“Well, I’m still coming out,” she interrupted. “I am beginning to feel that I have been unconscious for a very long time indeed. Let me hear why you don’t want money.”
Grant was aware of a pleasant glow excited by her frank interest. She was altogether a desirable girl.
“I have observed,” he said, “that poor people worry over what they haven’t got, and rich people worry over what they have. It is my disposition not to worry over anything. You said that money is power. That is one of its deceits. It offers a man power, but in reality it makes him its slave. It enchains him for life; I have seen it in too many cases—I am not mistaken. As for opening up a wider life, what wider life could there be than this which I—which you and I—are living?”
She wondered why he had said “you and I.” Evidently he was wondering too, for he fell into reflection. She changed her position to ease the dull pain in her ankle, which his talk had almost driven from her mind. The rock had a perpendicular edge, so she let her feet hang over, resting the injured one upon the other. He was sitting in a similar position. The silence of the night had gathered about them, broken occasionally by the yapping of coyotes far down the valley. Segments of dull light fringed the horizon; the breeze was again blowing from the west, mild and balmy. Presently one of the segments of light grew and grew. It was as though it were rushing up the valley. They watched it, fascinated; then burst into laughter as the orb of the moon became recognizable.... There was something very companionable about watching the moon rise, as they did.
“The greatest wealth in the world,” he said at length, as though his thoughts had been far afield, searching, perchance, the mazy corridors of Truth for this atom of wisdom; “the greatest wealth in the world is to be able to do something useful. That is the only wealth which will not be disturbed in the coming reorganization of society.”
Zen did not reply. For the first time in her life she stood convicted, before her own mind, of a very profound ignorance. Dennison Grant had been drawing back the curtain of a world of the existence of which she had never known. He had talked to her about “the coming reorganization of society”? What did it mean? She was at home in discussions of herds or horses; she was at home with the duties of kitchen or reception-room; she was at home with her father or Transley or Linder or Drazk or Tompkins the cook, but Dennison Grant in an hour had carried her into a far country, where she would be hopelessly lost but for his guidance.... Yet it seemed a good and interesting country. She wanted to enter in—to know it better.
“Tell me about the coming reorganization of society,” she said.
“That is an all-night order,” he returned. “Besides, I can’t tell you all, because I don’t know all. I know only very, very little. I see my little gleam of light and keep my eye close upon it. But you must know that society is always in a state of reorganization. Nothing continues as it was. Those who dismiss a problem glibly by saying it has always been so and always will be so don’t read history and don’t understand human nature.”
He turned toward her as interest in his theme developed. The moonlight was now pouring upon them; her face was beautiful and fine as marble in its soft rays. For a moment he hesitated, overwhelmed by a sudden realization of her attractiveness. He had just been saying that the law of nature was the law of change, and nature itself stood up to refute him.
He brought himself back to earth. “I was saying that everything changes,” he continued. “Look at our economic system, for instance. Not so many centuries ago the man who got the most wealth was the man with the biggest muscle and the toughest skin. He wielded a stout club, and what he wanted, he took. His system of operation was simple and direct. You have money, you have cattle, you have a wife—I’m speaking of the times that were. I am stronger than you. I take them. Simplicity itself!”