CHAPTER VI

"His flaming robes streamed out beyond his heelsAnd gave a roar as if of earthly fire."

Suddenly I heard the snap of a gold watch-case and an authoritative arm shot out, pointing to the door through which the main traffic was passing.

"Down to the far end! Turn to the left!—Room Umpty-Umph!"

Rising as if from a catapult I fell in step behind a hasty edition of Fatty Arbuckle. When I reached the properly numbered door andopened it, I was met by a man who knew my name and business. He registered "welcome" and waved me to a chair. I accepted the courtesy and registered "attention." He bounced back into his swivel chair and registered "candor." And he was astonishingly candid.

Movie plays are a purely business proposition. It made him sick to have people talk about ideals and art in connection with them. It was their business to give the public stories that would grip them and make them want to see the shows. If the people felt like hating any one or anything, give them plenty of hate stuff and play it up as long as it fills the houses. It is not their business to educate. They are practical business men, out after money.

He presently interrupted his monologue to answer the telephone, which had jingled at his elbow. I suspect that the interruption was part of the routine of the office. Anyway, I got my cue. He was to see his next visitor in five minutes. Resuming his monologue he impressed on me the fact that the one thingthe movie firms are after is stories that will grip the public and make them give up their money.

Then I got up and registered "gratitude" while he registered "Don't mention it." We did a close-up hand-shake and I passed through the door. Returning toward the front entrance I was quite in accord with the spirit of the place and pranced like a horse with the spring-halt.

That, I think, is a fair presentation of the spirit and atmosphere of the fountain-head of the movie shows that are pleasing the people of the United States and rousing the wrath of Canadians. Only by giving a touch of burlesque is it possible to indicate what is done or how it is done. Here we have the greatest moulder of public opinion in the world—infinitely more powerful than the press because it makes emotion visible—and yet it is without any purpose higher than the grasping of money. There is no George Brown, Delane, or Greeley to use this tremendous power for thegood of humanity. Sordid, exciting, without conscience, it is bad enough when devoted merely to money-making; but when used for purposes of propaganda it is a public menace. The dollars of the propagandist are just as good to the promoters of film plays as those of the public, and when one can get both it is a triumph. So, hurrah for the scenario that will get the support of the campaign fund, put across politics, either national or international, and at the same time win the nickels of the public. Get them going and coming! That is the motto! Never mind what the results may be—other than those that show in the box offices.

Of course these reflections are inspired by what I found in the United States. Now let me tell you something about Canada, where the movie business is in its infancy.

By a curious blunder I was invited to see a new film of which a private performance was to be given. It is seldom that I have ever seen anything so amazing as this movie showproved to be. The story was highly emotional and was enough to rouse the wrath of any one against the aliens in the Dominion. The political propaganda stuck out like a sore thumb, and if I had swallowed its presentation of conditions in Canada, I would have been quite ready to vote for the War Times Election Act or anything else that would suppress every one who did not support Imperialism and a lot of "isms" not nearly so respectable. But I had been through the West and had first-hand knowledge of the facts that were distorted in this play. It merely aroused laughter. It was what political experts would call "coarse work," but perhaps the public will never see it in all the rawness of that first performance. I was assured that it was to be edited and amended. My investigations afterwards forced from a responsible representative of the high-tariff interests a frank admission that the play already had political backing and that the private view I had inadvertently seen had been put on for the benefit of a selected audience ofmagnates and to get the support of the business interests.

These experiences have convinced me that irresponsible movie shows must be brought under control. It is not enough to have them censored so that immoral and pornographic plays may be kept from polluting the youth of the country. Some means must be found to make some one responsible—just as an editor or publisher is responsible—for the reckless political impressions they convey.

I am inclined to think that the part played by the movies in causing irritation between the United States and Allied countries is inadvertent. We all did jingo things to keep up our morale during the war. Such things were not harmful to other countries when confined within the borders of the countries using them, but the international character of American film enterprises has flaunted American jingoism in the face of the world—at a time when the world is not in the humor to endure it. It was not the intention to insult othercountries, but the films could earn additional money—and what did anything else matter? It will be necessary to correct this evil if we are to have harmonious relations with our neighbors. Moreover, propaganda plays for home consumption must be put in the same class as patent medicine advertisements in the newspapers, if we are to have a healthy public opinion. We must have them properly labelled, with the formula of their ingredients shown in an introductory flash.

