It may be a sore blow, of course, to a man who under capitalism, has never been able to own a coffee grinder, to tell him that, under Socialism, he would not be permitted to own a steel mill. If so, let the blow fall at once. He might as well know the worst now, as later. But if there be those who are interested in owning homes, furniture, clothing, motorboats, automobiles, and so forth, let them be interested in Socialism. Socialism, by no means, guarantees that every laborer shall go to his work in a six-cylinder car, while his wife does the marketing in a limousine, but it does guarantee that Socialism would not prevent him from privately owning all such property that he could earn. We realize, of course, that this is but a small bait to hold out to a man whom capitalism has given the “right” to own the earth. Among gentlemen who would like to own the earth, perhaps we shall therefore make little progress. But among gentlemen who have been promised the earth and are getting only hell, we may do better. The time may come when they will tire of piling their bones at the foot of the precipice of private property. The time may come when they will realize that it would be no more absurd to have private undershirts owned by the public than it is to have the public’s industrial machinery owned by private interests. Then we shall have Socialism. “And everything will be divided up equally, all around, and in five years the same persons will be rich who are now rich, and the same persons who are now poor will be poor again.” List to the croaking parrot that has just flown into our happy home. Whenever and wherever there is a discussion about Socialism, that wise old bird wheels in and declares it is all a wicked scheme to rob the rich for the benefit of the poor, and that in no event could it long succeed. Poor old feathered imitation of a human intellect! Brainless, yet not without a voice, it talks on and on and on. Bereft of its feathers and its voice, it might take its place upon a hook in the market place and eventually work its way into some careless shopper’s basket as a perfectly good partridge, or diminutive duck. Placed upon the table and served as a delicacy, its worthlessness would soon be understood. But clad as nature clothed it and harping words that some one once dropped into its ear, its voice is continuously mistaken for the voice of wisdom and the progress of the world is commanded to halt.