Rench.  I never heard it put in those words, but by gum, it’s so.

George.  And your Confederation, your unions are for the skilled workers, whose conditions aren’t so bad,—­and they’re getting better every time you jack up the wages.  You complain that we employers aren’t thinking of you, but are you thinking of the millions of the unskilled who live from hand to mouth?  The old structure’s good enough for you, too.  But what will the miserable men, who don’t sit in, be doing while we’re squabbling to see who’ll have the best rooms?

Rench.  Blow the house up, I guess.

George.  If they’re rough with it, it’ll tumble down like a pack of cards—­simply because we’re asses.  Can’t we build a house big enough for all—­for a hundred million people and their descendants?  A house in which, after a while, there will be no capitalists and no exploiters and no wreckers, only workers—­each man and woman on the job they were fitted for?  It’s a man-sized job, but isn’t it worth tackling?

Rench (enthused).  It’s sure worth tackling, Captain.

George.  And can’t we begin it, in a modest way, by making a little model of the big house right here in Foxon Falls?  Dr. Jonathan will help us.

Rench.  Go to it, Captain.  We’ll trust him and you.

George.  Trust is all right, but you’ve got to go to it, too, and use your headpieces.  We’ve got to sit down together and educate ourselves, who are now employers and employees, get hold of all the facts, the statistics,—­and all the elements, the human nature side of it, from the theorists, the students, whom we’ve despised.

Rench.  Well, it’s a fact, I hadn’t thought much of them intellectuals.

George.  They’re part of the game—­their theories are the basis for an intelligent practice.  And what should we be able to do without their figures?  Look at what we’ve worked out in large scale production and distribution in this war!  That’s a new world problem.  Shall we be pioneers here in Foxon Falls in the new experiment?

Rench.  An experiment in human chemicals, as the doctor would say.  Pioneers!  I kind of like that word.  You can put me in the wagon, Captain.

George.  It will be a Conestoga with the curtains rolled up, so that everybody can see in.  No secrets.  And it will be a wagon with an industrial constitution.

Fersen.  Excuse me, Captain,—­but what’s that?

   (Rench laughs.)

George (smiling).  Hasn’t it struck you, Fersen, that unless a man has a voice and an interest in the industry in which he works his voice, and interest in the government for which he votes is a mockery?

   (Fersen nods.)

Rench.  We’ll have to give Larz a little education.

George.  Oh, I guess he’ll make a good industrial citizen.  But that’s part of the bargain.