But neither the press, the movies, nor the exchange account fully for the attitude of the Allies toward the United States. The chief accusation against Americans at the present time is of callous selfishness. They have deserted the great cause of humanity to accumulate profits and play petty politics. Have it that way if you wish. Say your worst and prove it and you will accomplish nothing. Neither would anything be accomplished if the United States agreed to all of which she is accused and roused herself to do what her critics regard as her duty. The solution of the world's problems does not lie within the sphere of governments, and can neither be aided nor hindered by laws or covenants that statesmen and rulers can devise. The United States is now in practically the same position as the devastated nations of Europe. In spiteof her swollen wealth her future depends on the conduct of her citizens rather than on the collective wisdom of political parties, governments or business interests. The earth hold of humanity has been broken by the war, no less in the United States and Canada than in the old world. Unless men and women return voluntarily to productive work, this glittering, unreal wealth will prove to be but gaudy trappings covering hunger and poverty. While we are concerning ourselves with world problems, the problems of food, clothing, and shelter are being despised as unworthy of our attention. We are increasing our stores of money while the supply of necessary things that money can buy is steadily diminishing. We are bringing nations to trial, the United States as well as Germany, in a courtroom that threatens to tumble about our heads. We are clamoring for justice but justice is impossible.

There is one great lesson, above all others, that has been taught by this war and that few have learned. Surely we should be ableto see by now the futility of human justice. If those who have been affected by this war could live forever and the best human judgment could be exercised throughout eternity, we could not render justice to those who sinned or to those who suffered. The healing of the world does not wait on justice.

May one without irreverence go back to the birth of Christianity? At that time the world was groaning under the administration of Roman justice. Mosaic justice was also playing its part.

It is reasonably clear that the appeal of the new dispensation was strengthened by the inevitable reaction from the oppressions of justice. The Mosaic and Roman systems were the most marvellous ever devised, but tormented humanity cried aloud against them.

"The soul of man, like an unextinguished fire,Yet burns towards Heaven with fierce reproach, and doubt,And lamentation, and reluctant prayer,Hurling up insurrection."

Out of that bitterness was born the one thought that has been of value to the human race. The amazing, divine discovery was made that forgiveness is better than justice and that only through kindness and brotherhood can life endure. That one flash of light has been the guiding star of all the great souls that have struggled and sacrificed themselves to lead the world to better things in the past two thousand years. But since the dawn of history men have been striving for that form of vengeance they call justice. And the most pathetic aspect of the present crisis is that we are harking back to the primitive and demanding justice on a scale never attempted before. We would even weigh nations in the scales of justice, though we have no adequate balance and no counterpoise.

Of course it would never do to ask an indignant and outraged world to forgive a Germany that has tried to destroy the hope of man. Very well. It does not matter whether you forgive or whether you punish. Thoughyou forgive her, she will not be forgiven. Forgiveness will not save her from the disaster she has brought on herself no less than on others. And you cannot punish her without danger of further disasters. The whole matter—the Kaiser as well as the nations—has passed out of our hands to be dealt with by the awful compensations of higher laws than those that man can administer. And as for us—for all of us—we must face the future as individuals rather than as nations. In the terrible words of General Smuts, "Humanity has struck its tents and is once more on the march." And when humanity marched in the past it always marched for food—for lands of promise flowing with milk and honey. But the lands of promise have all been discovered. They have been mapped and are occupied. So the only thing left for humanity to do is to pitch its tents again—or lapse into anarchy. While I would not pretend to defend the United States for its present isolation and apparent indifference when so many of my compatriots—andthose the ones supposed to speak with authority—are pointing the finger of scorn, I have a feeling that under this apparent indifference there is a blind, instinctive groping for the true solution of humanity's problem. I found the best people perplexed rather than defiant. They were raging at their own futility—futile because they could not yet see through the battle-smoke that still envelops the world. And I am hopeful that before long they will fulfil Kipling's estimate:

"While reproof around him ringsHe turns a keen untroubled faceHome, to the instant need of things."

