"There be hills and valleys, and rich land, and streams of clear water, good wagon roads and a railroad not too far away, plenty of sunshine, and cold enough at night to need blankets, and not only pines but plenty of other kinds of trees, with open spaces to pasture Billy's horses and cattle, and deer and rabbits for him to shoot, and lots and lots of redwood trees, and . . . and .
. . well, and no fog," Saxon concluded the description of the farm she and Billy sought.
Mark Hall laughed delightedly.
"And nightingales roosting in all the trees," he cried; "flowers that neither fail nor fade, bees without stings, honey dew every morning, showers of manna betweenwhiles, fountains of youth and quarries of philosopher's stones--why, I know the very place. Let me show you."
She waited while he pored over road-maps of the state. Failing in them, he got out a big atlas, and, though. all the countries of the world were in it, he could not find what he was after.
"Never mind," he said. "Come over to-night and I'll be able to show you."
That evening he led her out on the veranda to the telescope, and she found herself looking through it at the full moon.
"Somewhere up there in some valley you'll find that farm," he teased.
Mrs. Hall looked inquiringly at them as they returned inside.
"I've been showing her a valley in the moon where she expects to go farming," he laughed.
"We started out prepared to go any distance," Saxon said. "And if it's to the moon, I expect we can make it." 412 THE VAI`I,EY OF THE MOON 413
"But my dear child, you can't expect to find such a paradise on the earth," Hall continued. "For instance, you can't have redwoods without fog. They go together. The redwoods grow only in the fog belt."
Saxon debated a while.
"Well, we could put up with a little fog," she conceded, "-- almost anything to have redwoods. I don't know what a quarry of philosopher's stones is like, but if it's anything like Mr.
Hafier's marble quarry, and there's a railroad handy, I guess we could manage to worry along. And you don't have to go to the moon for honey dew. They scrape it off of the leaves of the bushes up in Nevada County. I know that for a fact, because my father told my-mother about it, and she told me."
A little later in the evening, the subject of farming having remained uppermost, Hall swept off into a diatribe against the "gambler's paradise," which was his epithet for the United States.
"When you think of the glorious chance," he said. "A new country, bounded by the oceans, situated just right in latitude, with the richest land and vastest natural resources of any country in the world, settled by immigrants who had thrown off all the leading strings of the Old World and were in the humor for democracy.
There was only one thing to stop them from perfecting the democracy they started, and that thing was greediness.
"They started gobbling everything in sight like a lot of swine, and while they gobbled democracy went to smash. Gobbling became gambling. It was a nation of tin horns. Whenever a man lost his stake, all he had to do was to chase the frontier west a few miles and get another stake. They moved over the face of the land like so many locusts. They destroyed everything--the Indians, the soil, the forests, just as they destroyed the buffalo and the passenger pigeon. Their morality in business and politics was gambler morality. Their laws were gambling laws--how to play the game. Everybody played. Therefore, hurrah for the game. Nobody objected, because nobody was unable to play. As I said, the losers chased the frontier for fresh stakes. The winner of to-day, broke to-morrow, on the day following might be riding his luck to royal flushes on five-card draws.
"So they gobbled and gambled from the Atlantic to the Pacific, until they'd swined a whole continent. When they'd finished with the lands and forests and mines, they turned back, gambling for any little stakes they'd overlooked, gambling for franchises and monopolies, using politics to protect their crooked deals and brace games. And democracy gone clean to smash.
"And then was the funniest time of all. The losers couldn't get any more stakes, while the winners went on gambling among themselves. The losers could only stand around with their hands in their pockets and look on. When they got hungry, they went, hat in hand, and begged the successful gamblers for a job. The losers went to work for the winners, and they've been working for them ever since, and democracy side-tracked up Salt Creek. You, Billy Roberts, have never had a hand in the game in your life.
That's because your people were among the also-rans. "
"How about yourself?" Billy asked. "I ain't seen you holdin' any hands."
"I don't have to. I don't count. I am a parasite."
"What's that?"
"A flea, a woodtick, anything that gets something for nothing. I batten on the mangy hides of the workingmen. I don't have to gamble. I don't have to work. My father left me enough of his winnings.--Oh, don't preen yourself, my boy. Your folks were just as bad as mine. But yours lost, and mine won, and so you plow in my potato patch. "
"I don't see it," Billy contended stoutly. "A man with gumption can win out to-day--"
"On government land?" Hall asked quickly.
Billy swallowed and acknowledged the stab.
"Just the same he can win out," he reiterated.
"Surely--he can win a job from some other fellow? A young husky with a good head like yours can win jobs anywhere. But think of the handicaps on the fellows who lose. How many tramps have you met along the road who could get a job driving four horses for the Carmel Livery Stabler And some of them were as husky as you when they were young. And on top of it all you've got no shout coming. It's a mighty big come-down from gambling for a continent to gambling for a job."
"Just the same--" Billy recommenced.
"Oh, you've got it in your blood," Hall cut him off cavalierly.
