The town had
to foot the whole bill. But at last it owned the Bend.
Instead of destroying it neck and crop, it settled down complacently
to collect the rents; that is to say, such rents as it could collect.
A good many of the tenants refused to pay, and lived rent free for
a year. It was a rare chance for the reporter, and I did not miss
it. The city as landlord in the Bend was fair game. The old houses
came down at last, and for a twelvemonth, while a reform government
sat at the City Hall, the three-acre lot lay, a veritable slough of
despond filled with unutterable nastiness, festering in the sight
of men. No amount of prodding seemed able to get it out of that,
and all the while money given for the relief of the people was
going to waste at the rate of a million dollars a year. The Small
Parks Act of 1887 appropriated that amount, and it was to be had
for the asking. But no one who had the authority asked, and as the
appropriation was not cumulative, each passing year saw the loss
of just so much to the cause of decency that was waiting without.
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