Listening a moment the cry took definite shape.
“Extra Leader, five cents; all about the money distribution!”
“What’s that?” wondered Burton. “Have the anti-poverty people carried their idea?”
Dressing himself, he descended into the street and directed his footsteps to the restaurant where he was accustomed to breakfast. Incidentally he bought a paper, and glancing at the first page was filled with wonder at what he saw recorded.
To sum up in a few words the story to which the paper devoted two whole pages, with blazing headlines: the anti-poverty element, who, since the last election, Burton knew, had been in a large majority in both houses, had at last carried the point for which they had long been working—namely, the division among the people of the enormous output from the great Golconda mines in Arizona. These mines being situated on government lands, the anti-poverty party had from the first contended that they were the property of the government—that is, of the people—and, having grown sufficiently strong to put the matter through, they had at last, by Act of Congress, secured the distribution among the people of the fabulous sums that had accumulated since the opening of the mines. The coinage had been greatly increased since the discovery of this great supply, but despite this fact, money had been in no freer circulation than before, and on every hand complaints of hard times were heard, while the gold coin in the government treasury was piled ceiling high in the great vaults, and the question of what to do with it was becoming a serious one.
Now, by Act of Congress, it was to be equally divided among the people. For the present, and until the accumulated hoard should be reduced, every man and woman in the country over eighteen years old was to receive one thousand dollars a day.
Burton read the account incredulously. It was too preposterous to be true. If that were done—Great Heavens! Why, he was one of the people! He, Carroll Burton, would be entitled to a thousand dollars per day. Ah! if it could but be true, what a plum it would be. Joe should go to college, his old mother back East, why, both Joe and his mother would each have a thousand dollars a day as well as himself. Pshaw! It was only a newspaper fake. Yet—they would hardly dare. Those Golconda mines were said to be inexhaustible. He remembered hearing a great city capitalist say, some time before, that if the government did not close them up soon, money would become a drug in the market and capital would be crippled.
At the restaurant the only theme of conversation was the great new act. Few credited it—it so staggered belief. Later in the day, however, proclamations were out on every bulletin board and dead wall in the city. The act had really passed. Every state, county, township and city was to be districted, and on the first day of June every American citizen above eighteen years of age would, upon calling at the distributing station in his or her ward, receive the sum of one thousand dollars daily until further notice.
The first of June was only three days off, which was fortunate for the people, as, while every one made a pretense of being busy, very little besides talk was accomplished in any of the places of business, excitement running so high that no one could settle down to work.
Early on the first day of June, Burton found himself one of a great crowd waiting at the door of the distributing center of the ——th ward, which in this case was one of the chief banks of the city, all of whose employees were busy paying out piles of beautiful bright gold to all comers.