Part 31

"Only those," replied he. "We want no others."

"Not even their votes?" said she shrewdly.

"Not even their votes," he answered. "We've no desire to get the offices until we get them to keep. And when we shall have conquered the city, we'll move on to the conquest of the county--then of the district--then of the state. Our kind of movement is building in every city now, and in most of the towns and many of the villages. The old parties are falling to pieces because they stand for the old politics of the two factions of the upper class quarreling over which of them should superintend the exploiting of the people. Very few of us realize what is going on before our very eyes--that we're seeing the death agonies of one form of civilization and the birth-throes of a newer form."

"And what will it be?" asked the girl.

She had been waiting for some sign of the "crank," the impractical dreamer. She was confident that this question would reveal the man she had been warned against--that in answering it he would betray his true self. But he disappointed and surprised her.

"How can I tell what it will be?" said he. "I'm not a prophet. All I can say is I am sure it will be human, full of imperfections, full of opportunities for improvements--and that I hope it will be better than what we have now. Probably not much better, but a little--and that little, however small it may be, will be a gain. Doesn't history show a slow but steady advance of the idea that the world is for the people who live in it, a slow retreat of the idea that the world and the people and all its and their resources are for a favored few of some kind of an upper class? Yes--I think it is reasonable to hope that out of the throes will come a freer and a happier and a more intelligent race."

Suddenly she burst out, apparently irrelevantly: "But I can't--I really can't agree with you that everyone ought to do physical labor. That would drag the world down--yes, I'm sure it would."

"I guess you haven't thought about that," said he. "Painters do physical labor--and sculptors--and writers--and all the scientific men--and the inventors--and--" He laughed at her--"Who doesn't do physical labor that does anything really useful? Why, you yourself--at tennis and riding and such things--do heavy physical labor. I've only to look at your body to see that. But it's of a foolish kind--foolish and narrowly selfish."

"I see I'd better not try to argue with you," said she.

"No--don't argue--with me or with anybody," rejoined he. "Sit down quietly and think about life--about your life. Think how it is best to live so that you may get the most out of life--the most substantial happiness. Don't go on doing the silly customary things simply because a silly customary world says they are amusing and worth while. Think--and do--for yourself, Jane Hastings."

She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I'll try to," she said. She looked at him with the expression of the mind aroused. It was an expression that often rewarded him after a long straight talk with a fellow being. She went on: "I probably shan't do what you'd approve. You see, I've got to be myself--got to live to a certain extent the kind of a life fate has made for me."

"You couldn't successfully live any other," said he.

"But, while it won't be at all what you'd regard as a model life--or even perhaps useful--it'll be very different--very much better--than it would have been, if I hadn't met you--Victor Dorn."

"Oh, I've done nothing," said he. "All I try to do is to encourage my fellow beings to be themselves. So--live your own life--the life you can live best--just as you wear the clothes that fit and become you.... And now--about the street car question. What do you want of me?"

"Tell me what to say to father."

He shook his head. "Can't do it," said he. "There's a good place for you to make a beginning. Put on an old dress and go down town and get acquainted with the family life of the street-car men. Talk to their wives and their children. Look into the whole business yourself."

"But I'm not--not competent to judge," objected she.

"Well, make yourself competent," advised he.

"I might get Miss Gordon to go with me," suggested she.

"You'll learn more thoroughly if you go alone," declared he.

She hesitated--ventured with a winning smile: "You won't go with me--just to get me started right?"

"No," said he. "You've got to learn for yourself--or not at all. If I go with you, you'll get my point of view, and it will take you so much the longer to get your own."

"Perhaps you'd prefer I didn't go."

"It's not a matter of much importance, one way or the other--except perhaps to yourself," replied he.

"Any one individual can do the human race little good by learning the truth about life. The only benefit is to himself. Don't forget that in your sweet enthusiasm for doing something noble and generous and helpful. Don't become a Davy Hull. You know, Davy is on earth for the benefit of the human race. Ever since he was born he has been taken care of--supplied with food, clothing, shelter, everything. Yet he imagines that he is somehow a God-appointed guardian of the people who have gathered and cooked his food, made his clothing, served him in every way. It's very funny, that attitude of your class toward mine."

"They look up to us," said Jane. "You can't blame us for allowing it--for becoming pleased with ourselves."

"That's the worst of it--we do look up to you," admitted he. "But--we're learning better."

"YOU'VE already learned better--you personally, I mean. I think that when you compare me, for instance, with a girl like Selma Gordon, you look down on me."