The Friendly Road [67]
he pushed back his coffee and began talking about it, almost in a tone of apology. He told me how kind he had tried to make the mill management in its dealings with its men.
"I would not speak of it save in explanation of our true attitude of helpfulness; but we have really given our men many advantages"--and he told me of the reading-room the company had established, of the visiting nurse they had employed, and of several other excellent enterprises, which gave only another proof of what I knew already of Mr. Vedder's sincere kindness of heart.
"But," he said, "we find they don't appreciate what we try to do for them."
I laughed outright.
"Why," I exclaimed, "you are having the same trouble I have had!"
"How's that?" he inquired, I thought a little sharply. Men don't like to have their seriousness trifled with.
"No longer ago than this morning," I said, "I had exactly that idea of giving them advantages; but I found that the difficulty lies not with the ability to give, but with the inability or unwillingness to take. You see I have a great deal of surplus wealth myself--"
Mr. Vedder's eyes flickered up at me.
"Yes," I said. "I've got immense accumulations of the wealth of the ages--ingots of Emerson and Whitman, for example, gems of Voltaire, and I can't tell what other superfluous coinage!" (And I waved my hand in the most grandiloquent manner.) "I've also quite a store of knowledge of corn and calves and cucumbers, and I've a boundless domain of exceedingly valuable landscapes. I am prepared to give bountifully of all these varied riches (for I shall still have plenty remaining), but the fact is that this generation of vipers doesn't appreciate what I am trying to do for them. I'm really getting frightened, lest they permit me to perish from undistributed riches!"
Mr. Vedder was still smiling.
"Oh," I said, warming up to my idea, "I'm a regular multimillionaire. I've got so much wealth that I'm afraid I shall not be as fortunate as jolly Andy Carnegie, for I don't see how I can possibly die poor!"
"Why not found a university or so?" asked Mr. Vedder.
"Well, I had thought of that. It's a good idea. Let's join our forces and establish a university where truly serious people can take courses in laughter."
"Fine idea!" exclaimed Mr. Vedder; "but wouldn't it require an enormous endowment to accommodate all the applicants? You must remember that this is a very benighted and illiterate world, laughingly speaking."
"It is, indeed," I said, "but you must remember that many people, for a long time, will be too serious to apply. I wonder sometimes if any one ever learns to laugh really laugh much before he is forty."
"But," said Mr. Vedder anxiously, "do you think such an institution would be accepted by the proletariat of the serious-minded?"
"Ah, that's the trouble," said I, "that's the trouble. The proletariat doesn't appreciate what we are trying to do for them! They don't want your reading-rooms nor my Emerson and cucumbers. The seat of the difficulty seems to be that what seems wealth to us isn't necessarily wealth for the other fellow."
I cannot tell with what delight we fenced our way through this foolery (which was not all foolery, either). I never met a man more quickly responsive than Mr. Vedder. But he now paused for some moments, evidently ruminating.
"Well, David," he said seriously, "what are we going to do about this obstreperous other fellow?"
"Why not try the experiment," I suggested, "of giving him what he considers wealth, instead of what you consider wealth?"
"But what does he consider wealth?"
"Equality," said I.
Mr. Vedder threw up his hands.
"So you're a Socialist, too!"
"That," I said, "is another story."
"Well, supposing we did or could give him this equality you speak of--what would become of us? What would we get out of it?"
"Why, equality, too!" I said.
Mr. Vedder threw up his hands up with a gesture of mock resignation.
"Come," said he, "let's get down out of Utopia!"
We had some further good-humoured fencing and
"I would not speak of it save in explanation of our true attitude of helpfulness; but we have really given our men many advantages"--and he told me of the reading-room the company had established, of the visiting nurse they had employed, and of several other excellent enterprises, which gave only another proof of what I knew already of Mr. Vedder's sincere kindness of heart.
"But," he said, "we find they don't appreciate what we try to do for them."
I laughed outright.
"Why," I exclaimed, "you are having the same trouble I have had!"
"How's that?" he inquired, I thought a little sharply. Men don't like to have their seriousness trifled with.
"No longer ago than this morning," I said, "I had exactly that idea of giving them advantages; but I found that the difficulty lies not with the ability to give, but with the inability or unwillingness to take. You see I have a great deal of surplus wealth myself--"
Mr. Vedder's eyes flickered up at me.
"Yes," I said. "I've got immense accumulations of the wealth of the ages--ingots of Emerson and Whitman, for example, gems of Voltaire, and I can't tell what other superfluous coinage!" (And I waved my hand in the most grandiloquent manner.) "I've also quite a store of knowledge of corn and calves and cucumbers, and I've a boundless domain of exceedingly valuable landscapes. I am prepared to give bountifully of all these varied riches (for I shall still have plenty remaining), but the fact is that this generation of vipers doesn't appreciate what I am trying to do for them. I'm really getting frightened, lest they permit me to perish from undistributed riches!"
Mr. Vedder was still smiling.
"Oh," I said, warming up to my idea, "I'm a regular multimillionaire. I've got so much wealth that I'm afraid I shall not be as fortunate as jolly Andy Carnegie, for I don't see how I can possibly die poor!"
"Why not found a university or so?" asked Mr. Vedder.
"Well, I had thought of that. It's a good idea. Let's join our forces and establish a university where truly serious people can take courses in laughter."
"Fine idea!" exclaimed Mr. Vedder; "but wouldn't it require an enormous endowment to accommodate all the applicants? You must remember that this is a very benighted and illiterate world, laughingly speaking."
"It is, indeed," I said, "but you must remember that many people, for a long time, will be too serious to apply. I wonder sometimes if any one ever learns to laugh really laugh much before he is forty."
"But," said Mr. Vedder anxiously, "do you think such an institution would be accepted by the proletariat of the serious-minded?"
"Ah, that's the trouble," said I, "that's the trouble. The proletariat doesn't appreciate what we are trying to do for them! They don't want your reading-rooms nor my Emerson and cucumbers. The seat of the difficulty seems to be that what seems wealth to us isn't necessarily wealth for the other fellow."
I cannot tell with what delight we fenced our way through this foolery (which was not all foolery, either). I never met a man more quickly responsive than Mr. Vedder. But he now paused for some moments, evidently ruminating.
"Well, David," he said seriously, "what are we going to do about this obstreperous other fellow?"
"Why not try the experiment," I suggested, "of giving him what he considers wealth, instead of what you consider wealth?"
"But what does he consider wealth?"
"Equality," said I.
Mr. Vedder threw up his hands.
"So you're a Socialist, too!"
"That," I said, "is another story."
"Well, supposing we did or could give him this equality you speak of--what would become of us? What would we get out of it?"
"Why, equality, too!" I said.
Mr. Vedder threw up his hands up with a gesture of mock resignation.
"Come," said he, "let's get down out of Utopia!"
We had some further good-humoured fencing and