AN ENCOUNTER

Evening Star, Issue 22975, 4 June 1938, Page 3

AN ENCOUNTER

SHEEP AHD SALARIES " CYRANO ” CONSIDERS INCOMES AHD HAPPINESS

I ran across him by chance as I was leaving my office, and he greeted me with a cordiality that was surprising and l a little moving. For he was not in my world at all, and I had met him only once or twice before. Ho was in a sense Olympian, a, man who had done one or two thjixgs with exceptional ability, and all things well that he put his mind to. Some men are like that, and they have always been my admiration and my despair. In his day he had been a Dominion figure in games, and I, who had' played most and all badly—in golf, which I could afford to, play then, but cannot now, I never got below a hundred —I always felt about as high as his knee. Also he had belonged (and still docs) to the world of more than comfortable means—not a rich man perhaps, as the term is used correctly, but the sort of man who was a member of the best clubs, lived in a large city house, and kept a couple of servants, ran expensive motor cars, and maybe - spent on his games in a year as much as most of my friends had to marry on. He belonged to the world of large business and sheep stations. Thackeray said he wished he were one of the Whigs'; they were so sure of themselves. I have sometimes wished I belonged to the world of sheep; its inhabitants—at any rate when wool is up—move so comfortably and assuredly on the purring wheels of their limousines, and go in and out of clubs with such an air of living in the best of all possible worlds. I have never been able to afford a club. He said it was good to see me again, which was very nice of him, but it puzzled me to know why. ,We exchanged a few confidences on the world and our positions. He was interested in land, in the financial standing of people on it. He had to kejsn an eye on their properties, and when wool went down it was sex-ions for all. Thinking of his standards of living and my own. I recalled—though I admit the application is limited—Du Maurier’s picture of the dean and the crossing sweeper. The dean told the tattered object standing in the snow that he (fixe object) was spared the worry of the rich in trying to find investments that woxxld combine .security with a decent rate of interest. Even if the coxxversation had been other than most friendly, T would have refrained from quoting the joke. I merely said there were advantages in a .salary, which, of coui'se, is true. There are, advantages. It is like having a px-osaic rather than a romantic temperament. If there are no heights, there are no depths. As long as you can keep your job there is security. You know what you ai-e goixxg to get, and you make your arraxxgemexxts accordingly at least, if you are wise. Txx the slump there were sheep farmers who were rationed down to their daily papers. Bxxt if you are in business, or in the professions (barring a church, of coxxrse), or on the land (sheep), there are chances of expansion. A large car, a yacht, a comfortable lodge in the wilderness, may come within your grasp. A trip round the world, first class, hovers enticixxgly on the horizon..

I told my friend I had never had a “ fiver ” in my life to spend with a light heart, but I had had a lot oi fun. and we parted with undiminished cordiality, I feeling, and perhaps he too, that we were brothers under our incomes. The “ light heart ” is important,' for I am not a poor man, and 1 have had my trip round the world. I wondered, however, what he would consider poverty, not the poverty of the really poor, who sometimes have not enough to oat and wear, but the limited income of the middle class, which so often makes a new suit an event and imposes restrictions on expenditure upon modest annual holidays. During the slump I met an old friend on one of these holidays in a train. He gave me a humorous account of the devastation that the depression was causing among his investments. I Observed, however, that while I, on salary, was travelling second, with a night in' a chair ahead of me, he, the victim of the epidemic, was travelling first. I am sure, however, that if ray Olympian acquaintance were reduced to real poverty' he would meet it smiling and take his coat off for the nearest work to hand. In discussing riches we must beware of cant. Riches don’t necessarily bring happiness, and failure to recognise this truth, which is written so plainly for all the world to see, is responsible for much unhappiness and futility. It is a common thing to see men scorning the true delights of life and living laborious days in order to make money which they never enjoy, and which their heirs will probably dissipate in dubious ways. On the other hand, poverty and genuine anxiety about money can be frustrating and corroding. Powers may bo nourished by poverty, but the same powers may be withered by its continuance. So much may depend on circumstances. The grinding poverty of the overwhelmed farmer may be worse for those concerned than the struggle of the wage-earner in the town, where there is more provision against misfortune. Many a dream of a fuller life has gradually faded into the inexorable mists of mortgages and daily milking. For certain activities moderate wealth is necessary. With a few exceptions only the well-to-do can make doctors of their children. Pursuit of the arts, whether in practice or possession, requires money. And while it is true that the individual can cultivate intellect and virtue on a little oatmeal, tile task becomes much more difficult and painful when he acquires a wife and family. The truth is that money opens certain doors to a fuller and richer life, but is quite powerless by itself to lead the possessor to enjoyment. Among the perils of riches is the exposure of one’s sense of wonder to atrophy and decay. The poor man is apt to suffer because restriction of opportunities has stunted the growth of that sense. The rich man runs the risk, of losing the sense because he gets things too easily. The man of moderate means is in the best position, because he has reasonable opportunity of cultivating the sense, but is not in danger of satiation. Look at the attitude of some people to transport in these days of luxury. They won’t travel by this ship because she is old-fashioned : they won’t go to that place because it hasn’t an hotel with a bathroom to every bedroom. (Not that a separate bathroom isn’t very acceptable, and since tourists demand it f suppose wo shall have to simply it.) A very accomplished Englishwoman, coming down in the Tahit’, listened to a complaint from an American that there was no swimming bath in the ship. They were willing to pay for such things; whv shouldn’t they have them? She replied that he was overcivilised, and returned to her book. It is remarkable how mimh more luxury travellers demand, by land and sea,

than they get in their own homes. The conscious ornateness on shipboard is as depressing as the length of the menus. A New Zealand business man onoe said that he found London too expensive a place for. a holiday; one couldn’t stay there for under fifty pounds a week. It may be charitable to suppose that he included his wife in this estimate, but consider it. Thousands of visitors who go to London live on a fraction of this, and it is pretty safe to say that the less they spend on enjoyment the more they enjoy themselves and the better they appreciate Loudon’s infinite variety. The moralist does not criticise the rich because they are wicked, but because they are unhappy. Our old friend the golden mean is the key to the problem. One of the wisest and best men I have known was a professional man who. I should say. for the greater part of his long working life did not earn five hundred a year, and for a good while had to be content with much less, fn later years he was able, by a fortunate investment and by writing in the spare time of busy days, to bring his income up to perhaps something approaching four figures. He collected one of the best

private libraries I have seen, and to the end was intensely interested in the world of men and ideas. He brought up a large family very successfully.. used to say that when a man had made enough money to keep himself and his family in reasonable comfort, to educate'his children, and make some provision for the future, then he should ston and ask himself what the price 01 further striving would be. Beyond this point, he argued, every effort to make money exposed a man to greater risk, by absorbing the time and enersv thaj should go to the enjoyment of ,life and the service of his familv and his fellows. This is not a precise,rule; in the nature of things no such rule can be precise, It is, however, an admirable statemenJ of principle.