The charge is brought against them that they are without spiritual insight. I would give this accusation more weight if I had more respect for the spiritual pretensions of others. No man and no nation need lay claim to spiritual insight while clamoring for justice. The dispensation under which we are supposed to live is the dispensation of forgiveness and helpfulness. We profess the Golden Rule andyet demand an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Could anything be more pathetically absurd? If the world were not so wounded and stricken one might be moved to inextinguishable laughter by the pompous inanities of men who would administer God's justice in a world that has been brought to its present pitiful state by organized greed. The over-organization of humanity for profit made the Great Catastrophe inevitable and our cure for it is more and greater organizations. But "God is not mocked." When man established democracy it was implied that every citizen would prove capable of self-government, would do his full share of the work of the world. And now the safety of democracy depends, not on governments or on leagues of government, but on the willingness and ability of each citizen to do his part. In the past we went woefully astray. The ambition of every strong man was to accumulate wealth and leave behind him a family that would be freed from the need of performing the work of true citizens—that would live parasitically on the proceeds of claims on production which he established and for which he secured legal sanction. Instead of great democracies of citizens each doing their part, we developed organized, ruthless autocracies of industrialism and finance that made bloodless war on each other and established a social parasitism that amazed the world with its luxury and extravagance. But the hour of testing has come. Unless the great democracies of the West, the United States and Canada, can justify the gospel of freedom and equality they have been flaunting before the world, their fate will be quickly sealed. But if they can clothe their professions in deeds, and every citizen by his actions can show himself worthy to be a citizen of a true democracy, they will give the world the leadership it so sorely needs. To do this they must banish the old, hard fetish of justice—or if they must have justice let them render it, not demand it. If they take the true path it will matter little what happensto the wealth to which they have been devoted.

Indeed, nothing could be more disastrous to mankind than that the present swollen war wealth which is so evident and insulting in all the capitals of the world should become fixed and permanent. The establishment of this reckless wealth on a stable basis would justify the intolerable conviction that war is profitable and there would be no end to wars. The most wisely devised League of Nations could not prevent their recurrence. They would be more likely to increase than to disappear.

Let no one say that this would mean anarchy and the destruction of our social order. It would simply mean a return to the austere virtues of our fathers, under the law and order which our fathers established. Let it not be forgotten that generations of men and women have sacrificed themselves on the altar of humanity so that freedom might be made sure in his new world. With incredible labor that found its reward in the building of homesrather than in dollars they cleared away the forests and made the wilderness blossom. No one who believes in the God of nations can believe that so much high aspiration and generous effort can go down to defeat. In spite of misunderstandings, irritations, and the selfish, petty intrigues of politicians, the hope of humanity still lies with the democracies of the West. They bought their freedom at a great price, and, in spite of mistakes and follies, that freedom, and the example of their fathers, will point to them the path of duty.

One interested hour was spent in the office of a captain of industry who attended to urgent work while I read a morning paper and awaited his leisure. As the nature of his business was largely Greek to me I could be allowed to overhear; but I was really more interested in the methods than in the matter of his transactions. The pressure of a button would bring an office boy, a secretary, or a salesman to his side, according to the needs of the moment. While he was going through his mail telegrams were delivered to him and the telephone jingled at his elbow. He dictated letters, talked over the telephone, and answered telegrams—even cablegrams—without leaving his desk. He not only talked to other business men in the city, but answered long-distance calls from other cities andordered long-distance calls. If his activities could be traced in red lines on a map, they would resemble the charts of the nervous system I saw a few days ago when going through an Institute of Anatomy. His office was a ganglion of the modern business organism.

Listening idly to the multitude of orders that were issued I noticed presently that something was wrong. Though orders were placed and information received as through a sensitive system of nerves, the orders were being held up. There were outlaw strikes on the railways—and freight was not being moved. Stevedore unions were not only refusing to handle certain products of the company because they were packed in bags and were too dusty and messy for highly paid, well-dressed stevedores to handle, but they refused to let the employees of the company handle the stuff because they were not members of the union. That sounds absurdly unreasonable, but it is a recorded fact.

Keeping up the simile of business as a livingorganism, I think this would be regarded as symptomatic of a pathological condition of the circulatory system—to be technical, it might be described as arterio-sclerosis, or hardening of the arteries. A very deadly disease, and if the cities are beginning to suffer from it, the outlook is serious.

Now let us essay a burden of great cities.

It would be a safe thing to prophesy the downfall of New York, Boston, Philadelphia—of all the capitals of the world. Isaiah and the old prophets were discreet in prophesying against cities, for given enough time their prophecies were bound to be fulfilled.

