And then, because I had been answering him with single syllables, or with nods, or not at all, he taxed me with my taciturnity; he even went so far as to ask me what thoughts kept me so silent—which I did not tell him.
“I am wondering,” I told him instead, “how much they steal every week.”
“Those financiers?”
“Yes. Bohm is president of an insurance company, and Charley’s a director, and reorganizes railroads.”
“Well, if other people share your pleasant opinion of them, how do they get elected?”
“Other people share their pleasant spoils—senators, vestrymen—you can’t be sure who you’re sitting next to at dinner any more. Come live North. You’ll find the only safe way is never to know anybody worth more than five millions—if you wish to keep the criminal classes off your visiting list.”
This made him merry. “Put ‘em in jail, then!”
“Ah, the jail!” I returned. “It’s the great American joke. It reverses the rule of our smart society. Only those who have no incomes are admitted.”
“But what do you have laws and lawyers for?”
“To keep the rich out of jail. It’s called ‘professional etiquette.’”