The girl reflected. “And may I ask, Mr. Ames, by what right you own mines, and forests, and lands? Divine right, I suppose.”
“By the divine right of law, most assuredly,” he retorted.
“And you make the law. Yes, divine right! I have learned,” she continued, turning to the President, “that a bare handful of men own or control all the public utilities of this great 171 country. It doesn’t seem possible! But,” abruptly, “you believe in God, don’t you?”
He nodded his head, although with some embarrassment. His religion labored heavily under political bias.
She looked down at the floor, and sat silent for a while. “Divine right,” she began to murmur, “the fetish of the creatures made rich by our man-made social system! ‘The heavens are thine, the earth also is thine: as for the world and the fullness thereof, thou hast founded them.’ But, oh, what must be the concept of God held by the rich, a God who bestows these gifts upon a few, and with them the privilege and divine consent to oppress and crush their fellow-men! What a low order of intelligence the rich possess! An intelligence wherein the sentiments of love and justice have melted into money!”
“Mr. President,” put in Ames at this juncture, “I think we have spent quite enough time moralizing. Suppose you now indicate your attitude on the cotton tariff. I’d like to know what to expect.”
Carmen glanced quickly up. Her sparkling eyes looked right into the President’s. A smile wreathed her mouth. “I admire the man,” she said, “who dares to stand for the right in the face of the great taboo! There are few men nowadays who stand for anything in particular.”
“Look here!” exclaimed Ames, aware now that he had made a mistake in permitting the girl to remain, “I wish my interview to be with you alone, Mr. President.”
Carmen rose. “I have embarrassed you both, haven’t I?” she said. “I will go. But first––”
She went to Ames and laid a hand on his arm. “I wish––I wish I might awaken you,” she said gently. “There is no victim at Avon in so desperate a state as you. More gold will not cure you, any more than more liquor can cure a slave to strong drink. You do not know that you are hourly practicing the most despicable form of robbery, the wringing of profits which you do not need out of the dire necessities of your fellow-beings.”