THE COUNT’S SPEECH TO HIS WORKMEN.
The next day was rainy, and the prospecting expedition, as Susie called
it, was deferred; the count meanwhile employed the time in completing
the purchase of a farm of sixty-five acres, adjoining his original
fifty, and now he held all the land he wanted. This farm was under
cultivation, while twenty acres of the other land was a forest of large
oak, chestnut, and maple trees. This was to form a pleasure-ground, for
which it offered singular advantages, since it had, near its centre, a
beautiful lake, fed by never-failing springs, in a hill on its further
and northern boundary. The following day was magnificent, and though the
distance was very short, the party set out about nine o’clock in an open
carriage, for the count never walked, except on pleasure excursions;
then he was equal to the strongest. He and the doctor occupied the front
seat, and the ladies the other. Pausing on the high ground that sloped
down to the bridge, they surveyed the scene before them. Along the
river, on the opposite bank, which was quite steep and skirted with
large trees, except immediately on either side of the bridge, there lay
a broad, level field, straight beyond which was the twenty acres of
forest, level at first, and rising gradually toward the north-western
hills. The count turned on his seat, and asked “Madam Susie” where the
palace should rise—“Speak, and I obey you; I and the other ‘slaves of
the lamp,’” he added, smiling.
“I would have it set back two-thirds the distance toward the wood,”
answered Susie, promptly. “The front, on right and left of the avenue,
extending from the bridge, should be a park and garden, in which should
stand first, after the bridge, the theatre.”
“Easy of access to our ‘transtevere’ neighbors. I see your idea; go on,”
said the count.
“I have no very definite ideas further,” said Susie, “except that I
would have the silk manufactory to the right or east, reserving the west
as much as possible for our view.”
“The brick-making establishment,” said the doctor, “could be placed
still beyond, further to the right.”
“Yes, I agree to all that,” said the count. “Now that lake in the woods,
I find is just high enough to carry the water to the third story of the
palace. You see there is land enough, so there is no object in having it
higher. I tested the water yesterday. It is perfect, and will amply
supply all our needs. Now, behind the palace are your nurseries and
gardens, and in these, and near the palace, we must build our grand
swimming-baths. I propose two apartments, one for women and children,
and the other for men. In the women’s there must be a movable platform,
like that at Guise, which will rise at one end to within six inches of
the surface of the water—made to rise by simply turning a bar.”
“That is for the little children,” said Clara. “How fine a thought that
was of Mr. Godin! In the centre of each bath we might have an island,
about twelve feet in diameter, for flowers.”
“A good idea; we will not omit that,” said the count. “The palace will
be four immense buildings, standing like a Greek cross, with a vast
glass-covered court in the centre, about two hundred feet square. Each
quadrangle also, will have a glass-roofed court, but not so large. The
great central court must be a grand hall for great celebrations. Now
what shall we do with the others? The corners of the four buildings lap
some ten feet, you understand, and communicate on every story by
passages or corridors.”
“One of these courts,” said Susie, “I would have for a winter
conservatory.”
“That is my thought exactly,” said the count, “and all things are
working together admirably. I have spoken for a palm-tree, fifty feet
high, and many years old, which is an elephant drawn in a lottery to its
owner, and which I can have for the tenth part of what it will be worth
for the centre of this court. It once belonged to Gouverneur Morris, of
Pennsylvania, I am told.”
“Why, I know the history of that tree,” said the doctor. “Is that
so? Can that be obtained? Well, how all things do conspire to
success when you operate on a grand scale! Now, in your great
subterranean-ventilating galleries, you are to place hot-air
furnaces for warming the palace. One of these galleries can run
directly under the court, and hot-water pipes, from a furnace
located directly underneath, can warm your conservatory, Susie.”
“The swimming-baths are the most difficult to warm, I think. The silk
works we will place nearer than we intended, and use the exhausted steam
of the engines for the purpose. Baths there must be in the palace as
well; but these swimming-baths I want to make a great feature. Nothing
is so refreshing after labor as a swim. It makes the body supple and
elastic. I don’t think water, as a moral agent, can be over-estimated.
