"Oh, there are fagots and fagots, you know, Lindau; perhaps not all the millionaires are so guilty." "Let us speak German!" cried Lindau, in his own tongue, pushing his book aside, and thrusting his skullcap back from his forehead.

"How much money can a man honestly earn without wronging or oppressing some other man ?" "Well, if you'll let me answer in English," said March, "I should say about five thousand dollars a year.

I name that figure because it's my experience that I never could earn more; but the experience of other men may be different, and if they tell me they can earn ten, or twenty, or fifty thousand a year, I'm not prepared to say they can't do it." Lindau hardly waited for his answer.

"Not the most gifted man that ever lived, in the practice of any art or science, and paid at the highest rate that exceptional genius could justly demand from those who have worked for their money, could ever earn a million dollars.

It is the landlords and the merchant princes, the railroad kings and the coal barons (the oppressors to whom you instinctively give the titles of tyrants)--it is these that make the millions, but no man earns them.
What artist, what physician, what scientist, what poet was ever a millionaire ?" "I can only think of the poet Rogers," said March, amused by Lindau's tirade.