"Of Ur and Erech and Accad who shall tell?And Calneh in the land of Shinar? TimeHath made them but the substance of a rhyme."

To continue borrowing from Archibald Lampman, where now are

"Memphis and Shushan, Carthage, Meroë"?

They have passed and are merely

"A sound of ancientness and majesty."

The list of dead cities that were once the capitals of empires is as long as the dusty tale of archæology. All have gone down and all must go. As it would not be considered sporting to prophesy a sure thing we shall leave the cities to their inevitable destiny. If one cared to examine into the matter it would be found that a day of wrath is approaching for them, and if there be a sure foundation for the law of the acceleration of civilization which has been announced recently the day is not far off. Indeed, it might be shown that all civilization is rapidly approaching a precipice, but every one is hopeful that Dr. Einstein or some equally profound philosopher will trammel the law of gravity so that we shall fall over the precipice slowly and land softly.

But enough of cities. The urgent need of to-day is for some one to prophesy against the farmers. The ultimate fate of civilization rests with them—and they are bowing down to the old gods of politics and power.

Let us consider their case.

In the modern farmer, free, educated, prosperous, we have the one new thing under the sun: something for which history has no precedent. The old cities and civilizations were all fed, supported, and enriched by the slave populations that worked the land, dug the mines, and did every kind of productive work. And when the cities went down the country perished also. But thanks to the ideals of our fathers, the farmers and laborers of to-day are educated like the free citizens of the ancient cities. If we had continued true to the ideals of our fathers, we should all have self-supporting homes of our own. But we must build cities, organize for profit, and live luxuriously.

Mark what has happened. Capital was accumulated in the cities. Capital gradually organized business and established it in the great centres. When business was centralized, labor was centralized and began to organize. Now capital and labor are at each other's throats and likely to prove themselves the substance of Shelley's symbols.

"We two will sink on the wide waves of ruinEven as a vulture and a snake outspentDrop, twisted in inextricable fight,Into a shoreless sea."

At the present time the farmers are the sole inheritors of the ideals of our fathers. But like the foolish men of the cities they are also organizing for profit. They have forgotten that the home was the one great ideal of the men and women who braved the perils of the ocean and conquered the wilderness. Farming is above all a home-building occupation—rather than a money-making business. But now men no longer regard the place where they live as a home. It is merely a speculation in real estate. They try to estimate everything in terms of dollars—and the money profits are so meagre that all who are able are deserting the farms and joining in the great jazz-time dollar dance of the cities. The farmers are forsaking the substance for the glitter—or are organizing for political power so that they may divert the stream of dollars toward the farms. Of courseit can be shown that under modern conditions there can be no home without money. But why trouble about modern conditions? The world is very old and has developed many great men and all that we know of good without the aid of modern conditions. Few of the poets and prophets and great leaders of the past were born in the cities. "Modern conditions"—luxury, extravagance, dissipation, and parasitism—undoubtedly encompassed the destruction of all the great cities whose names move sonorously in verse. And now the farmers are lusting for the "modern conditions" that are hurrying the cities to destruction.

Now that the farmers are educated and "profess apprehension," why do they not read the great portents of our time? Can they not see that some cosmic pendulum that measures the progress of man toward his destiny has started on its backward swing? All the great symbols and allegories by which we have been taught in the past are now being reversed.

After the Deluge men built the Tower of Babel so that they might not be destroyed. And for their presumption they were scattered by a confusion of tongues.

After the Great War—a man-made disaster as terrible as the Flood—we are having all the confused tongues of ancient Babel uniting in a cry that men must come together to make the world safe for democracy. What was scattered is reassembling.

We are told that in the beginning man was placed in a garden—on the land—but for his disobedience he was driven forth by cherubim with a flaming sword.

He built himself cities as places of refuge from the savage creatures and enemies of the country. But the cities betrayed his trust. They became great and terrible until now those who are disillusioned of "modern conditions" are turning toward the country as a refuge from the cities. The procedure has been reversed and all who have vision can see that a day will come—a day of hunger andfear—when man will be driven back to his garden by cherubim with a flaming sword.

But this is the old-time prophecy of woes to come—and pessimism is not popular. Let us return to everyday life and see what we can find of hope. At the risk of an anticlimax I shall venture to deal with what will seem but little things after your thoughts have been dealing with what we have ignorantly regarded as great things. Let us consider one little thing—that is the greatest thing in the world. Let us give a thought to the home.

