ABSTRACT

Preview You'll have to get off the land. The ploughs'll go through the dooryard. And now the squatting men stood up angrily. Grampa took up the land, and he had to kill the Indians and drive them away. And Pa was born here, and he killed weeds and snakes. Then a bad year came and he had to borrow a little money. An' we was born here. There in the door - our children born here. And Pa had to borrow money. The bank owned the land then, but we stayed and we got a little bit of what we raised. We know that - all that. It's not us, it's the bank. A bank isn't like a man. Or an owner with fifty thousand acres, he isn't like a man either. That's the monster. Sure, cried the tenant men, but it's our land. We measured it and broke it up. We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours. That's what makes it oursbeing born on it, working it, dying on it. That makes ownership, not a paper with numbers on it We're sorry. It's not us. It's the monster. The bank isn't like a man. Yes, but the bank is only made of men. No, you're wrong there - quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in the bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it The bank is something more than men. I tell you. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it.