THE PUZZLED FISHERMEN.
For The Public.
We had packed the 500 trout in a large box with ice and cool wet moss, and as we were eating our last supper under the big pine before breaking up camp, the painter started the trouble.
"I'll bet ten dollars that this lake will be owned in five years," said he.
"I'll take that bet," said the plumber. "Why, the public wouldn't stand it. Here's a lake of five square miles, chuck full of trout, only 20 miles out of Kamloops, and the government put in a road costing $1,500 just to accommodate the public; and d'ye think it would be fair to let any one man own it? No sir!"
"What did Lusk charge you for the horse's pasture?" asked the printer of Jimmey, the stable boy.
"Four dollars, sir; dollar each for two days' pasture."
"That's a blamed outrage," said the tailor. "When I was out here last year we just picketed our horses out at the foot of the lake, and they did flne."
"Yes, but you didn't have to look after them," said the carpenter. "I had to change the pickets twice a day, and I'd much rather pay my share of the four dollars for the pasture, and be free to fish. Besides, Lusk has built a lot of fencing to make that pasture."
"How much land has Lusk taken up?" asked the painter.
"One hundred and sixty acres, and half a mile fronts on the lake." answered the carpenter. "He's going to put up a hotel and six scow houses, and have no end of boats. He'll board you by the day, or rent the scow houses and boats. Then he has the pasture for hire, and can sell you Ice to pack your fish in. I tell you, he's got enterprise and deserves to succeed. Besides, his charges are moderate, and the conveniences worth a lot."
"I guess Lusk charges about all it's worth, and no more," said the painter; "and so long as there is lots of free land on this side of the lake he'll have to be reasonable, or watch people tent out for themselves."
"Guess that won't be long," said the quiet man. "Lusk's father, his brother and each of his four sons have taken up land, and they will own all the lake shore except the big swamp on t'other side, within a month."
The camp was now in an uproar.
"I'll get up a petition against it," raved the plumber. "It ain't a square deal. No man should be allowed to own water. God put this lake here for us all, and no man or set of men should own it!"
"Where's the difference between the water and the land?" asked the tailor. "Didn't God make the land for us all, too?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose he did; but then, there's lots of land, and this lake is valuable 'cause it's full of trout, and it 'tain't right nohow."
"Guess the Socialists are right," chipped in the carpenter; "then we would all own the lake, and have five hours a day to fish, and the whole of Sunday besides."
"My opinion is that somehow the officials would manage to have the best of everything, and this lake included; for under Socialism there would be a host of them," said the painter.
"Well, I don't want to go along with no more government officials," said Jimmey. "Why, when I was out with them last year they nearly worked me to death. All they could do was to dress themselves. And it was: 'Jimmey, do this,' and 'Jimmey, get me that,' till I was plum tired out. They wants too much waiting on to suit me."
The laugh went round, but it only nettled the carpenter.
"Laugh while you can; but it's either got to come, or slavery," he said.
"Oh, I dunno!" It was the quiet man who spoke. We all turned to look at him, and I was about to interrupt him, but remembered that he had saved the boat in a squall, and kept quiet.
"What's your plan?" asked the plumber.
"You all believe this lake should belong to the public, don't you?" "Yes," came from all. "How would it do to rent it to some one then, and let the public get the rent?"
"Who would collect it?" asked the tailor, as he folded his legs.
"Why, the people's agent—the present tax collector—would do."
"What would we do with the money?" asked Jimmey. Jimmey had got a fall while climbing after a fish-hawk's nest a few years ago. It hurt his head, and he sometimes asks funny questions.
"The road out near the lake is in bad shape; the first year's rent would make it in fine condition."
"Yes, and then more people would come out to fish, and the lessee would reap the benefit," said the painter.
"No, he couldn't either," contradicted the plumber, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe, " 'cause then his privilege would be worth more, and we could raise his rent and get it back. Besides, people don't have to come here and fish, and if his prices were exorbitant he would not get enough to make a living and pay his rent."
"Well, a plumber knows as near as any one how much the public can stand," said the carpenter; "but I'd like to know how you would determine the price of the rent"
"Oh, that's easy," said the painter; "just call for tenders, same as you did for painting your shop last summer." "Yes, and then suppose a feller came along the next year, and offered a lot more for it; and the tenant had just put up a lot of buildings, and boat houses, boats, etc., how would he fare ?"
"Why, if it was really worth more he would have a big advantage still, and would be given the first chance; if he was convinced by his experience that he could not afford to pay more, he would have a good opportunity to sell out to the greenhorn who was coming in. The supposition is not a likely one at all, and seldom ever occurs where landlords rent such a privilege to a tenant."
"Well, now; suppose Lusk rented this lake and its shores every year, from the government, where would be the great advantage to the public between that and his present ownership of it?" asked the tailor, as he unfolded his legs.
"Much every way," replied the quiet man; "in the first place, public ownership would be recognized; second, monopoly would be destroyed; and third, the natural rent value would go back to the people, while Lusk would get the legitimate reward of his labor and capital."
"I believe the scheme is all right," said the printer, "and if it would work on this lake, I can't see why 'in Sam Hill' it wouldn't do on all our land and lakes and mines."
"It would work all right," said the quiet man. And most of us believed him.
--from The Public, August 29, 1903.
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