“Did he? Out of his own private pocket? At a loss to himself.”
“Why, of course not,” I replied, a little nettled. “Out of the profits of the business.”
“And ‘the business’ was the work done by the employees?”
“Not at all! He did it himself; they only furnished the labor.”
“Could he do it alone — without ‘labor?’ Did he furnish employment as a piece of beneficence, outside of his business — Ah, Mr. Robertson, surely it is clear that unless a man’s labor furnished a profit to his employer, he would not be employed. It was on that profit that ‘labor’ was paid — they paid themselves. They do now, but at a higher rate.”
I was annoyed by this clever juggling with the hard facts of business.
“That is very convincing, Mrs. Allerton,” I said with some warmth, “but it unfortunately omits certain factors. A lot of laborers could make a given article, of course; but they could not sell it — and that is where the profit comes in. What good would it do the laborer to pile up goods if he could not sell them?”
“And what good would be the ability to sell goods if there were none, Mr. Robertson. Of course, I recognize the importance of transportation; that is my own line of work, but there must be something to transport. As long ago as St. Paul’s day it was known that the hand could not say to the foot, ‘I have no need of thee.’”
“To cover that ground more easily, Mr. Robertson,” Dr. Harkness explained, “just put down in your digest there that Bureaus of Employment were formed all over the country; some at first were of individual initiative, but in a few years’ time all were in government management. There was a swift and general improvement in the whole country. The roads became models to the world, the harbors were cleared, canals dug, cities rebuilt, bare hills reforested, the value of our national property doubled and trebled — all owing to the employment of hitherto neglected labor. Out of the general increase of wealth they got their share, of course. And where there is work for everyone, at good wages, there is no poverty; that’s clearly seen.”
Chapter 7
THE country was as astonishing to me as the city — its old beauty added to in every direction. They took me about in motor cars, motor boats and air ships, on foot and on horseback (the only horses now to be found were in the country) . And while I speak of horses, I will add that the only dogs and cats I saw, or heard, were in the country, too, and not very numerous at that. “We’ve changed our views as to ‘pets’ and ‘domestic animals,’ ” Nellie said. “We ourselves are the only domestic animals allowed now. Meat eating, as Hallie told you, is decreasing every day; but the care and handling of our food animals improves even more rapidly. Every city has its municipal pastures and dairies, and every village or residence group. By the way, I might as well show you one of those last, and get it clear in your mind.”
We were on an air trip in one of the smooth-going, noiseless machines commonly used, which opened a new world of delight to me. This one held two, with the aviator. I had inquired about accidents, and was glad to find that thirty years’ practice had eliminated the worst dangers and reared a race of flying men.
“In our educational plan today all the children are given full physical development and control,” my sister explained. “That goes back to the woman again — the mothers. There was a sort of Hellenic revival — a recognition that it was possible for us to rear as beautiful human beings as walked in Athens. When women were really free of man’s selective discrimination they proved i quite educable, and learned to be ashamed of their deformities. Then we began to appreciate the human body and to have children reared in an atmosphere of lovely form and color, statues and pictures all about them, and the new stories — Oh! I haven’t told you a thing about them, have I?”
“No,” I said; “and please don’t. I started out to see the country, and your new-fangled ‘residence groups,’ whatever they may be, and I refuse to have my mind filled up with educational information. Take me on a school expedition another time, please.”
“All right,” she agreed; “but I can tell you more about the beasts without distracting your mind, I hope. For one thing, we have no longer any menageries.”
“What?” I cried. “No menageries!” How absurd! They were certainly educational, and a great pleasure to children — and other people.”
“Our views of education have changed you see,” she replied; “and our views of human relation to the animal world; also our ideas of pleasure. People do not think it a pleasure now to watch animals in pain.”
“More absurdity! They were not in pain. They were treated better than when left wild,” I hotly replied.
“Imprisonment is never a pleasure,” she answered; “it is a terrible punishment. A menagerie is just a prison, not for any offense of the inmates, but to gratify men in the indulgence of grossly savage impulses. Children, being in the savage period of their growth, feel anew the old satisfaction of seeing their huge enemies harmless or their small victims helpless and unable to escape. But it did no human being any good.”
“How about the study of these ‘victims’ of yours — the scientific value?”
“For such study as is really necessary to us, or to them, some laboratories keep a few. Otherwise, the student goes to where the animals live and studies their real habits.”
“And how much would he learn of wild tigers by following them about — unless it was an inside view?”
“My dear brother, can you mention one single piece of valuable information for humanity to be found in the study of imprisoned tigers? As a matter of fact, I don’t think there are any left by this time; I hope not.”
“Do you mean to tell me that your new humanitarianism has exterminated whole species?”
“Why not? Would England be pleasant if the gray wolf still ran at large? We are now trying, as rapidly as possible, to make this world safe and habitable everywhere.”
“And how about the hunting? Where’s the big game?”
“Another relic of barbarism. There is very little big game left, and very little hunting.”
I glared at her, speechless. Not that I was ever a hunter myself, or even wanted to be; but to have that splendid manly sport utterly prevented — it was outrageous I “I suppose this is more of the women’s work,” I said at length.
She cheerfully admitted it. “Yes, we did it. You see, hunting as a means of livelihood is even lower than private housework — far too wasteful and expensive to be allowed in a civilized world. When women left off using skins and feathers, that was a great blow to the industry. As to the sport, why, we had never greatly admired it, you know — the manly sport of killing things for fun — and with our new power we soon made it undesirable.”
I groaned in spirit. “Do you mean to tell me that you have introduced legislation against hunting, and found means to enforce it?”
“We found means to enforce it without much legislation, John.”
As for instance?”
As for instance, in rearing children who saw and heard the fullest condemnation of all such primitive cruelty. That is another place where the new story-books come in. Why on earth we should have fed our children on silly savagery a thousand years old, just because they liked it, is more than I can see. We were always interfering with their likes and dislikes in other ways. Why so considerate in this? We have a lot of splendid writers now — first-class ones — making a whole lot of new literature for children.”
“Do leave out your story books. You were telling me how you redoubtable females coerced men into giving