Hamilton went on lugubriously, with mock dramatic force. “There’s your plutocrat. Your silk-hatted, obese gentleman of the cartoons. As a matter of fact he is usually thin and suffering from dyspepsia. This is the object of the attack of the representatives of the pee-pul—the demagogues. This is your hated capitalist. I prefer the man who has sense enough to see that there is nothing essentially noble in work and who devotes his time to the pleasures of life.”
Over the omelettes, which after the first bite, Hamilton decided were worth all their reputation, the discussion was resumed.
“Isn’t that a rather narrow view to take?” asked Meadows. “Devoting one’s life to mere pleasure.”
“It’s the very highest. What are the higher things in life but means to increasing our pleasure? What is all our culture—manners, art, literature, music? Even religion is the sole pleasure of the millions who are too incompetent or unfortunate to enjoy the material pleasures of life, the pleasures of the flesh. There is no rational occupation for man, aside from what is absolutely necessary for his subsistence, except the pursuit of pleasure.”
“But haven’t you any place for duty in your philosophy?” put in Meadows. “Your views are interesting, but obviously only applicable to a small class. Obviously every one couldn’t go about hunting pleasure.”
“Certainly, it’s a class philosophy,” replied Hamilton. “I don’t pretend to prescribe a philosophy that fits every one. It’s simply my own private brand. It would be just as ridiculous for me to have a philosophy that is more universally applicable, as it would be for me to drink beer instead of Château Yquem, because it suits more palates.”
“And you don’t care about the beer drinker?”
“On the whole, he’s just as well off as your average American capitalist. He eats more, sleeps as long, and satisfies practically the same desires. Both read the same newspapers and attend the same movies. And the beer drinker doesn’t have to worry about his wife eloping with the chauffeur.”
“So you admit the morality of the beer drinkers, only I don’t like that term.”
“That,” interrupted Hamilton, his eyes gleaming, “is because your appetite also has been developed beyond the beer stage.”