There was a time to come, however, when he would wonder how it had been possible for him to look upon this girl with other than feelings of personal interest. Little did he dream, on that first evening at Major Hampton’s, of the great sorrow that was to come—a sorrow in which this light-hearted, innocent girl would awaken to a grief that could not be comforted—a grief that he, himself, was destined to share with her.
“She is a wonderful girl,” said the major, after Marie had gone. “I doubt if her equal can be found in the Sunflower State.”
“Very prepossessing,” replied Hugh. “Her face is a most intellectual one.”
The major opened a fresh box of cigars. “Have a cigar, Stanton,” said he. “I feel in a humor to talk, and nothing aids more in conversation than smoking a good cigar.”
After the cigars were lighted, the major returned to his former reclining position on the lounge.
“My dear Stanton,” said he, “are you at all interested in politics?”
“I can’t say that I am,” returned Hugh. “I usually vote, and that’s about all.”
“I, perhaps, am not claiming too much when I say that in politics I am a philosopher. If I had the power, I would try the experiment of setting aside this so-called political economy, and these financial heresies, substituting therefor a little common sense in conducting the affairs of state. In a great country like ours, whose mountains are fairly bursting open with tons of unmined precious mineral, a country whose credit is unlimited, we should be able to furnish employment to a million men, in building better roads, in constructing dikes, in making canals for waterway transportation, and in reclaiming arid lands. Instead, our present limited population is congested into inactivity; our highways are lined with the unemployed, and, while surrounded by plenty, our people are actually dying of starvation.”
“I am aware,” replied Hugh, “that there are many unemployed, especially in large cities like Chicago and New York. The poor people are usually provided with free soup-houses, however, and need not starve.”
“My dear Stanton,” said the major, with great earnestness, “patriotism cannot and will not survive on charity soup. The plan that I have in mind would set in motion the wheels of our paralyzed industries. It would do away with idleness, and elevate the starving man to a position of self-support and self-respect. Benevolent soup-kitchens destroy self-respect, and loyalty grows lean on such a diet.”