The Affable Stranger 3

The Affable Stranger 3

"Nothing of the kind! And, anyway, the prevailing wind carries the

smelter smoke over the mountains where there are no orchards or farms.

Aw, come along, and don't listen to him!"

 

The "smoke expert" smiled sadly and shook his head with gentle

tolerance. Finding in me the first sympathetic listener he had had for

years he persisted in making revelations.

 

"Last fall I found an interesting case of 'withered plum--"

 

"You couldn't convince the jury that it was a fungous growth that

affected those plums."

 

"No, for they didn't want to be convinced. They wanted to soak us. Then

there was that 'clover sickness.'"

 

Seeing that he couldn't stop what he had started, the disgusted

real-estate agent collapsed into a chair while I had an illuminating

chat with the "smoke expert." Occasionally he interrupted with a vivid

protest, but he couldn't quench my thirst for knowledge, or the expert's

desire to impart scientific information.

 

"Let me tell you what the fellows did!" he at last exclaimed

triumphantly. "They took some healthy leaves and sprinkled them with

sulphuric acid. This expert diagnosed it as shot-hole fungus--a kind

that he had been looking for for years--a kind they have in Australia--"

 

"You're another!" said the expert. "There is real shot-hole fungus

here!"

 

So the battle raged, but I shall not report it further. Juries of

farmers have invariably decided against the learned and patient "smoke

expert," and I have no desire to give the province a bad reputation as

to blights and pests. I saw no evidences of them on either fruit or

trees--but I'll wager that that real-estate agent will never again

introduce his friend the "smoke expert" to a sympathetic and inquisitive

visitor.

 

So it was wherever I went. So it was at home in the country. Real estate

is being traded in everywhere.

 

A few months ago a writer in the "Toronto Globe" stated that Western

Ontario is for sale. About the same time a writer in the "Saturday

Evening Post" showed that the American corn belt is all for sale. People

everywhere are ready to sell at a profit and move on.

 

The result of all this was to fix in my mind the conviction that the

world is for sale.

 

One morning I awoke--or was I awake?--and found the world marvellously

astir. A huge red flag hung down from the zenith and a jovial auctioneer

with the moon for an auction block was about to offer the world for

sale. Satan had foreclosed his mortgage, and Chaos, "The Anarch Old,"

was looking over the property as a prospective buyer. The Soul of Man,

troubled and confused, was also in the market for the world and

wondering if the only price he could offer--a list of irksome

virtues--could possibly outweigh the alluring, shadowy, jazz-time

pleasures that his opponent would flash before the nations.

 

Bringing down his gavel with a crash that arrested the attention of the

universe, the auctioneer began his harangue.

 

"Look it over, gentlemen, look it over! Here is the greatest bargain

ever offered for sale--a perfect prize package of a planet. It has been

in existence a long time and all its possibilities are known. It is a

perfect location for either a heaven or a hell, and has all the natural

resources needed to make it one or the other. Its history shows the

attempts that have been made in both directions. Let me recount them

briefly. First, O Chaos, let me address myself to you.

 

"This world has just had a fiercer war than any one thought it was

possible for man to wage. Millions have been slaughtered, millions have

been wounded and crippled, millions have been starved to death, millions

have been wasted by disease. The wonderful baying of the hell-hounds of

war has been stilled, but a word would unleash the pack and they would

harry man through air and earth and sea. Famine and Pestilence are

feeding fat on the nations, and Lust, Greed, and Hate are revelling in

all the capitals. To anyone wanting to start a private hell for his own

amusement this is the greatest bargain ever offered. The work of

building is almost complete. All that is needed is a little imagination

and a consignment of sulphur. It is not ever necessary to provide a

match. The world is full of fools, both high and low, who are only

waiting for a chance to apply the match. Take my word for it, O Chaos,

you will never again have such a chance to start a summer resort of your

own, so consider well the price that you are willing to pay."

 

Turning to the Soul of Man, who had been reduced almost to despair by

this horrid recital, the face of the auctioneer glowed like the sun, and

with a voice as musical as summer winds in the elms he whispered:

 

"O Soul of Man, why art thou troubled? My words were but words of scorn

and reproof. Behold now this world with the eyes of faith. Look at the

fertile fields, flooded with sunshine--the rain-bearing clouds and the

mystery of growth. Mark the little homes that dot the plains and cling

to the wooded hills. Hear the laughter of children and the song of

birds. Even the war was rich with deeds of heroic sacrifice. Charity,

Mercy, and Science are striving to overtake Famine and Pestilence.

Brotherhood waits for leadership. Truly there is here the matter for a

new earth that will be a new heaven. Consider well the price that you

are willing to pay."

 

Lifting up his voice till the universe rang with it, the auctioneer

shouted:

 

"The sale is now on! What am I bid for this pendulous planet that swings

forever from the throne of the sun? There is no reserve bid. The sale

must be concluded to-day. What am I bid?"

 

"Wealth!" shouted Chaos. "Gold, silver, paper, unlimited credit!"

 

The nations roared applause.

 

"Contentment," offered the Soul of Man quietly.

 

The nations jeered.

 

Then the two bidders made alternate offers. Chaos began:

 

"Palaces!"

 

"Homes."

 

"Power!"

 

"Brotherhood."

 

"Idleness!"

 

"Industry."

 

"Extravagance!"

 

"Thrift."

 

"License!"

 

"Order."

 

While the bidding proceeded, tumult broke out among the nations. Some

favored one bidder; some the other. As the tumult grew, the War God,

who always walks before Chaos, tossed his plumed helmet and marshalled

all his enginery. Once more his sword was to reap its harvest.

 

"The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,

Hung forth in heaven his golden scales, yet seen

Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign,

Wherein all things created first he weighed,

... In these he put two weights,

The sequel each of parting and of fight;

The latter quick up-flew, and kicked the beam;

... The fiend looked up and knew

His mounted scale above; no more; but fled

Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night."

 

The great auctioneer brought down his gavel.

 

"Sold to the Soul of Man, for a price that he can well afford to pay!"

 

Then I was awake, indeed, and as I looked about me I saw the fields

flooded with sunshine, felt the caress of the summer breeze, and heard

the song of birds. The children were shouting at their play--and the

home was my home.

 

My brothers, we have a good bargain!

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER X

 

ORGANIZED FOR PROFIT

 

 

With a couple of chance acquaintances I was discussing everyday

activities as reported in the daily papers. A quiet man with a poker

face was listening to our talk. Suddenly he contributed a remark:

 

"This country is going to hell for lack of leadership."

 

That sounded familiar. It occurred to me that I had heard the remark

before. I had heard it even in Canada. Shortly afterwards I learned that

the man who had made the remark was a millionaire. Consequently his

pontifical utterance did not surprise me. Monied men really feel deeply

on the matter--but they expect some one else to give the leadership they

so earnestly want. If you listen to their talk you will find that they

give about every reason for the lack but the true one. The people lack

leadership because they are not candid about where they want to go.

There is a lot of talk about social justice, but justice is about the

last thing that many people want. In fact, they seem to be afraid that

they are going to get it. During the war, when the soldiers were

fighting, dying, and passing through hell generally, those who stayed at

home enjoyed a prosperity that never was known before. Capital made such

profits as never were known before; Labor got such wages as never were

known before; farmers, miners, fishermen, lumbermen--men of all classes

enjoyed such prosperity as never was known before. And now they are

clamoring for leaders who will enable them to keep the blood-bought

riches and profits and the wages they got in the world's time of

anguish. They are horrified to find that the bloated, unhealthy profits

of war are losing their value through the operation of laws of

compensation more inexo