underfoot in their horrible "Battle of Life"!

'No Socialist suggests "Sharing out" money or anything 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. Supposing 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 things that
are made by work. And further, it is quite true that if all the money
were distributed equally amongst all the people tomorrow, 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
'aven'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?' inquired 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 B--r wot interrupts,' cried Philpot, rolling up his
shirt-sleeves and glaring threateningly round upon the meeting. 'The
next b--r wot interrupts goes out through the bloody winder!'

At this, everybody pretended to be very fr