er read any serious books on what you call socialism?"
he asked.

I threw out an impatient negative. I was going on to protest that I was
not ignorant of the doctrine.

"Oh, what you call socialism is merely what you believe to be the more or
less crude and utopian propaganda of an obscure political party. That
isn't socialism. Nor is the anomalistic attempt that the Christian
Socialists make to unite modern socialistic philosophy with Christian
orthodoxy, socialism."

"What is socialism, then?" I demanded, somewhat defiantly.

"Let's call it education, science," he said smilingly, "economics and
government based on human needs and a rational view of religion. It has
been taught in German universities, and it will be taught in ours
whenever we shall succeed in inducing your friends, by one means or
another, not to continue endowing them. Socialism, in the proper sense,
is merely the application of modern science to government."

I was puzzled and angry. What he said made sense somehow, but it sounded
to me like so much gibberish.

"But Germany is a monarchy," I objected.

"It is a modern, scientific system with monarchy as its superstructure.
It is anomalous, but frank. The monarchy is there for all men to see, and
some day it will be done away with. We are supposedly a democracy, and
our superstructure is plutocratic. Our people feel the burden, but they
have not yet discovered what the burden is."

"And when they do?" I asked, a little defiantly.

"When they do," replied Krebs, "they will set about making the plutocrats
happy. Now plutocrats are discontented, and never satisfied; the more
they get, the more they want, the more they are troubled by what other
people have."

I smiled in spite of myself.

"Your interest in--in plutocrats is charitable, then?"

"Why, yes," he said, "my interest in all kinds of people is charitable.
However improbable it may seem, I have no reason to dislike or envy
people who have more than they know what to do with." And the worst of it
was he looked it. He managed somehow simply by sitting there with his
strange eyes fixed upon me--in spite of his ridiculous philosophy--to
belittle my ambitions, to make of small worth my achievements, to bring
home to me the fact that in spite of these I was neither contented nor
happy though he kept his humour and his poise, he implied an experience
that was far deeper, more tragic and more significant than mine. I was
goaded into making