While visiting the great cities I have visited in homes, and in the thing most complained of I have found the first ray of hope. There are no longer any servants for families of moderate means. The work of the home must be done by those who enjoy the home. Because of this there is a fuller and freer home life. Women of education and culture who have been compelled by the high cost of living to do their own work are doing it better than it was ever done by servants. They are better cooks than thecooks they had in the past, and all the members of the family are of necessity learning lessons of helpfulness. If the death-struggle of labor and capital should paralyze, or at least decentralize, civilization, we have an atavistic capacity to do our own work. Our forefathers did their own work and we look back to them proudly as being better than we are. The cities are full of men and women who were born on the farms and know how to do the work of farms, and when the truth of Job's words is brought home to them—"as for bread, it cometh from the earth"—they can go back to the earth with confidence. The true mission of the educated, thinking farmer to-day is to use his newly acquired power to preserve the new experiment in civilization tried by our fathers and which made the home rather than money the unit of success. Let them coöperate to establish their own homes and to help others to establish self-supporting homes and we shall have a more glorious civilization than has been. If we return to thevision and hope of those who established the democracies of the new world, the cherubim with the flaming sword may prove to be heralds, whose sword will be miraculously changed into a torch lighting us to a better world. But this change will be wrought, not by statesmen, but by men and women worthy to be citizens of a democracy—men and women who are not ashamed to do little things and do them well. And we are taught not to "despise the day of little things."

While travelling from New York to Philadelphia I saw men at work in the fields for the first time in two weeks. I had been enjoying the great drama of business in one of the greatest cities of the world. But the sight of men at work in the fields suddenly reminded me that while walking the streets I was missing the annual production of "crops"—a drama as old as Time, that will run until the end of Time. As the significance of what was in progress dawned on me and gripped my imagination, I was puzzled to decide whether I should review this play as a tragedy or as a roaring farce. From one point of view it is pitiful to the point of tears; from another, it is broadly comic. Before deciding what treatment it shall be given, let us analyze the plot of the wonderful performance that will hold aworld-wide stage through the spring, summer, and autumn. If we give it our undivided attention we shall find that it covers every form of human activity, and reveals in rapid action all the possibilities of human nature. It is the one play in all the world that deserves to be introduced by the greatest prologue ever written.

"O for a Muse of fire, that would ascendThe brightest heaven of invention,A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,And monarchs to behold the swelling scene."

Having suggested the magnitude of the performance, I shall ask you to mark the performance, either in the theatre of your imagination, or by going out into the fields where it will be enacted; I am going to ask you to

"Admit me Chorus to this history:Who, prologue-like, your humble patience prayGently to hear, kindly to judge, our play."

Once more the food of the world is to be produced. Working in accord with nature, man will sow seed, prune his trees, trim his vines, tend his herds and flocks, and bow his shoulders to the burden of toil, so that the world may be fed. To guide him in his work he draws on the long experience of the race and the enlightenment of modern science; to aid him he calls for the best tools and machinery that the brain can devise. As soon as the farmer drives his team to the field he stimulates activity in the colleges and laboratories and in all the mines and factories. Those who labor in the cities may go on with their work, for there will be food to pay for their products. But there is something more. Besides renewing the food supply of the world—the most necessary work of all, for we are never more than a few months away from the hunger line—the men who work in the fields will re-create the wealth of the world. Without being renewed by the interest and profits to be derived from the crops, Capital, that bulks so large and is often so insolent, would dwindle and disappear. Financiers, Manufacturers, Promoters, and Captains of Industry depend on the crops—on the labor of the men in the fields—asmuch as any one else. They devise their great schemes, launch their projects, and undertake their enterprises solely with a view to getting a share of the new wealth that will be taken from the fields and perfected by labor. The crops and the wages of the laboring men will pay debts contracted for necessities and luxuries, and pay the interest on borrowed money. The financial machinery of the world can work smoothly, for there will be a flood of new wealth when the crops are harvested. If the crops failed, or if the farmers refused to produce, the cities would be wiped out and the social fabric would crumble. The Government would be without revenues. If debts and interest were not paid, dividends on stocks and bonds would cease and the capitalist would be reduced to beggary. Without the yearly work of the farmers our magnificent civilization would relapse to barbarism and our great world drama would become a mad scramble of savages. From this point of view the farmer's part is entirely heroic. He is the demi-Atlas of the world, the "arm and bourgonet of men." In our great drama, introduced by bird song and lighted by the spring sunshine, he is surely cast for the title rôle. Alas, the pity of it! He has been too often merely the drudge—the serf who provided the luxuries of his over-lords.

