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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
72
Oh,
I
tell
you,
I
waxed
eloquent.
I
couldn't
let
John
Starkweather,
or
any
other
man,
get
away
with
the
conviction
that
a
millionnaire
is
better
than
a
farmer.
"Moreover,"
I
said,
"think
of
the
position
of
the
millionnaire.
He
spends
his
time
playing
not
with
life,
but
with
the
symbols
of
life,
whether
cash
or
houses.
Any
day
the
symbols
may
change;
a
little
war
may
happen
along,
there
may
be
a
defective
flue
or
a
western
breeze,
or
even
a
panic
because
the
farmers
aren't
scattering
as
many
crumbs
as
usual
(they
call
it
crop
failure,
but
I've
noticed
that
the
farmers
still
continue
to
have
plenty
to
eat)
and
then
what
happens
to
your
millionnaire?
Not
knowing
how
to
produce
anything
himself,
he
would
starve
to
death
if
there
were
not
always,
somewhere,
a
farmer
to
take
him
up
to
the
table."
"You're
making
a
strong
case,"
laughed
John
Starkweather.
"Strong!"
I
said.
"It
is
simply
wonderful
what
a
leverage
upon
society
a
few
acres
of
land,
a
cow,
a
pig
or
two,
and
a
span
of
horses
gives
a
man.
I'm
ridiculously
independent.
I'd
be
the
hardest
sort
of
a
man
to
dislodge
or
crush.
I
tell
you,
my
friend,
a
farmer
is
like
an
oak,
his
roots
strike
deep
in
the
soil,
he
draws
a
sufficiency
of
food
from
the
earth
itself,
he
breathes
the
free
air
around
him,
his
thirst
is
quenched
by
heaven
itself--and
there's
no
tax
on
sunshine."
I
paused
for
very
lack
of
breath.
John
Starkweather
was
laughing.
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