There is distress because there is not money enough in circulation, say
these peddlers of silver. It is a well understood fact that every sound
bank in the country has idle money in its vaults looking for investment.
Money is precisely like the laborer - it, too, is on the lookout for
work. Show money where it can make interest, and it will come out of
those vaults as quick as the hungry laborer will answer the knock at his
door.
Whatever distress the laborer is suffering, however, be sure that the
millionaire owner of that idle money feels it not. His belly is well
filled and his back well covered, and he knows nothing of the jolt of
the box-car as he listens to the rhythm of the wheels of his Pullman
sleeper. And it matters little to this millionaire, this flower of a
foreign clime, when his increase sets in again. He has millions, a word
we little comprehend the meaning of, and he will never know distress,
any more than the laborer will know plenty again while this vampire of
progress is permitted to survive. But the time must come when labor will
get to work again for a few months each year, the usual thing now, to
produce the needed stock of necessaries for the country, and then he
will see the man of millions step off and collect his usual toll, and
enough besides to make good any shrinkage in the principal.
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