| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 327 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
I hear, work is scarce everywhere. WE can't MAKE work, can we?' `Do you think, then, that the affairs of the world are something like the wind or the weather - altogether beyond our control? And that if they're bad we can do nothing but just sit down and wait for them to get better?' `Well, I don't see 'ow we can odds it. If the people wot's got the money won't spend it, the likes of me and you can't make 'em, can we?' Owen looked curiously at Easton. `I suppose you're about twenty-six now,' he said. `That means that you have about another thirty years to live. Of course, if you had proper food and clothes and hadn't to work more than a reasonable number of hours every day, there is no natural reason why you should not live for another fifty or sixty years: but we'll say thirty. Do you mean to say that you are able to contemplate with indifference the prospect of living for another thirty years under |
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