Part 19 (1/2)

No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after waiting a moment, he proceeded: ”I feel pretty sure that it is so in the city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an inimical force. _That_ was settled once for all in Chicago, in the case of the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break them up.

Why,” the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, ”how preposterous they are when you come to look at it! They are in the majority, the immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer to behave as if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an eight-hour law, and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. Why don't they _vote_ it? They could _make_ it the law in six months by such overwhelming numbers that no one would dare to evade or defy it. They can make any law they want, but they prefer to break such laws as we have. That 'alienates public sympathy,' the newspapers say; but the spectacle of their stupidity and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable that I could almost pity them. If they chose, it would take only a few years to transform our government into the likeness of anything they wanted. But they would rather not have what they want, apparently, if they can only keep themselves from getting it, and they have to work hard to do that!”

”I suppose,” I said, ”that they are misled by the un-American principles and methods of the Socialists among them.”

”Why, no,” returned the banker, ”I shouldn't say that. As far as I understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that.

I don't believe the Socialists stir up the strikes--at least, among our working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally without trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the inevitable outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs of the industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor leaders are not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say against him, has generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that until the working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting--until they consent to be the majority--there is no hope for them. I am not talking of anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is more law, not less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can't be disturbed.”

”And what,” the minister faintly said, ”do you think will be the outcome of it all?”

”We had that question the other night, didn't we? Our legal friend here seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman's logic. _Parole femmine, fatti maschi,_ and the logic of events isn't altogether words; it's full of hard knocks, too. But I'm no prophet. I can't forecast the future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There's a little tract of William Morris's, though--I forget just what he calls it--that is full of curious and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if we keep the road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like its first, and it will be owned.”

”Oh, I don't believe that will ever happen in America,” I protested.

”Why not?” asked the banker. ”Practically, it is owned already in a vastly greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The new slavery would not be like the old. There needn't be irresponsible whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping with the genius of our free inst.i.tutions; and an enlightened public opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing.”

The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his shoulder. ”You see,” he said, ”I'm a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I've drawn? Have you never had philosophers--well, call them philanthropists; I don't mind--of my way of thinking among you?”

”Oh yes,” said the Altrurian. ”At one time, just before we emerged from the compet.i.tive conditions, there was much serious question whether capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was many hundred years ago.”

”I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker,” said the banker.

”And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?”

”We voted it,” answered the Altrurian.

”Well,” said the banker, ”our fellows are still fighting it, and getting beaten.”

I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. ”My dear sir,”

I said, ”I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of not leaving us a leg to stand upon?”

He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: ”Capital! Well, perhaps I have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing.

But don't you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?”

”Ah! If you can get him to do it.”

”Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan.”

”Yes,” said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. ”Sit down and listen.”

X

I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: ”I have thought it all out, and I want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman's brain is better than a man's. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say so, too.”

”Yes,” the banker admitted, ”when it comes down to business a woman is worth any two of us.”

”And we have just been agreeing,” I coincided, ”that the only gentlemen among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you.

Now, go on.”