hose works--and not through
their carelessness, either," he went on in a milder, friendlier tone.
"And forty or fifty are maimed--not like that little pin scratch of
yours, my dear Mr. Ranger, but hands lost, legs lost--accidents that make
cripples for life. That means tragedy--not the wolf at the door, but with
his snout right in the platter."

"I've seen that," said Arthur. "But I never thought much about
it--until now."

"Naturally," commented Schulze, with sarcasm. Then he added
philosophically, "And it's just as well not to bother about it. Mankind
found this world a hell, and is trying to make it over into a heaven. And
a hell it still is, even more of a hell than at first, and it'll be still
more of a hell--for these machines and these slave-driving capitalists
with their luxury-crazy families are worse than wars and aristocrats.
They make the men work, and the women and the children--make 'em all work
as the Pharaohs never sweated the wretches they set at building the
pyramids. The nearer the structure gets toward completion, the worse the
driving and the madder the haste. Some day the world'll be worth living
in--probably just about the time it's going to drop into the sun.
Meanwhile, it's a hell of a place. We're a race of slaves, toiling for
the benefit of the race of gods that'll some day be born into a habitable
world and live happily ever afterwards. Science will give them
happiness--and immortality, if they lose the taste for the adventure into
the Beyond."

Arthur's brain heard clearly enough to remember afterwards; but Schulze's
voice seemed to be coming through a thick wall. When they reached the
Ranger house, Schulze had to lift him from the buggy and support his
weight and guide his staggering steps. Out ran Mrs. Ranger, with _the_
terror in her eyes.

"Don't lose your head, ma'am," said Schulze. "It's only a cut finger. The
young fool forgot he was steering a machine, and had a sharp but slight
reminder."

Schulze was heavily down on the "interesting-invalid" habit. He held that
the world's supply of sympathy was so small that there wasn't enough to
provide encouragement for those working hard and well; that those who
fell into the traps of illness set in folly by themselves should get, at
most, toleration in the misfortunes in which others were compelled to
share. "The world discourages strength and encourages weakness," he used
to declaim. "That injustice and cruelty must be reversed!"

"D