Make a community thoroughly clean outside, and the inside will soon set
itself in harmony. People will never be moral so long as baths are a
luxury.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Susie. “I can’t believe I shall live to see all this; or
if I ever do see it really accomplished, I shall die of pure joy. Think
of it! Hundreds of poor families having all these luxuries, these
splendid conditions for culture and refinement, and all for no more
money than they now pay for their miserable tenements! _Can_ it be
done?”
“It certainly can,” replied the count; “and hereafter it will be by
labor organizations themselves.”
As they drove down over the old wooden bridge, the doctor remarked the
necessity of having a new one.
“Yes, I have already thought of that, doctor. I was closeted with your
town-council yesterday afternoon. I offered to build them a new iron
bridge—have it all completed in forty days. You see I have peculiar
advantages, for I am a large owner in the Phœnix Iron Bridge Works, in
the Schuylkill Valley, Pennsylvania. I proposed to your town council to
issue to me small notes, to the amount of fifty thousand dollars,
receivable for all taxes and town dues of all kinds. I will endorse them
myself, if necessary. With these I can pay the workmen.”
“That is a capital idea, Frauenstein,” said the doctor; “but you won’t
need to endorse them. Those notes will circulate perfectly. Everybody
wants the bridge. It has been discussed seriously for over three years.”
“When these notes come into the town treasury, it can burn them. They
can easily be all redeemed and burnt in the course of a year, and your
citizens will have their bridge without feeling the cost in the least.”
“Kendrick & Burnham, the bankers,” said Clara, “are members of the
council. They will of themselves turn the balance, for they know you
will have a good deal of banking business, which they expect of course
to do.”
“Exactly,” said the count; “you see how all things work for our
interest. I am promised an answer at their next meeting, which is
to-morrow night.”
Thus discussing the plans, the party drove to the edge of the forest;
and as there was no road through it, they walked to the lake on the
hill, following the course of a pretty brook that wound down through the
woods, across the land, and emptied into the river. It was noon when
they returned and drove to the spot where the temporary building for the
brick-making was going up. As the carriage approached, the “boss” of the
operations came forward and saluted the count with great deference. The
count gave him his hand cordially and presented him to the rest of the
party. “This is Mr. Stevens, Dr. Forest, with whom you will soon be
better acquainted. He is a scientific man, as well as an accomplished
artisan, and to him we look for the transformation of this sand into
stone bricks.” Then the count presented him to the ladies separately,
saying, “These are the heads of the firm of Dykes & Delano, Florists, of
whom you have heard.” He had not, in fact, but did not confess that, as
he took the offered hands of the ladies. “They will conduct the florist
and nursery industry of our future social palace.” While the count was
talking and listening to the conversation of the rest, his eyes were
busy with the scene before him. There, on piles of lumber, on the
ground, on carts, everywhere, the men, some alone, some in small groups,
were seated, each one with a long, narrow tin pail or kettle, out of
which they were eating their principal meal of the day. Frauenstein
looked at Clara. There was an appeal in his eyes that she understood.
“Mr. Stevens,” she said, “where you have so many workmen who will be
engaged here regularly for months, would it not be practicable to have a
table set for them in the building you are putting up? It would seem so
much more fraternal and——”
“Human, you would say, madam. Ah! madam, that is the way I ate my dinner
for years.”
“By ——, it’s a shame!” exclaimed the doctor.
The count asked permission of Mr. Stevens to speak to his men; and
driving near a group of three seated on a pile of boards, he said,
“My friends, I wish to ask you a question—not out of curiosity, believe
me, but from a motive which you will approve.”
“Go ahead, sir,” said one of the men, tearing off a piece of tough meat
with his teeth.
“I want you to make me an estimate of the cost, the average cost, as
near as you can come at it, of a workingman’s lunch, such as you are
eating to-day.”
“I think mine, boss, costs about as much as that you give your dog every
day,” said a low-browed rough man seated near the group addressed.
