“Well, I have quite a stock of shrapnel and liquid fire for the rear line of the Germans,” he began. “My searchlight is a modest kind of a lantern but we'll see what we can do with it.
“This time we'll talk on the subject of keeping up with William.
“The other day, in the rooms of the Connecticut Historical Society, I was reading the diary of one Abigail Foote written in 1775. This, as I remember it, was an average day in her life: Mended mother's hood, set a red dye, hetchelled flax with Hannah, spun four pounds of whole wool, spun thread for harness twine, worked on a cheese basket, read a sermon of Doddridge's, scoured the pewter, milked the cows, carded wool, got supper ready, went to bed at nine.
“I wish you to note that she went to bed at nine. Do you think that a modern girl would knock off at nine? Not at all. She sticks to her task until midnight and even longer. Abigail had only to be an ordinary human being with nothing to do but work. The modern girl must have the beauty of a goddess, the grace of a gazelle, the digestion of an ostrich, the endurance of a horse and the remorse of a human being. It is a large contract. “We are all familiar with the diary of a modern girl. Its average day would be about as follows: Got up. Neck felt like a string on a toy balloon. Had some toast and coffee. Had my hair dressed and nails manicured. Put a new ribbon on my dog and walked him around the block. Went to meeting of the charity committee. Learned that there were many people out of work. Went to see the doctor who warned me about overeating and late hours. Same old chestnut! Lunched with Mabel. Ate half a pound of chocolates and so much cake that the butler had a frightened look. Home again. Dressed. Went with mama to a lecture on the insane. Mama woke me at five. It was all over. Went to Gladys's tea. Danced half an hour. Home again. Dressed. Spent fifteen minutes with papa and my dog. Went with Harry and mama to Gwendolyn's party. Danced until midnight. Home at one. Nearly frozen. Talk about long hours and poor pay and insufficient clothing; this reminds one of the story of Washington's army in the worst winter of the revolution.
“Now, both of these girls toiled.
“The one in productive work with the wool and the flax. It was done mostly for the comfort of others. The modern girl wears herself out supering. Do you know what it means to super? It is to follow the exacting industry of being superior.”
“Superior to what?” I asked.
“To productive work,” he went on. “Their toil is all in the service of themselves and in pursuit of their own pleasure.
“That's what's the matter with this old earth. For many years more than half its people have been supering—wasting their time in busy idleness—on the high road to deviltry. You don't have to think twice to decide that it is about the most dangerous of all crimes, my friend, because it is the straight way to all crime. It leads direct to deceit, theft, adultery and murder. It kills the sense of brotherhood in the heart of man. It kills the spirit of Democracy. The world is being strafed for it, in my opinion.
“Now the center and headquarters of all supering is Prussia—the home of the superman—and Bill Hohenzollern, the Godful, is the head and front of the whole push.