Watch the drama while it unfolds. For weary months the men who are struggling with nature toil early and late, pit their skill against all the forces that oppose them, endure the droughts and storms and struggle against all the chances that might defeat them in producing the world's food. They are too busy to watch the drama. Often they are too busy for thought. All of them have hopes that may be fulfilled if the crops are good—little hopes compared with those of the men who are waiting in the wings for their cues. If things turn out well they may be able to put by something for the future, enjoy an excursion out into the amazing world, indulge in some coveted luxury or improve their homes and farms. But mostof them will have to be satisfied with ordinary food, shelter, and clothing—just sufficient to carry them and their families through the winter until the great drama is staged again. But before they are sure of anything they must gather in their harvest and market it. Now begins the joyous comedy—the uproarious fun. The banks provide the counters—money—for "moving the crops." Loans are repaid to them with interest, and they thrive. Transportation companies, almost all built by the money of the people, though not owned by them, move the crops—and there is a golden stream of dividends. Middlemen, as "efficient" as pickpockets, handle the food of the world over and over, and at every turn profits are made. But it would be impossible in a brief review to trace the food from the farm to the table of that other poor dupe, the city laboring man. It reaches his table finally at famine prices. His food is assured and the great comedy of life can proceed. The profit gatherers, who work with the villain of thepiece, Uncontrolled Capital, have their wealth as well as their food supply renewed, and they can revel and riot. All the arts flourish and the cities grow proud. The world is safe for another year, and then the performance will be repeated as it has been since the world began.

As this play is of human origin, developed in disobedience to many divine commands, I have no hesitation in suggesting a few improvements. As given at present, Capital has all the fat parts, and the men who do the real work are crowded off the stage. The vast majority are cast for "thinking parts," and are kept so busy that they have neither the time nor the energy to think. But some day they may think enough to discover that the leading actor, Capital, depends on them, instead of having them depend on him and his high-toned crowd. They may discover that Coöperation will give them all the assistance they need and that Capital can be made a servant instead of master. They may realize that the men who make the wealth of theworld deserve a fair share of it. Coöperation will do away with the profits, interest, and dividends that now go to re-create every year the predatory Capital that supports social parasites. Wealth will not be divided, as some Utopians have dreamed, but the men who create wealth will be given the right to hold their fair share of it. When the play is properly rewritten, the men who do the work of food distribution and the distribution of all necessaries—and luxuries, for that matter—will be the servants of the people rather than their millionaire masters. A coöperating people will be more powerful than any corporation, and can employ the brains that are now being employed by capitalists who exploit them. And the task of rewriting the play will not be done by a political party elected on that platform. It will be done by the workers themselves. Any discerning critic can tell you that there is more economic progress in the formation of an egg-circle than can be won at a general election. The people are crushed at thepresent time, not because the Big Interests are so well organized, but because the people are not organized at all. The watchword of to-day is "Coöperate!" That is the slogan of universal brotherhood and of a new civilization that we can all enjoy. Every new organization of producers or consumers is a step forward and a blow to Capitalism. Every step they are making in the way of politics is usually a mistake—that tends to place them in the power of men more adroit than they can ever hope to be. When the actors in our play get to work and rewrite it, it will be a great and stimulating drama worth seeing. It will be robbed both of its tragical and farcical aspects and given a serene beauty. Organize the industry in which you are engaged and you will be rewriting your own lines in the great drama of life and making the situations in which you take part more dignified and satisfying. It is a glorious drama and one worth acting a part in, if all the people would see to it that they get their fair share of thefat lines and cut out the bombastic speeches of Uncontrolled Capital. Why not start to rewrite your lines to-day? When enough small organizations have been formed in which the members will coöperate, for their own good and for the good of all, it will be easy to reorganize our whole social system. An egg-circle, a beef-ring, a fruit-growers' association, a farmers' club, or a labor union will do as well as anything else. Organize for coöperation, and the baneful influences of both Capitalism and Partisan Politics will disappear. Organize for political action and you will be just where you were when you started. We must have politics, for we must have governments, but when governments act as umpires rather than as rulers in a coöperating world, politics will become a help to the world instead of a menace. Let us follow the advice of our heavy financial and industrial leaders and take business out of politics, but let us first coöperate to make the business our own. And now is the time to begin.