“Sure would ye spake to a gintleman like that, Mikey? It’s onmannerly in
ye, onyhow.”
“I’m not offended with Mike. I like his protest. He is not satisfied,
and that is the first thing we want when we propose a reform.” Here the
intelligence was in some silent, mysterious way communicated from man to
man that this black-gloved gentleman was the great capitalist, of whom
there were circulating fabulous stories about his untold wealth, and his
project of a Social Palace for workingmen. Many of them were
incredulous, and suspicious of the intentions of all capitalists; but as
the knowledge of the count’s presence spread, many of the men rose and
doffed their hats to him and his friends, as they gathered round the
carriage. After trying again, the count found the lowest average
estimate he could get was ten cents. They agreed that if they could have
the same for that amount, they should not bring their kettles. The count
and Mr. Stevens talked together in a low tone for some minutes; and then
the count, rising in his seat, removed his hat and gloves and commenced
to address the workmen. Suddenly every voice was hushed and every eye
intently studying the elegant face and form before them:
“My friends,” he said, “you know my name is Frauenstein, and you have
heard that I am a capitalist, which some of you take to be about
equivalent to ‘enemy.’ [Cries of “No, no!”] Now some of you, doubtless,
belong to the International Workingmen’s Association, and other labor
organizations, and you know, as well as I do, that no man can own a
million of dollars which he has earned by any industry of his hands.
[Cries of “Hear, hear!” and “That’s true!”] Some of mine I inherited;
but most of it I have acquired by investing it in great industrial
enterprises in various parts of this country, of which I am a citizen;
and some of it I have acquired in Wall Street, by what is called gold
speculation. You know that every dollar of this wealth is the
representative of a dollar’s worth of productive labor, performed by
laboring men like yourselves. I also have done some labor, actual
productive labor, and I think I should not exaggerate if I say that in
this way I have an honest title to about five hundred dollars! [Laughter
and cries of “Good for you, if you are a count!”] Yes, I am a count, as
you say, but I came honestly by that, if I did not by my property, and I
confess to a certain pride in my name, for it is an honorable one; but a
thousand titles cannot make a man a true nobleman. In my opinion, he is
noblest who most loves his fellow-men. [Great applause.] Now, my
friends, it is the desire of my life to do a great work for industry;
and understand well, I do not come to insult you with charity. Every
true man despises charity, and wants only a just and fair compensation
for honest labor performed. A man wants to have a home of his own;
leisure for studying social and political questions; he wants baths
whereby to keep himself clean; good clothes for himself and family; he
wants his wife freed from the wash-tub and the cooking-stove; he wants a
guarantee of support in sickness and old age; and especially does he
want to see his children educated, and brought up to be noble men and
women, who may be an honor to their country. [Immense applause.]
“Now, we propose within the next three years to offer all these
advantages, and many more which I have not time to name, to two thousand
people, or say five hundred families. When your bricks are done, you
will see rising on this spot of 115 acres, a grander palace than your
richest citizens have ever dreamed of. It will cost, with all the
improvements of the parks and grounds, and the silk manufactory, which
will be an industry to support the establishment, about $4,000,000, and
I mean that those who build it and those who come to live in it, shall
buy it and own it through the rents they pay. Say there will be one
thousand working adults earning, on an average, $300 a year. That will
be $300,000 a year, which will pay for the home in less than fifteen
years. There will be ample work in the silk manufactory and in the
cultivation of flowers for the women, and also for the children during
hours that may be spared from their schools. I think, therefore, fifteen
years is a fair estimate of the time it will take to purchase your
magnificent home. And here I want to say that no credit is due to me for
this idea. It is not mine, but that of one whose name you should teach
your children to pronounce with reverence, as soon as their lips have
learned to utter their first words. It is the name of a Frenchman, who
has done already for his workmen what I propose to do here. I allude to
Monsieur Godin, the great labor reformer and capitalist, in the town of
Guise, in France. [Immense applause, and cheers for Godin rent the air.]
