“You’ll see none now that live their lives up on the Downs an’ never want to change. The more they get the more they want. They smell the money these millioneers is spendin’--seems to make ’em think they can do just anythin’ ’s long as they get some of it themselves. Times past, a man would do his job, an’ never think because his master was rich that he could cheat him; he gave a value for his wages, to keep well with himself. Now, a man thinks because he’s poor he ought to ha’ been rich, and goes about complainin’, doin’ just as little as he can. It’s my belief they get their notions from the daily papers--hear too much of all that’s goin’ on--it onsettles them; they read about this Sawcialism, an’ these millioneers; it makes a pudden’ in their heads. Look at the beer that’s drunk about it. For one gallon that was drunk when I was young there’s twenty gallon now. The very sheep ha’ changed since I remember; not one o’ them ewes you see before you there, that isn’t pedigree--and the care that’s taken o’ them! They’d have me think that men’s improvin’, too; richer they may be, but what’s the use o’ riches if your wants are bigger than your purse? A man’s riches is the things he does without an’ never misses.” And crouching on his knee, he added: “Ther’ goes the last o’ them; sha’n’t get ’em out now till tew o’clock. One gone--all go!” Then squatting down, as though responsibility were at an end, he leaned one elbow on the grass, his eyes screwed up against the sun. And in his old brown face, with its myriad wrinkles and square chin, there was a queer contentment, as though approving the perversity of sheep. “So riches don’t consist in man’s possessions, but in what he doesn’t want? You are an enemy of progress?” “These Downs don’t change--’tis only man that changes; what good’s he doin’, that’s what I ask meself--he’s makin’ wants as fast as ever he makes riches.” “Surely a time must come when he will see that to be really rich his supply must be in excess of his demand? When he sees that, he will go on making riches, but control his wants.” He paused to see if there were any meaning in such words, then answered: “On these Downs I been, man an’ boy, for sixty year.” “And are you happy?” He wrinkled up his brows and smiled. “What age d’ you think I am? Seventy-six!” “You look as if you’d live to be a hundred.” “Can’t expect it! My health’s good though, ’cept for these.” Like wind-bent boughs all the fingers of both his hands from the top joint to the tip were warped towards the thumb. “Looks funny! But I don’t feel ’em. What you don’t feel don’t trouble you.” “What caused it?” “Rheumatiz! I don’t make nothin’ of it. Where there’s doctors there’s disease.” “Then you think we make our ailments, too, as fast as we make remedies?” He slowly passed his gnarled hand over the short grass. “My missus ’ad the doctor when she died.... See that dust? That’s motorcars bringin’ folks to Goodwood Races. Wonderful quick-travellin’ things.”