“In his shoes mightn’t I do the same?” he surmised. “I fear I’m not as Spartan as my aunts--only pray don’t mention it to them!”
And then, because I had been answering him with single syllables, or with nods, or not at all, he taxed me with my taciturnity; he even went so far as to ask me what thoughts kept me so silent--which I did not tell him.
“I am wondering,” I told him instead, “how much they steal every week.”
“Yes. Bohm is president of an insurance company, and Charley’s a director, and reorganizes railroads.”
“Well, if other people share your pleasant opinion of them, how do they get elected?”
“Other people share their pleasant spoils--senators, vestrymen--you can’t be sure who you’re sitting next to at dinner any more. Come live North. You’ll find the only safe way is never to know anybody worth more than five millions--if you wish to keep the criminal classes off your visiting list.”
This made him merry. “Put ‘em in jail, then!”
“Ah, the jail!” I returned. “It’s the great American joke. It reverses the rule of our smart society. Only those who have no incomes are admitted.”
“But what do you have laws and lawyers for?”
“To keep the rich out of jail. It’s called ‘professional etiquette.’”
“You flatter me; it’s only a photograph. Come North and see.”
“One might think, from your account, the American had rather be bad than good.”
“O dear, no! The American had much rather be good than bad!”
“But also the American had rather be rich than good. And he is having his wish. And money’s golden hand is tightening on the throat of liberty while the labor union stabs liberty in the back--for trusts and unions are both trying to kill liberty. And the soul of Uncle Sam has turned into a dollar-inside his great, big, strong, triumphant flesh; so that even his new religion, his own special invention, his last offering to the creeds of the world, his gatherer of converted hordes, his Christian Science, is based upon physical benefit.”
John touched the horses. “You’re particularly cheerful to-day!”
“No. I merely summarize what I’m seeing.”
“Well, a moral awakening will come,” he declared.
“Inevitably. To-morrow, perhaps. The flesh has had a good, long, prosperous day, and the hour of the spirit must be near striking. And the moral awakening will be followed by a moral slumber, since, in the uncomprehended scheme of things, slumber seems necessary; and you needn’t pull so long a face, Mr. Mayrant, because the slumber will be followed by another moral awakening. The alcoholic society girl you don’t like will very probably give birth to a water-drinking daughter--who in her turn may produce a bibulous progeny: how often must I tell you that nothing is final?”