“In a few days I shall put into your hands a pamphlet which I have
translated from a part of Monsieur Godin’s book, called _Social
Solutions_. That will give you a clear idea of the organization and
working of the first Social Palace ever founded. The second is the one
on which you are now engaged, and I am sure you will work with new
spirit now that you see what is expected of you. You are not working to
build a stately palace for the rich, while you keep yourselves and your
children in hovels, or mean tenement houses. The palace you are to build
is to be your own home and that of your children after you. A capitalist
builds this, but hereafter labor organizations will build them for
themselves, all over the world, until, as I hope, it shall become one
fair garden from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from China to
Gibraltar.
“Finally, I come to say the few words which I rose to say, for I did not
intend to branch out in this way, and cheat myself out of a few moments
of your valuable time! [Laughter and applause.] Your chief here, Mr.
Stevens, who is a labor reformer, and whom I trust you will come to love
as a brother [cheers for Stevens], thinks it practicable to construct in
this temporary building an oven and range, where every day a quarter of
an ox or so may be cooked, with loaves of bread and a plenty of good
coffee, and that this can be furnished you every day for ten cents
each.”
Here the count was interrupted by applause and the volunteering of the
men to build the range for nothing after working hours.
“That’s the right spirit, boys. I know you work hard, and I would not
ask it, nor would Mr. Stevens, but I will not dampen your ardor. It
shall be as you wish, and I will send you the bricks and lime to-morrow
morning. [Cheers.] Some of you are carpenters, and can put together with
these rough boards a couple or more long tables. The necessary crockery
and table-linen I beg you to allow me to present you, as an offset to
your giving your labor to making the oven and the tables. One thing
more, and I have done. I met yesterday in your streets, crouched on the
pavement, crying, a poor Chinaman, who can scarcely speak a word of
English, and who was suffering from hunger. I told him I would give him
work, and the way he received my slight kindness, touched my heart. Some
boys had been insulting the poor fellow in his poverty and wretchedness,
and I took the occasion to read them a lecture. I found out that the
Chinaman could cook and wash. Now, what do you say to his coming here to
do this cooking, setting the table, and keeping the table-linen clean?
[Applause and assent.] Meanwhile, you see, he can learn our language,
and I have no doubt he will prove very useful—perhaps he will take
charge of our great steam-laundry, which is to be a part of your Social
Palace, and which will free your wives from the wash-tub. [Great
applause.] I hope you will treat him well. Never by any carelessness
teaze him about his cue, which you know is an honor in the Chinaman’s
eyes. Respect, you know, always begets respect and confidence, and no
man is worthy of the name, who thinks he is better than another, because
he dresses differently or happens to be born in a different country.
“I said I would not offer you charity, and I will not; but when this
great Social Palace is finished, I will show you that, capitalist though
I am, I have one right that you are bound to respect. That right I mean
to exercise in organizing a festival and ball on a grand scale, to
celebrate the completion of our work; and if, after I have accomplished
all this, you will forgive me for being a capitalist, and consider me a
brother, I shall have all the recognition I desire. In conclusion, I
propose three cheers for the Social Palace, in the name of liberty,
equality, and fraternity.”
The three cheers were given with the most deafening enthusiasm. Then
followed cheers for the count, and the heartiest wishes for his health
and prosperity. Clara, and Susie, and the doctor, were as enthusiastic
as any of the men. They cheered and clapped their hands with the men all
through the speech, and the carriage turned away and drove off, amid
cheers for Dr. Forest, whom all workingmen recognized as a friend, and
then cheers for Dykes & Delano. To this Clara and Susie answered by
waving their handkerchiefs.
“I had no idea you could be so eloquent,” said the doctor to the count,
“though I was prepared for a telling speech the moment you opened your
mouth.” Susie was profuse in her demonstrations of admiration, but Clara
was silent.
During the drive home, the doctor took from his pocket a copy of the
Oakdale daily and read: “Dr. Forest presents his regards to his patients
of Oakdale and vicinity, and hereby announces that he will suspend his
medical practice from the first of May, 18—, until the completion of the
Social Palace, when he will take charge of the medical service of that
institution.”
