Pending the slow preparations of the Government of the island to provide the requisite laws for the issue and use of the new money, various enlightened individuals attempted to anticipate official legislative action by putting into practical operation, on their own account, the principles involved in the new fiscal system. The first of these who thus acted was a secretary for the interior part of the island, whose chief business was to supply the heathen—for whom, it will be remembered, Robinson Crusoe took up contributions—with beef. There had been a suspicion for some time past hanging over this official that the heathen did not get all the beef that they were entitled to; but the suspicion probably had no further foundation than the inability of the heathen to make the sense of completion harmonize with the sign of transmission. To satisfy the heathen, and at the same time effectually clear up his character, the official in question now hastened to have prepared a large number of pictures of fine, fat cattle, which he dispatched by a Quaker to the heathen, with a request that they would kill and eat, and be satisfied, adding in a postscript that they would do well to begin to learn economy by saving the skins. As the Quaker never came back, it was deemed reasonably certain that, at least, the first part of the request had been complied with.
The managers of the Island Provident Society also promptly determined to develop and apply the ideal system in their sphere of usefulness to the full extent that circumstances permitted. Thus a large part of the business of this old and respected society was the distribution of clothing to the destitute; and, as is always the case when times are hard, the extent of the demands made upon it for aid tended to exceed the means of supply contributed by the charitable. The managers, however, knew that it never would answer in using the ideal system to subserve the work of charity, to put the locally needy on the same footing as the heathen, and in answer to appeals for raiment distribute to them elaborate pictures of fine clothing, cut from the fashion-plates; for there was this essential difference in the situations, that the needy were at their doors, while the heathen were a great way off. They, therefore, hit upon this happy mean: they employed a competent artist, with a full supply of paints and brushes, and when any destitute person applied for clothing, they painted upon his person every thing he desired in way of clothing of the finest and most fashionable patterns, from top-boots to collars, and from blue swallow-tailed coats to embroidered neck-ties, with jewelry and fancy buttons to match. Of course, the first man who appeared in public thus arrayed created a profound sensation. But the idea was so novel, and had obviously so many advantages over the old way of clothing one’s self, that the supremacy of the ideal over the real was at once greatly strengthened. For example—and here was one of the greatest merits of the new system—it not only symbolized, but practically applied, the views of the most advanced financial philosophers; favored (as the orator-philosopher wished) “more democracy and less aristocracy in the clothes market;” and encouraged the use of the least costly material out of which the community could make clothes; while the painted cotton, silk, wool, and leather could be made to look so exactly like the real articles, that it was only when the attempt was made to exchange the representative for the real that the difference was clearly discernible. Furthermore, every garment devised in accordance with the new system was, in all cases, a perfect fit. The plague of buttons was annihilated. Every man could save time enough in dressing and undressing to enrich himself, if he only employed his economized moments usefully. Every man might, without embarrassment, sleep in his clothes; and if he desired to change his monkey-jacket three hundred and sixty-five times in a year for an overcoat, or an overcoat for a monkey-jacket, he could do it most expeditiously, without the waste of any raw material more expensive than paint; and thus the system, after a time, by a happy thought, got the name of the “three-sixty-five interchangeable.” Of course, this answered very well so long as the weather continued mild and pleasant; but later in the season, when it became cool and frosty, experience soon showed that the warming qualities of different kinds of paint were not essentially different; that something more than confidence was necessary to keep out the cold; and that the temperature and circulation of the body physical remained unaffected, whether a man painted himself sky-blue one day and pea-green the next.[5]
Again, two shrewd fellows, Peter von Scrapehem and Israel Double, owned each a farm worth ten thousand dollars. Peter sold his farm for its full value to Israel, and took a mortgage for the total purchase-money; and Israel, in turn, sold his to Peter, and took a mortgage also for its full value. By so doing, each of these worthy persons clearly doubled the property in his possession, inasmuch as while each had at the outset only ten thousand dollars’ worth of real estate, each now had ten thousand of real estate and ten thousand of personal property; or an aggregate of forty thousand between them, in the place of twenty thousand originally. This method of multiplying property by multiplying titles was so easy, and the result so apparent, that the example was very generally followed; and when the census came to be taken, a few months afterward, all were amazed at the enormous increase of wealth that had followed the discovery and simple recognition of the true nature and value of titles.
Up to this time the supply of milk on the island had been mainly controlled by a single corporation, which, under the name of the “Lacteal Fluid Association,” owned all the cows, and, for the purpose of facilitating supply, had long been in the habit of issuing tickets, each good for a pint or a quart of milk, and disposing of milk to those only who had tickets. These tickets revolved perfectly in the closed circle of exchange between the milk-men and their customers, satisfying all demands, and being accepted as the same thing as milk; for the more tickets, the more milk; and no tickets, no milk.
Milk-tickets for babies, in place of milk.
During the war the cannibals, in lack of any other meat, had eaten a large number of the cows belonging to the “Lacteal Association.” Many had been also taken by the Government for the soldiers; so that after the war was over there were really no more cows than the island absolutely needed. All at once, the “foot-and-mouth disease” invaded the island, and, attacking every cow belonging to the association, rendered her unable to give milk. Then arose such a piteous cry from every household where there were babies as carried a pang to the stoutest hearts. There was no need of any concerted action, for the people assembled spontaneously and demanded action. An immense public meeting was at once organized. A highly popular and humane man, a special friend of children, familiarly known as Uncle Dick, was called to the chair. He was supported by a long list of leading citizens as vice-presidents and secretaries, none of whom, however, had had any practical acquaintance with milk since their childhood, except in the form of punch. The chairman made an eloquent speech. He did not know whether he was most agitated by pity or indignation—pity for the poor babies, whose sufferings had become intolerable; indignation at the cruelty of the chartered monopolists, who had wantonly refused to issue more tickets at the very time when the demand for milk was most imperative. The assembly was of one mind with the chairman, and unanimously resolved that the Lacteal Association should immediately increase their supply of tickets, and that, in default thereof, their charter should be altered and amended. Unable to resist the storm of popular indignation, the association at once complied, and every patriotic citizen went home to the bosom of his afflicted family, carrying an abundant supply of milk-tickets, and feeling conscious that for once at least he had risen to the level of the occasion.
That night the babies were all supplied with milk-tickets in the place of milk. Milk-tickets hot, milk-tickets cold, milk-tickets sweetened, milk-tickets plain, milk-tickets with their backs printed green, and interchangeable with milk-tickets drawing cream skimmed from other milk-tickets. But, strange to say, the babies, one and all, with that same sort of instinctive perversity which induces children of a larger growth to refuse to accept shams for reality, and be grateful in addition, refused to take to milk-tickets. The uproar of the night preceding was as nothing to the disturbances of the night following, and morning dawned upon an unrefreshed and troubled population.
As soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, another meeting assembled. But the meeting this time was composed of babies, backed by their mammas and nurses. There was no theory in their sentiments; and though young in years, one and all felt that they had lived long enough to know what their fathers apparently did not know—namely, the difference between milk and paper. The resolutions voted were brief, but to the point, and were, substantially, as follows:
First, that the exigencies of the times demanded more milk, and not more milk-tickets; second, that the way to get more milk was to have more cows; third, that the way to get more cows was to go to work and raise them, or raise something else equally valuable, and then with this something else buy cows; fourth, that there are certain eternal verities against which it is useless for either babies or men to contend. A committee was appointed to procure a mill of the gods, to grind up those who disbelieved in the last resolution, and the meeting then adjourned.