“Are you a Socialist?” Lily demanded, in her direct way.
“Well, you might call it that. I go a bit further.”
“Don't talk politics, Jim,” Elinor hastily interposed. He caught her eye and grinned.
“I'm not talking politics, my dear.” He turned to Lily, smiling.
“For one thing, I don't believe that any one should have a lot of money, so that a taxicab could remain ticking away fabulous sums while a charming young lady dines at her leisure.” He smiled again.
“Will it be a lot?” Lily asked. “I thought I'd better keep him, because—” She hesitated.
“Because this neighborhood is unlikely to have a cab stand? You were entirely right. But I can see that you won't like my idealistic community. You see, in it everybody will have enough, and nobody will have too much.”
“Don't take him too seriously, Miss Cardew,” said Akers, bending forward. “You and I know that there isn't such a thing as too much.”
Elinor changed the subject; as a girl she had drawn rather well, and she had retained her interest in that form of art. There was an exhibition in town of colored drawings. Lily should see them. But Jim Doyle countered her move.
“I forgot to mention,” he said, “that in this ideal world we were discussing the arts will flourish. Not at once, of course, because the artists will be fighting—”