“I fully expected that,” said Clara. “I knew papa would have a large
hand in that workmen’s palace; but what place are you to take, papa?
Just before the Chinaman appeared in the programme, I was counting on
your volunteering to take the office of _cordon bleu_.”
“Which I would do, willingly,” said the doctor, “if I could be most
useful there.”
“By the way, let us stop at the hotel as we are passing, and see what
_Too Soon_ is doing. That’s the name of our celestial brother,” said the
count.
In a small room in the upper part of the hotel, they found Too Soon
seated on the floor, busily sewing. As they entered, he rose and pressed
the count’s hand to his forehead, and then showed what he knew of
western etiquette, by bowing very low to the rest. It was very difficult
to talk to him, but by dint of pantomime and a few English words, they
found that Too Soon had sewed all night, and had nearly finished his
wardrobe, consisting of baggy, thick, linen trowsers and two nondescript
jackets. The count tried to convey to him an idea of the function he was
to fill over the river, but without success. However, after lunching
with Clara and Susie, he returned for Too Soon, took him in his
carriage, and drove to a hardware and crockery store, and then to a
dry-goods establishment, where he made all the purchases for the new
_cuisine_. The moment Too Soon saw the table-cloths, he showed by
pantomime that he wished to hem them. He understood, evidently, that the
count was going to establish a restaurant somewhere over the river; but
he was as devoted as a slave, and ready to do whatever was required of
him.
The work went on bravely. Stevens set every man at work who could drive
a nail, and in less than a week the building was in use. The cooking
arrangement was admirable. The tables built, Too Soon’s well-stocked
china closet filled and locked, and all the washing and other
paraphernalia ready for use. “To-morrow,” said Mr. Stevens to his men,
“lunch for fifty and over will be spread here. I expect the count will
be here. Understand you are all free to act as you usually do—take your
own lunches to the table, or bring nothing. A good plate of meat, with
gravy and potatoes, will be furnished for six cents; a large cup of
coffee for two cents; (Too Soon has already roasted it in the new oven,
which works to a charm,) and bread, as much as you want, for two cents
more. That makes ten cents. Too Soon will hereafter sleep here, and keep
all safe. There will be water and towels provided, so that every man can
make himself so presentable that any one, seeing him at table, will be
surprised if he don’t eat with his fork just like a gentleman. Now I
ain’t afraid of offending you. I am a workman like you, and used to eat
with my knife, which was all right when we had to use a two-pronged
fork, and I confess, boys, that I shall have no little pride to-morrow
at this lunch.”
“Boss, I guess some of us would know a silver fork if we had a good
square view of it,” said one of the men.
“All right,” said Stevens, laughing. “You know very well there are some
people who think a workingman must be a boor, anyway. Von Frauenstein is
not one of them, I promise you. On the contrary, he expects rather too
much of us.” The men said nothing; but evidently they determined, each
and every one, to perish rather than forget and put their knives in
their mouths. This piece of policy was rather nicely managed on the part
of Stevens, for there is nothing on which people, who have been deprived
of refined breeding, are so sensitive as this very subject of manners.
The next evening Burnham and his wife were at the Kendricks. Mrs.
Burnham enquired for the count.
“Oh, he’s running and driving everywhere,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “We
scarcely ever see him. He apologizes, and says he don’t like to make our
house a convenience; but I won’t hear of his going to a hotel, of
course.”
“Why, the whole town is talking of nothing but Von Frauenstein and his
great workmen’s palace,” said Mrs. Burnham; “and, do you know, there are
over fifty men at work already, and to-day they had a banquet. My boys
were over there, and all the afternoon they’ve been dinning _Too Soon_
into my ears. He wanted to know the names of everything, and it wasn’t
enough for them to tell him, but they actually helped him wipe his
dishes. I’ve forbidden them to ever go there again.”
“Oh, let them go,” said Burnham. “I haven’t seen Charlie so well for
months. The excitement is innocent, and much better than he will get in
the streets.” While they were talking, Kendrick was very unceremoniously
walking up and down the drawing-room with his hands behind him. Pretty
soon he stopped short before the company.
