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 min