York Times" and "World" and "Herald" and "Tribune" and "Sun," stood upon precisely the same level of intelligence as these little village urchins.
At this time the newspapers were trying to obtain from me a photograph of the lady who went with me to strike-meetings, in spite of the fact that her father was "one of the wealthiest men in this section, and controls large banking interests." They didn't get the photograph, so they were in desperate straits. A reporter for a Philadelphia newspaper—I have the clipping, but unfortunately not the name of the paper—went to Arden to look me up, and was told by my friend Donald Stephens that I was not there. The homes in Arden are scattered about through the woods, and life is informal; I had locked the doors of my house, but the windows were not fastened. I am not in a position to prove that the reporter for a Philadelphia newspaper burglarized my house and stole a picture of my wife. I cannot state positively that a course in house-breaking is a part of the training of newspaper reporters in the City of Brotherly Love. All I can state is the following set of facts:
1. In my desk in the house there lay a kodak-picture of my wife and myself and my wife's younger sister.
2. This copy was the only one in existence, having been taken by my sister-in-law in an out-of-the-way place, and developed by a photographer who knew nothing about us.
3. Upon my return to Arden, this picture was discovered to be missing from my desk.
4. This missing picture was published in a Philadelphia newspaper.