“Burnham,” said he, “we are old fogies. We’ve let the world get way
ahead of us. I saw a sight to-day such as I never expected to see, to
say the least.”
“Oh, you were over there too, were you? Do tell us about it,” said his
wife.
“Why there were tables set for over fifty—snowy linen, napkins, silver
forks, beautiful white china, and I’ll swear if most of the men didn’t
eat as decorously as those at my own table.”
“I shouldn’t have thought they would like spectators,” said Burnham.
“Spectators! Bless your soul! I was invited to lunch with them.”
“Goodness! Did you ever hear of such assurance! What did you do?” asked
Mrs. Burnham.
“Why, I accepted.” The ladies both uttered exclamations of amazement.
“What could I do? There was Frauenstein just about to sit down. I
couldn’t pretend I had lunched. Everybody knew better, and wherever
Frauenstein could hob-nob, I ought to be able to.”
“But you couldn’t eat anything, of course,” said Mrs. Burnham.
“On the contrary, I had a very satisfactory lunch. In the first place,
the coffee was as good as I ever tasted anywhere. The beef was roasted
to a turn, the gravy perfect, and the baked potatoes also; and as for
the bread, Mrs. Kendrick, I would much like to see as good in my own
house.”
“Why, how on earth could it be done? A Chinaman beggar couldn’t do all
that!”
“Yes, he’s a cook; besides there’s a French baker in the gang of
workmen, and he showed the Chinaman how to make the bread and the
coffee.”
“For my part, I think Frauenstein will get himself into a scrape. What
will Ely & Gerrish’s men say? There’s nobody to give them such a dinner
every day. Why, don’t you see it will raise wages?”
“Oh, no, Burnham; no gift about it. The men built the kitchen and tables
at odd hours, and they pay for the food just what it costs, with enough
over to make up the Chinaman’s salary.”
“Why, it is that horrid dirty Chinaman, I hear, that we used to see
about the street trying to sell matches,” said Mrs. Burnham.
“No dirt about him now. He had clean new clothes, his cue neatly
braided, and his skin, and even his nails, were as clean as yours or
mine.”
“And the conversation was very edifying, I suppose,” said Mrs. Burnham.
“Just about as good as the average. I’ll be blest if I haven’t heard
worse at my own table. To be sure, some of them spoke bad English. One
of them, at the further end of the table, where Frauenstein and I sat,
got up, and asked to speak, if his fellow-workmen and the distinguished
guests were willing.”
“That was putting it rather neat,” said Burnham. “He made a telling
speech in very good English.”
“Do repeat it,” said Mrs. Kendrick, as curious as if her husband had
just returned from a visit to the South Sea Island savages.
“Well, he said, among other things, that Count Frauenstein’s address to
them a week ago had touched them deeply, even independently of the
magnificent promise of the Social Palace, which was something they could
not yet realize as possible—touched them deeply because he had
recognized the dignity of labor, and the rights of laborers to a just
share of the products of their industry.”
“Oh, he’s filling their heads with that stuff, is he?” said Burnham.
“Not all stuff. No man could talk to men and win such unbounded
admiration without talking soundly. I tell you, I’m more than ever
convinced that we are old fogies. This laborer said workingmen knew
perfectly well they were far below the educated gentleman in refinement,
in manners, in culture—in everything, perhaps, but heart. He thought no
men had more heart than workingmen, and workingmen knew their true
friends just as quickly as they knew the true gentleman from the sham.
‘I felt,’ he said, ‘as the count talked, that I could not do enough to
express my gratitude that God had sent us so true and noble a friend—a
man disclaiming the idea of charity, and avowing that the best help a
workman could have, was that which gave him a field wherein he could
help himself. I felt, as he talked of our building ourselves a palace,
that I would work my own fingers off to build him and his a palace, for
he deserves it, God bless him!’ and the man sat down, quite overcome.”
“Oh, I wish I had been there,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “He must be a
sensible man.”