Although I did not keep account of the matter, I have no hesitation in saying that in my travelling I have met more dealers in real estate than of any other class of men. One sat with me in the train between Hamilton and Toronto and dwelt on the advantages of real-estate investments in the Mountain City. Even foreign laborers who are unable to speak English are making thousands in real estate. In the observation car, travelling from Montreal to Boston, one of my fellow-passengers was an international real-estate agent. He had opened subdivisions in Seattle, Winnipeg, London, Montreal, and Brooklyn. He was one of the most optimistic men I have ever met. He could see possibilities even in the swamps that we passed and in the rocky slopes of New Hampshire and Vermont that wererevealed through the car windows. I suspect that he would not hesitate to open a subdivision on the planet Mars, with a frontage on the leading canal, if he could get an astronomer to furnish him with a map and blue-prints. If he should decide to do this he would have no trouble selling corner lots, for the country is full of men and women who buy real estate on maps.

In New York I found friends debating whether to sell the homes they had established, by thrift and industry, so that they could take advantage of boom prices.

In Vancouver, Calgary, Edmonton, and Winnipeg it had been the same. Not only city properties, but farm lands were for sale everywhere. The friends I visited were all dealing in real estate on the side—no matter what their professions might be. This preoccupation led to some amusing consequences, and I have a happy recollection of one joyous half-hour in a mining town in British Columbia. I had been visiting a great smelter in the companyof an engineer who dealt in real estate on the side.

As we were leaving the smelter he introduced me to the smoke expert of the institution. That sounds innocent enough, for, like me, you probably do not know what a "smoke expert" is. I asked for explanations, and right there the trouble began. I found that the "smoke expert" is really a botanical pathologist, whose business it is to show that smelter smoke does not cause all the damage that afflicts the crops of farmers and orchardists within a radius of fifty miles. As the real-estate agent had been telling me that British Columbia is entirely free from all bugs, blights, and pests, my interest was aroused at once.

"Do you mean to tell me that there really are blights and destructive fungi in this province?" I asked incredulously.

The "smoke expert" made a gesture of despair.

"The place is simply full of them."

"Come on! Don't listen to him!" yelled the real-estate man, recognizing the mistake he had made. "He's the damnedest liar in British Columbia."

"Wait a minute," I replied. "I want to know. That is what I am here for. Now, tell me please, please, what orchard pests there are?"

"Well, there are no coddling worms—"

"You'll admit that because no one ever sued the smelter for putting coddling worms in apples. Come along! Don't listen to him!"

"But there is fire-blight on pears—"

"That's a damned lie! I have a whole orchard of pears and there has never been a trace of fire-blight. Any fire-blight in this district has been caused by the smoke from your blithering smelter."

"But," I reproached him, "if something like fire-blight is caused by smelter smoke, isn't that just as bad as fire-blight? You didn't say anything to me about smelter smoke."

"It doesn't do any damage either—at least not much."

"But the farmers have been suing us," said the smoke expert. "Of course they had no reason to sue us because the damage was clearly done by fire-blight."

"Nothing of the kind! And, anyway, the prevailing wind carries the smelter smoke over the mountains where there are no orchards or farms. Aw, come along, and don't listen to him!"

The "smoke expert" smiled sadly and shook his head with gentle tolerance. Finding in me the first sympathetic listener he had had for years he persisted in making revelations.

"Last fall I found an interesting case of 'withered plum—"

"You couldn't convince the jury that it was a fungous growth that affected those plums."

"No, for they didn't want to be convinced. They wanted to soak us. Then there was that 'clover sickness.'"

Seeing that he couldn't stop what he had started, the disgusted real-estate agent collapsed into a chair while I had an illuminating chat with the "smoke expert." Occasionally he interrupted with a vivid protest, but he couldn't quench my thirst for knowledge, or the expert's desire to impart scientific information.

