Eugene announced, and quite politely, ‘I’ve talked it all over with Sara, Mr. Cornplow and — I hope you won’t think it’s impertinent of us, but we find that the only way to get proper contributions for the Spanish government is to figure out quotas for different contributors, and let them know.’

‘But I’m not a con . . .’

‘And Sara and I feel that you could show that you really do believe in democracy and popular rule by contributing five hundred dollars to the Spanish government and . . .’

‘Five hun . . .’

‘Certainly! Heaven knows I can’t give anything, with my wretched income,’ snarled Sara.

Fredk Wm, who gave her that income, didn’t think it was at all wretched, considering his own resources. A thousand a year and all found? So that was wretched, was it? He spoke with spirit and wrath:

‘Look here, you young people, I’m getting tired of being badgered. I know I’m just a millionaire capitalist — just a multi-millionaire, that’s all, nothing but a face grinder and an orphan robber, just a foe of the oppressed. Sure, I understand that horny-handed proletarians like you two have got to destroy capitalists like me — certainly — just take us out and destroy us — put us up against a wall and destroy us — take away my steam yacht and my French château and my wife’s ruby necklace — just take ’em away and stick us up against a wall and fill us full of holes. That’s the proper caper, just destroy us. Only, I don’t expect to contribute for the privilege of being destroyed! I’ll be content with just being shot; let the other fellow pay for the bullets.

‘No, wait now, Sara. I know, when you open your mouth like a fish, I’m going to get hell. But you listen to me first, for a while.

‘I do read the newspapers. Seriously, I do know there’s a lot of things wrong in this world; mining is dangerous and badly paid; Tom Mooney was rail-roaded and ought to be released; the Southern share croppers have a terrible time — AND so do most of the plantation owners! — a lot of priests and college professors get sent to prison in Europe for telling the truth; the Negroes get an awful deal; a lot of farmers just work to feed their mortgages.

‘But unlike you communists, I don’t feel that I’m Almighty God. I can’t do everything in the world at once. I’m the president of the Mind Your Own Business Association. I’m just not rich enough and not smart enough to rebuild the New York slums and stop all war at one and the same time. I don’t think I’ve done so bad with my own job. My workmen and my customers both seem pretty well satisfied. I get along all right with my own family . . .’

‘Do you?’ breathed Sara.

That hurt. It seemed to Fred equally pertinent and impertinent. He went on less confidently.