“Ah, but you must recollect that they are resting! You have no idea how hard they all work in town during the winter,” Mrs. Makely urged, with an air of argument.
“Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don’t think the sight of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the country; they all come from the cities. It’s the other kind of idleness that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer.”
The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and I said, lightly: “But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise for exercise’ sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy.”
I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not to have found it unjust. “Why, you know,” he said to Mrs. Camp, “in Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, hours’ work, which constitutes a day’s work with us, is done, the young people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. Twelvemough—perhaps I did not make myself clear—was that we should regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others were each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I can account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them materially or morally.”
Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. “Oh, do go on!” Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: “We’ve got him to talking about Altruria at last, and we wouldn’t have him stopped for worlds.”
The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager curiosity in them. He smiled and said: “I shall be very glad, I’m sure. But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all,” he explained to Mrs. Makely, “as you have toward your next-door neighbor—”
“My next-door neighbor!” she cried. “But I don’t know the people next door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I assure you I do not know a soul among them.”
He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: “Sometimes it does seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us lost one of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser if my cook hadn’t happened to mention it. The servants all know each other; they meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don’t encourage it. You can’t tell what kind of families they belong to.”
“But surely,” the Altrurian persisted, “you have friends in the city whom you think of as your neighbors?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” said Mrs. Makely. “I have my visiting-list, but I shouldn’t think of anybody on that as a neighbor.”