Mrs. Maynard, the tragic-faced, eloquent Scotch expert on birth-control, now said in that low, bitter voice of hers which always makes every one stop to listen, “I would be obliged if you would point out to me how either physical health or the very best of municipal governments should alleviate in the slightest, the hideous ulcers of our so-called respectable married homes. When the very foundation of every-day human life is cemented in such unthinkable cruelty and suffering to defenseless women, I don’t see how human beings with hearts in their bosoms can stop for an instant to consider such puerile non-essentials as athletics and party politics!”
The two or three happily married women in the group, startled by her fierce acrimony, were silent, feeling abashed by the grossly comfortable way we had managed to escape even a knowledge of the horrors which she so urgently assured us were universal. But Mr. Sharpless, the efficiency engineer, shook his head pityingly. “No, no, my dear lady, you can’t cure anything by going at it with the hammer and tongs of direct action. The economic key is the only one that fits all locks, opens all doors. The women of what we call the ‘upper classes’ do not suffer as you describe. You know they don’t. Now why do we call them the ‘upper classes’? Because they have money. You know it! Hence, if everybody had money ...! I tell you the thing to do is to reorganize our wretched old producing machinery till ever so much more is produced, ever so much more easily; and then invent distributing machinery that will ensure everybody’s getting his share. You may not think home life is much affected by the chemist in his laboratory, devising a way to get nitrogen chiefly from the air, or by the engineer struggling with the problem of free power out of the tides or the sun. But it is. Just once put all women in the comfortable upper classes....”
He was interrupted here by a number of protesting voices, all speaking at once, the loudest of which, Professor Oleny’s finally drowned out the others, “... money without intelligence is the most fatal combination conceivable to man! Economic prosperity would spell speedy destruction without an overhauling of education.” He spun like a pinwheel for a moment, in a sparkling, devastating characterization of American schools, and of their deadening effect on the brains which passed through them, and began on a description of what schools should be.
But I had heard him lecture on that only the day before and, looking away from him, sought out the face of my cousin, the business-man. He had sat through it all, and now continued to sit through the free-for-all debate which followed, without opening his mouth except to emit an occasional thoughtful puff of cigar-smoke. His thoughts seemed to be with the billowing smoke-rings, which he sent towards the ceiling rather than with the great sweep of the subjects being discussed. I knew well enough that his silence did not come in the least from any inability to follow the pyrotechnics about him, and I felt in his absent preoccupation something of the disdain, traditionally felt for talkers and reformers by men of action—when in the twentieth century and in the United States, you say “man of action” you mean of course, “business-man.”
It nettled me a little, and after the others had gone and he was finishing the end of his cigar, I said challengingly, “I suppose you think they are all off! I suppose you think that you know what is the matter with the world and that it is something quite different.”
He considered the end of his cigar meditatively and answered mildly, “I don’t think I know, I know I know.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” I said, amused and ironic. “Would you mind telling me what it is?”
He shucked further down in his chair, tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you a story that happened just lately in one of the biggest mail-order houses in this country. Of course, I know that you don’t fully appreciate the importance of mail-order houses, not being in business. And they’re too through and through American a growth for people like your friends to-night to know about or talk about. But some of the best brains and real sure-enough genius in the United States have gone into creating the mail-order house idea. Maybe you might allow that to be a good enough reason for considering for a moment what goes on inside one of them ... what?
“As a matter of fact, the story isn’t just about a mail-order house, but about what is the matter with the world ... the very same subject your friends were debating. My story won’t have so many long words in it as they use, nor so many abstract ideas ... at least on the surface; but it won’t do you any harm to soak it away and think it over. I’ll tell you what, I’ve been thinking it over this evening, as I listened to the talk. I only heard the story this morning, and it’s stuck in my head all day ... and especially this evening, as they were all talking about how to hit on some organization of society that would really fix things up, once and for all.”
He paused for a moment, stretched his legs out straight before him and put his hands into his pockets. “If I really told you all you ought to know, to understand the background and setting of the story, I’d be sitting here to-morrow morning still talking. So I won’t try, I’ll just tell you the plain story as it happened. You try to imagine the background: an organization as big, as complicated, with as many chances for waste motion, or overorganization, or poor organization as society itself. And not only power and glory, but cash, plenty of hard cash as immediate reward for the successful use of brains.