The colonel meditated. “I’ll tell you honestly,” he said after a pause, “I was of that opinion, or something of the kind, until I talked your case over with my aunt—”
“The old dame is not a fool; what did she say?”
“She said no, he didn’t convert you; but he convinced you how other people looked at your methods. You couldn’t get round the fact that a majority of your countrymen think your type of financier is worse than smallpox, and more contagious.”
“Oh, she put it that way, did she? I wish she would write a prospectus for me. Well, you think she was nearer right than you?”
“I think you do; I myself think it was a little of both. You’ve got a heart and a conscience originally, though they have got pretty well tanned out in the weather; you didn’t want to be sorry for those people, but you are. They have bothered you a lot; but it has bothered you more to think that instead of going down the ages as a colossal benefactor and empire builder, you are hung up on the hook to see where you’re at; and where you will be if the people get thoroughly aroused. You all are building bigger balloons when it ought to be you for the cyclone cellar! But you are different. You can see ahead. I give you credit for seeing.”
“Have you ever considered,” said Keatcham slowly, “that in spite of the iniquitous greed of the men you are condemning, in spite of their oppression of the people, the prosperity of the country is unparalleled? How do you explain it?”
“Crops,” said the colonel; “the crops were too big for you.”
“You might give us a little credit—your aunt does. She was here to-day; she is a manufacturer and she comprehended that the methods of business can not be revolutionized without somebody’s getting hurt. Yet, on the whole, the change might be immensely advantageous. Now, why, in a nutshell, do you condemn us?”
“You’re after the opinion of the average man, are you?”
“I suppose so, the high average.”