(One of the great classic Utopias, written by the English statesman, 1478-1535; executed upon Tower Hill, for opposing the will of King Henry VIII) In this poynte, not you onlye, but also the most part of the world, be like evyll scholemaisters, which be readyer to beate, than to teache, their scholers. For great and horrible punishmentes be appointed for theves, whereas much rather provision should have ben made, that there were some meanes, whereby they myght get their livyng, so that no man shoulde be dryven to this extreme necessitie, firste to steale, and then to dye. The Turn of the Balance[A] [A] Copyright, 1907. Used by special permission of the publishers, Bobbs-Merrill Co. BY BRAND WHITLOCK (American novelist and reformer, born 1869; for many years mayor of Toledo, Ohio, and now Minister to Belgium. The present novel is the life-story of Archie Koerner, a boy of the tenements, who is driven to crime by the evil forces of society) "All ready, Archie." Jimmy Ball touched him on the shoulder. He glanced toward the open grated door, thence across the flagging to the other door, and tried to take a step. Out there he could see one or two faces thrust forward suddenly; they peered in, then hastily withdrew. He tried again to take a step, but one leg had gone to sleep, it prickled, and as he bore his weight upon it, it seemed to swell suddenly to elephantine proportions. And he seemed to have no knees at all; if he stood up he would collapse. How was he ever to walk that distance? "Here!" said Ball. "Get on that other side of him, Warden." Then they started. The Reverend Mr. Hoerr, waiting by the door, had begun to read something in a strange, unnatural voice, out of a little red book he held at his breast in both his hands. "Good-by, Archie!" they called from behind, and he turned, swayed a little, and looked back over his shoulder. "Good-by, boys," he said. He had a glimpse of their faces; they looked gray and ugly, worse even than they had that evening--or was it that evening when with sudden fear he had seen them crouching there behind him? Perhaps just at the last minute the governor would change his mind. They were walking the long way to the door, six yards off. The flagging was cold to his bare feet; his slit trouser-legs flapped miserably, revealing his white calves. Walking had suddenly become laborious; he had to lift each leg separately and manage it; he walked much as that man in the rear rank of Company 21 walked. He would have liked to stop and rest an instant, but Ball and the warden walked beside him, urged him resistlessly along, each gripping him at the wrist and upper arm.