"Let me tell you what the fellows did!" he at last exclaimed triumphantly. "They took some healthy leaves and sprinkled them with sulphuric acid. This expert diagnosed it as shot-hole fungus—a kind that he had been looking for for years—a kind they have in Australia—"

"You're another!" said the expert. "There is real shot-hole fungus here!"

So the battle raged, but I shall not report it further. Juries of farmers have invariably decided against the learned and patient "smoke expert," and I have no desire to give the province a bad reputation as to blights and pests. I saw no evidences of them on either fruit ortrees—but I'll wager that that real-estate agent will never again introduce his friend the "smoke expert" to a sympathetic and inquisitive visitor.

So it was wherever I went. So it was at home in the country. Real estate is being traded in everywhere.

A few months ago a writer in the "Toronto Globe" stated that Western Ontario is for sale. About the same time a writer in the "Saturday Evening Post" showed that the American corn belt is all for sale. People everywhere are ready to sell at a profit and move on.

The result of all this was to fix in my mind the conviction that the world is for sale.

One morning I awoke—or was I awake?—and found the world marvellously astir. A huge red flag hung down from the zenith and a jovial auctioneer with the moon for an auction block was about to offer the world for sale. Satan had foreclosed his mortgage, and Chaos, "The Anarch Old," was looking overthe property as a prospective buyer. The Soul of Man, troubled and confused, was also in the market for the world and wondering if the only price he could offer—a list of irksome virtues—could possibly outweigh the alluring, shadowy, jazz-time pleasures that his opponent would flash before the nations.

Bringing down his gavel with a crash that arrested the attention of the universe, the auctioneer began his harangue.

"Look it over, gentlemen, look it over! Here is the greatest bargain ever offered for sale—a perfect prize package of a planet. It has been in existence a long time and all its possibilities are known. It is a perfect location for either a heaven or a hell, and has all the natural resources needed to make it one or the other. Its history shows the attempts that have been made in both directions. Let me recount them briefly. First, O Chaos, let me address myself to you.

"This world has just had a fiercer war than any one thought it was possible for man towage. Millions have been slaughtered, millions have been wounded and crippled, millions have been starved to death, millions have been wasted by disease. The wonderful baying of the hell-hounds of war has been stilled, but a word would unleash the pack and they would harry man through air and earth and sea. Famine and Pestilence are feeding fat on the nations, and Lust, Greed, and Hate are revelling in all the capitals. To anyone wanting to start a private hell for his own amusement this is the greatest bargain ever offered. The work of building is almost complete. All that is needed is a little imagination and a consignment of sulphur. It is not ever necessary to provide a match. The world is full of fools, both high and low, who are only waiting for a chance to apply the match. Take my word for it, O Chaos, you will never again have such a chance to start a summer resort of your own, so consider well the price that you are willing to pay."

Turning to the Soul of Man, who had beenreduced almost to despair by this horrid recital, the face of the auctioneer glowed like the sun, and with a voice as musical as summer winds in the elms he whispered:

"O Soul of Man, why art thou troubled? My words were but words of scorn and reproof. Behold now this world with the eyes of faith. Look at the fertile fields, flooded with sunshine—the rain-bearing clouds and the mystery of growth. Mark the little homes that dot the plains and cling to the wooded hills. Hear the laughter of children and the song of birds. Even the war was rich with deeds of heroic sacrifice. Charity, Mercy, and Science are striving to overtake Famine and Pestilence. Brotherhood waits for leadership. Truly there is here the matter for a new earth that will be a new heaven. Consider well the price that you are willing to pay."

Lifting up his voice till the universe rang with it, the auctioneer shouted:

"The sale is now on! What am I bid for this pendulous planet that swings forever from thethrone of the sun? There is no reserve bid. The sale must be concluded to-day. What am I bid?"

"Wealth!" shouted Chaos. "Gold, silver, paper, unlimited credit!"

The nations roared applause.

"Contentment," offered the Soul of Man quietly.

The nations jeered.

Then the two bidders made alternate offers. Chaos began:

"Palaces!"

"Homes."

"Power!"

"Brotherhood."

"Idleness!"

"Industry."

"Extravagance!"

"Thrift."

"License!"

"Order."

While the bidding proceeded, tumult broke out among the nations. Some favored onebidder; some the other. As the tumult grew, the War God, who always walks before Chaos, tossed his plumed helmet and marshalled all his enginery. Once more his sword was to reap its harvest.

Back to Index Next