"And you,--you never married, did you?" I inquired, somewhat
irrelevantly.
His semi-humorous gesture seemed to deny that such a luxury was for him.
The conversation dragged a little; I began to feel the curiosity he
invariably inspired. What was his life? What were his beliefs? And I was
possessed by a certain militancy, a desire to "smoke him out." I did not
stop to reflect that mine was in reality a defensive rather than an
aggressive attitude.
"Do you live down here, in this part of the city?" I asked.
No, he boarded in Fowler Street. I knew it as in a district given over to
the small houses of working-men.
"I suppose you are still a socialist."
"I suppose I am," he admitted, and added, "at any rate, that is as near
as you can get to it."
"Isn't it fairly definite?"
"Fairly, if my notions are taken in general as the antithesis of what you
fellows believe."
"The abolition of property, for instance."
"The abolition of too much property."
"What do you mean by 'too much'?"
"When it ceases to be real to a man, when it represents more than his
need, when it drives him and he becomes a slave to it."
Involuntarily I thought of my new house,--not a soothing reflection.
"But who is going to decree how much property, a man should have?"
"Nobody--everybody. That will gradually tend to work itself out as we
become more sensible and better educated, and understand more clearly
what is good for us."