“That’s just exactly what I told Frauenstein; but he says they will certainly have an attraction to luxuries, just like the rich, but they will have another attraction the rich lack, and that is a love of labor, not drudgery—you know the distinction he makes—a love of productive labor, that will be second nature to them; so they will despise idleness, and honor no one who leads a frivolous life.” “Why, you are quite a labor reformer,” said Mrs. Burnham. “That Count Von Frauenstein bewitches everybody.” “Well, I see one thing. He is a happy man. It’s a luxury to see a happy man. Now, I’m not a happy man. You are not a happy man, Burnham. We are just business machines—animated ledgers, you might call us. Frauenstein has the fervor, and enthusiasm, and freshness of a boy; so has Dr. Forest and that man Stevens; and I swear, that Chinaman is happier than I am!” “Dear me, Elias!” said Mrs. Kendrick, not knowing what to think of her husband’s mood. “I’m afraid you are not well.” “Yes, I am. I’ve only been awfully stirred up, that’s all. If things _could_ be so that a man could make a lot of people happy while putting money in his own pocket, business would have more life in it.” “Well, Kendrick, we’ll see how this thing works. Time enough to talk then.” “How about the bridge?” asked Mrs. Burnham. “Oh, that’s settled; the notes are to be issued at once—are ready now, I believe.” “That is a good idea,” said Burnham. “I’m pleased with that; we shall get the bridge and not feel it at all. That’s a sound idea of Frauenstein. Well, maybe he’ll make his big scheme work, and get his money back in fifteen years, but I don’t see it yet.” CHAPTER XXXVII. POETIC RETRIBUTION.—GROG-SELLERS INTERVIEWED BY WOMEN. On a perfect morning in early May, the very day of the departure of the count and Madam Susie for France, a man prematurely old by dissipation, and destitute through wasting his substance by gambling, approached the town of Oakdale, which once had been his home. His last cent had been spent to bring him to a railroad station some miles distant, and from sunrise until ten o’clock he had walked, weary and almost fainting at every step.