There is a maxim by Chateaubriand, or perhaps it was Stendhal--maxims have
a way of leaving home--which claims that the equilibrium of society rests
upon the acquiescence of its oppressed and unfortunate.

* * * * *

In passing the battered chestnut roaster of the unfortunate Mottka,
Policeman Billings was aware in his own way of the foregoing elements of
social philosophy. Mottka had chosen for his little shop an old soapbox
which a wastrel providence had deposited in the alley on Twenty-second
Street, a few feet west of State Street. Here Mottka sat, nursing the fire
of his chestnut roaster with odd bits of refuse which seldom reached the
dignity of coal or even wood.

He was an old man and the world had used him poorly. He was, in fact, one
of those upon whom the equilibrium of the social system rests. He was
unfortunate, oppressed and acquiescent. Arriving early in the forenoon he
set up his shop, lighted his fire and took his place on the soapbox. When
the lights began to wink out along this highway of evil ghosts Mottka was
still to be seen hunched over his chestnut roaster and waiting.

Policeman Billings strolling over his beat was wont to observe Mottka.
There were many things demanding the philosophical attention of Policeman
Billings. Not so long ago the neighborhood which he policed had been
renowned to the four corners of the earth as the rendezvous of more
temptations than even St. Anthony enumerated in his interesting brochure
on the subject. And Policeman Billings felt the presence of much of this
evil lingering in the brick walls, broken windows and sagging pavements of
the district.