“You are perfectly right in theory, dear, and I feel just as you do about such things; I'm sure I've suffered enough from them; but if we didn't take interest for your money, what should we have to live on?”
“Not my money, Eveleth!” I entreated. “Don't say my money!”
“But whatever is mine is yours,” she returned, with a wounded air.
“Not your money; but I hope you will soon have none. We should need no money to live on in Altruria. Our share of the daily work of all will amply suffice for our daily bread and shelter.”
“In Altruria, yes. But how about America? And you have promised to come back here in a year, you know. Ladies and gentlemen can't share in the daily toil here, even if they could get the toil, and, where there are so many out of work, it isn't probable they could.”
She dropped upon my knee as she spoke, laughing, and put her hand under my chin, to lift my fallen face.
“Now you mustn't be a goose, Aristide, even if you are an angel! Now listen. You know, don't you, that I hate money just as badly as you?”
“You have made me think so, Eveleth,” I answered.
“I hate it and loathe it. I think it's the source of all the sin and misery in the world; but you can't get rid of it at a blow. For if you gave it away you might do more harm than good with it.”
“You could destroy it,” I said.