“But there is plenty of work. What is to hinder you from doing your share?”
“The corpuscles that control the work won’t let me.”
“Control it! Do you mean to say that corpuscles own the work of the organism? How came it theirs?”
“That’s plain to be seen, stupid! They own the sources of work; the machinery to work with; the places where work is done, and the money to pay for work, and there is a glut in the labor market just now. The supply exceeds the demand.”
“I see. Then you can rest and take it easy, can you not, until there is work? I should think you would like that.”
“Yes; but where is my living to come from? If one doesn’t work, neither shall he eat.”
“But if he does not work he cannot eat, can he?”
“Well, he’s got to earn his living anyway, and that’s all there is about it.”
At this moment a corpuscle approached, wearing a star in his breast, and carrying a baton.
“Come, now! Lave this,” said he to the idle corpuscle, “an’ be movin’ on.”