“Oh, my dear,” I said, “that would be dishonest, and importers are never dishonest; indeed it is upon the virtue and integrity of the people that the welfare of our institutions depends.” As I was about to expand upon this theme, my wife checked me with the remark that we would take the American eagle and the rest of it, at another time, but just now we would hear about the silk worms. I told her I had made all necessary arrangements, and would that day write to the “Department” at Washington, and secure the necessary supply of eggs to commence a flourishing business. I did so and in due time I received from the capital of the nation, a nice little wooden box, and inside of that another little tin box, and inside of that were the eggs. They were about as big as pin’s heads and it looked as though there were millions, but I don’t suppose there were that many.
I exhibited them with pride to the partner of my bosom, exclaiming, “Such is the fostering care of a paternal government, it raises these eggs at vast expense, and bestows them liberally upon those who ask.” I then explained to Mrs. W. how it was that our glorious republic nursed those infant industries that were so delicate they could not stand alone; supporting them with great assiduity, inasmuch as they could not support themselves. I showed her 224 how employment was thus furnished to thousands of persons, who would otherwise be idle, or engaged in some other occupation that was able to take care of itself; of course, therefore, making wages lower. I contrasted the condition of the American laborer, with that of the European serf, trodden under the iron heel of despotism, at ten cents a day, and satisfied her that the laboring man in the United States was the best paid, and therefore the happiest and most contented being on earth, owing to the fact of a protective tariff, ever since 1789.
“W.,” exclaimed that angelic creature, “why is it, then, that the workingmen are always striking and marching around town with brass bands? First shoemakers, then carpenters and railroad men, and stone-masons, and iron-molders, and hod-carriers—all wanting higher wages. Where does the happiness and content come in? I heard you say, yourself, the other day, that the disorganized system of labor was such in this country, that it was degenerating into socialism and anarchy and was ruining every branch of business.”
I hated to do it, but I crushed her with the reply: “Ah! my dear, that is begging the question.”
But that sweet creature, unruffled as a summer sea, preserved an equanimity that astounded me, as she said: “Why is it, W., that whenever a woman corners a man in argument, he simply ends the discussion by telling her she is ‘begging the question?’” Seeing that she did not exactly catch the drift of my logic, I adroitly turned the subject to silk-worms again, and how we should proceed in our enterprise.
“Now,” said I to Mrs. W., “I will procure the necessary lumber, at usual market rates, and make a stand on which to lay the frames.”
She observed: “You know, W., you never made anything in your life and can’t do it. Go up to the carpenter and he will do what you want for fifty cents, and you can’t buy the lumber for that.”
“Mrs. W.,” I replied, “I scorn your words. I propose that this undertaking shall be absolutely inexpensive, except, perhaps, the outlay for the raw material.”
“Very well,” she observed, “try it.” My! what a head that woman has. I took a book that had a picture of the stand I wanted, and took the dimensions carefully down; went to the lumber yard, selected the pieces, and they cost only $1.25; went home, measured, 225 planned, and figured, and found that I had ordered the upright cut the length of the cross pieces, and vice-versa, so that the whole was useless. My disposition, however, is to take cheerful views of things, and I explained to Mrs. W. that I could still use the stuff for pickets on the front fence, some of which were missing. Mrs. W. quietly observed: “How are you going to use four-foot pickets on a six-foot fence?”
When I purchased the second lot I was very careful to proceed deliberately. I am a good deal of a carpenter, if things would only come out square when finished: but they never will. When I saw a board, somehow the saw runs off to one side, and when I try to nail it to the other board, the two won’t fit; and by the time I get around to the fourth side, one end of the concern is up in the air, and I have to sit on it to keep it down. I have often gazed with admiration on a real carpenter, to see him run his saw along, straight as a string and true as a die, and then put the pieces all together and have them fit, nice as a cotton hat. This is true genius.