What did it all mean—this endless, unceasing struggle between human cooties and human drudges? What did it all amount to—the lives of these pygmies? Where had they come from? Where were they going? What were they trying to do?
Then, my thoughts turning inward, I demanded of myself:
“What are you trying to do? Granting that these pygmies crawling along the beaches are human cooties and those working in the hotels are human drudges, what then? The cooties are no more to blame for our economic system than the drudges. You’ve been a human cooty and you know that you did not give any more thought to the human drudges who slaved for your comfort than these people do to you. Remember the time you stopped at the Ardale-Stratton? Spent money like water.”
Thus reminded of my first visit to this resort, my mind slipped back more than ten years. I had come down from New York City under the chaperonage of one of the most distinguished women in the country. We planned to remain two weeks. Before the end of that time she had been taken seriously ill, and, though her own relatives and friends left her and returned to their homes, I remained. Bored by the monotony of hotel life, with the knowledge of spending too much money perpetually nagging at my consciousness, I dreaded to leave the old lady among strangers and attended only by her maid. Our visit stretched from two weeks to five months. Day after day I had loafed along the beach, watching the water—the threatening, the greedy, the sullen, the laughing, the beautiful, the peaceful, the soothing sea.
With a throb of pride I recalled that every Sunday morning during that tedious visit I had tipped my waiter and chambermaid one dollar each. Though I recalled that the service they gave me was always the best, I could not remember the name of either. Were they to meet me face to face I would not be conscious of ever having seen them before. I had never realized them as fellow human beings. I had never considered their convenience. I had never considered their feelings. In extenuation I told myself that it was because I had not understood.
“Neither do the persons with whom you are now finding fault understand,” my conscience flashed back at me. “Yet you call them human cooties—criticise their lack of purpose. What do you think you will accomplish, sitting out here with a kitchen-maid? You had better take your own advice to heart—get back where you belong and take care of yourself. You never planned to have Polly Preston become a domestic servant. Go back where you belong.”