumer by the aid of a privately owned and barbarously inefficient mechanism of distribution and house construction. Verily, there will be weeping and wailing, and soft hands blistered, and fair names of the privileged families without prestige in the world, for the trusts will have lost their jobs, and there will be but one trust, and that will be owned by the people. _Shall we Miss Them?_ The Roadtown is remarkable for the new things that it will add to civilization, but it is even more remarkable for the things that will be conspicuous for their absence. In the Roadtown there will be no streets, no street cars and no “subway air”; no kitchens, no coal bins, no back yards or back alleys full of crime and tin cans; no brooms, no feather dusters, no wash day; no clothes line, no beating the carpet or shaking the rug out the window; there will be no clothes brushes, no pressing clothes by hand, no lugging the beds out to air them; the Roadtown home will have no dish washing, no cooks, no maids, no janitors, no furnace, no ashes, no dust, no noise, no kindling to split nor buy for five cents a bundle; there will be no moving vans, no coal wagons, no ice wagons, no garbage carts, no ash carts, no milk wagons, and no delivery wagons; no horses except for pleasure drives and no need for a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals; in Roadtown there will be no fire engines, no cabs nor taxi-cabs, no mixing of pedestrians and vehicles, no street car blockades, no grade crossings and no “death avenues”; there will be no bargain rushes, no small shops, no middleman’s profits, no bill boards, no advertising of useless and harmful articles, no waste of money for little bottles and cans and bags, no adulterated food, no wilted vegetables, no unsanitary “loose” milk, no systems of cesspools and wells to spread typhoid and other disease germs; for the Roadtown farmer there will be no hitching the horse to go to church nor driving to town to get the mail, no kerosene lamps, no slipshod ungraded country school, no lightning rod peddlers and no book agents; in Roadtown there will be no need for umbrellas, rubbers nor overcoats in the daily routine of business--such protection from the weather being only required by the keepers of live stock and upon occasional visits to the old style city; there will be no snow to shovel, no slipping of horses or humans on icy streets, no street cleaners, no water wagons, no swill tubs, no rain barrels, no manure carts, no dumb-waiters to pull up, no popping and sizzling steam radiators (hot water heating instead); no beds to make, no expensive strings of funeral carriages, no fire escapes, no waiting in rain or snow to catch a car, no canned goods, no delicatessen diet;