" But I went to work all the same.
That day Uncle Nate was a worse screw than ever. "How is it you never
hit a clam?" asked he.
"Your tenants have nothing, so I get nothing," I replied.
"Nonsense! They must have something. Drunken loafers are driving about
in livery-rigs everywhere--sure sign of prosperity."
"Your people are not out," I said.
"They sit around the house reading yesterday's newspapers."
"They can't get work," said I.
"Everybody that wants to work is in the ditch now-a-days: _that_ I
_know_" said the old man.
"Some are sick."
"They are well enough to walk three miles to a brewery after a free
drink."
"Some are too young to work."
"Hah! what's the use of having a parcel of young ones to be poor
relations to the rest of the world?" asked he.
"Some are positively starving," said I.
"What of that? You have to let them starve. Five hundred thousand
starved in India last year, a country overrun with sacred snakes and
animals of all sorts that they might have eaten. Three millions starved
in China, and they tore up their English railway, the only thing that
could save them. What are you going to do about it? Starving! Bet they
are wallowing in the theatre every night," said Nathan.
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