“Did Frauenstein say anything?” asked Burnham.
“Oh! He was on his feet like a flash. He said the man’s sentiments did
him honor—his emotion did him honor. With men having such comprehension
of their rights, and such faith in the honesty of their fellow-men, he
could trust the building of the palace. And then he drew a picture of
life in the Social Palace—the labor, which would not be drudgery, but a
pleasant exercise, that would preserve the health of both body and mind;
the nursery and schools for the children; the grand festivals in the
vast, glass-covered court, festooned with banners and garlands of the
flowers their women and children would cultivate; the music, the
societies, the theatre, where the children would learn elegance of
bearing and address—O Lord! Burnham, I never heard anything like it. You
see, he has studied this subject profoundly. If he succeeds, you will
see one grand thing—the happiness of the aged, for they will have a
sphere just as the children will. Now, life is organized for the
strongest—that is, for adults. No doubt about it. Children are not
happy, nor healthy, as a general thing. They are in the way; so are old
people. Well, he only made a little speech, ending with a depreciation
of war, and some touching remarks on the cultivation of the sentiment of
the brotherhood of man. War, he called a stupendous imbecility, as a
civilized way of settling disputes, and he offered a gracious tribute to
Christ and Dr. Forest.”
“Oh, shame!” exclaimed Mrs. Kendrick.
“I don’t mean, you know, that he mixed them together. He spoke of Christ
when talking of the brotherhood of man, and he said, but for Dr. Forest,
one of the best and noblest, as well as most learned men he had ever
met, the first Social Palace would have been built in some other place.
I never saw men so earnest. Why, they already adore the man. They would
do anything for him. He’ll get good work out of them, you may be sure.”
“Well, I should think he might, if in working for him, they are building
up a grand home for themselves,” said Mrs. Burnham.
“Cost $4,000,000, you say, Kendrick. I tell you, it will never pay,”
said Burnham. “So much ornament, you see. Now what on earth do poor
people want of an astronomical observatory, and a theatre, and library,
and billiard saloon? It’s all nonsense. Such people want nothing but a
decent home and decent things generally.”
“Well, that has been my view; but Frauenstein says you won’t know the
second generation of the Social Palace as what we understand as
laborers’ children.”
“But don’t you see, bringing them up in such luxury, baths, and
amusements, and accomplishments, and all that,” said Burnham, “they’ll
feel themselves too good to work?”
“That’s just exactly what I told Frauenstein; but he says they will
certainly have an attraction to luxuries, just like the rich, but they
will have another attraction the rich lack, and that is a love of labor,
not drudgery—you know the distinction he makes—a love of productive
labor, that will be second nature to them; so they will despise
idleness, and honor no one who leads a frivolous life.”
“Why, you are quite a labor reformer,” said Mrs. Burnham. “That Count
Von Frauenstein bewitches everybody.”
“Well, I see one thing. He is a happy man. It’s a luxury to see a happy
man. Now, I’m not a happy man. You are not a happy man, Burnham. We are
just business machines—animated ledgers, you might call us. Frauenstein
has the fervor, and enthusiasm, and freshness of a boy; so has Dr.
Forest and that man Stevens; and I swear, that Chinaman is happier than
I am!”
“Dear me, Elias!” said Mrs. Kendrick, not knowing what to think of her
husband’s mood. “I’m afraid you are not well.”
“Yes, I am. I’ve only been awfully stirred up, that’s all. If things
_could_ be so that a man could make a lot of people happy while putting
money in his own pocket, business would have more life in it.”
“Well, Kendrick, we’ll see how this thing works. Time enough to talk
then.”
“How about the bridge?” asked Mrs. Burnham.
“Oh, that’s settled; the notes are to be issued at once—are ready now, I
believe.”
“That is a good idea,” said Burnham. “I’m pleased with that; we shall
get the bridge and not feel it at all. That’s a sound idea of
Frauenstein. Well, maybe he’ll make his big scheme work, and get his
money back in fifteen years, but I don’t see it yet.”