The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists
else in the manner you say. And another thing: if you only had a little more sense you might be able to perceive that this stock "argument" of yours is really an argument against the present system, inasmuch as it proves that Money is in itself of no use whatever. Suppose all the money was shared out equally, and suppose there was enough of it for everyone to have ten thousand pounds; and suppose they then all thought they were rich and none of them would work. What would they live on? Their money? Could they eat it or drink it or wear it? It wouldn't take them very long to find out that this wonderful money, which under the present system is the most powerful thing in existence, is really of no more use than so much dirt. They would speedily perish, not from lack of money, but from lack of wealth—that is, from lack of the things that are made by work. And also it is quite true that if all the money were distributed equally amongst all the people to-morrow, it would all be up in heaps again in a very short time. But that only proves that while the present Money System remains it will be impossible to do away with poverty, for heaps in some places mean little or nothing in other places. Therefore while the money system lasts we are bound to have poverty and all the evils it brings in its train.'
'Oh, of course everybody's an idjit except you,' sneered Crass, who was beginning to feel rather fogged.
'I rise to a pint of order,' said Easton.
'And I rise to order a pint,' cried Philpot.
'Order what the bloody 'ell you like,' remarked Harlow, 'so long as I haven't got to pay for it.'
'Mine's a pint of porter,' observed the man on the pail.
'The pint is,' proceeded Easton, 'when does the lecturer intend to explain to us what is the real cause of poverty?'
''Ear, 'ear!' cried Harlow. 'That's what I want to know, too.'
'And what I should like to know is, who is supposed to be givin' this 'ere lecture?' enquired the man on the pail.
'Why, Owen, of course,' replied Harlow.
'Well, why don't you try to keep quiet for a few minutes and let 'im get on with it?'
'The next blighter wot interrupts,' cried Philpot, rolling up his shirt sleeves and glaring threateningly round upon the meeting, 'goes out through the bloody winder!'
At this everybody pretended to be very frightened, and edged away as far as possible from Philpot, except the man
222
