And you know, the tinning of salmon was "progress" as much at
least as the building of the _Titanic_. More, in fact. I am not
attacking shipowners. I care neither more nor less for Lines, Companies,
Combines, and generally for Trade arrayed in purple and fine linen than
the Trade cares for me. But I am attacking foolish arrogance, which is
fair game; the offensive posture of superiority by which they hide the
sense of their guilt, while the echoes of the miserably hypocritical
cries along the alley-ways of that ship: "Any more women? Any more
women?" linger yet in our ears.
I have been expecting from one or the other of them all bearing the
generic name of Yamsi, something, a sign of some sort, some sincere
utterance, in the course of this Admirable Inquiry, of manly, of genuine
compunction. In vain. All trade talk. Not a whisper--except for the
conventional expression of regret at the beginning of the yearly
report--which otherwise is a cheerful document. Dividends, you know. The
shop is doing well.
And the Admirable Inquiry goes on, punctuated by idiotic laughter, by
paid-for cries of indignation from under legal wigs, bringing to light
the psychology of various commercial characters too stupid to know that
they are giving themselves away--an admirably laborious inquiry into
facts that speak, nay shout, for themselves.
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