The Adventures of Jonathan Gullible - Bastiat Institute

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Chapter 28 • Wages of Sin
– and Jack promised if I did well he’d let me place orders. So I
started reading the trade journals and notices. And I got to meet
folks, not just the kids at school. Jack promoted me and I helped my
dad pay the rent – even earned enough to buy a bicycle. If I was paid
nothing, I would’ve been praised for volunteering. But I got paid
so now I’m busted,” his voice trailed off as he stared at the ground,
“and I’ve got to go back to make-believe.”
“Make-believe isn’t so bad, sonny, when you consider the
alternative,” declared a hefty, jovial man with a basket full of
drooping white gardenias. He wore chains attached to the other leg
of the boy. “It’s tough to make a living. I’ve never liked working
for anyone else. Finally, I thought I had it made with my fl ower
cart. I did pretty well selling bunches of fl owers in the Town
Square. People liked my fl owers – the customers, that is. But the
shopkeepers didn’t much like the competition. They got the Council
of Lords to outlaw ‘hawkers’. A hawker! Yes, that’s what they call
me because I can’t afford a shop. Otherwise I’d be a ‘shopkeeper’ or
a ‘merchant.’ I don’t mean any offense, Jack, but my kind of selling
existed long before your shop. Anyway, they called me a nuisance,
an ugly eyesore, a bum, and now an outlaw! Can you fi gure me and
my fl owers being all that? At least I wasn’t living off charity.”
“But you sold right on the pavement,” responded Jack. “You’ve
got to leave it open for my customers.”
“Your customers? You own the customers, Jack? Yes, sure, I
was on Council property. It’s supposed to belong to everyone, but
it doesn’t, right Jack? It really belongs to those favoured by the
Lords.”
Jack scoffed, “But you don’t pay the steep property taxes that we
have to pay as shopkeepers!”
“So who’s to blame for that? Not me!” retorted the peddler
irritably.
Jonathan intervened with a question, hoping to cool the debate.
“So they arrested you on the spot?”
“Oh, I got a few warnings fi rst. But I didn’t care to dance to
their tune. Who do they think they are – my masters? I’m trying to
work for myself, not some nosey boss. Anyway, the zoo’s okay. I
don’t have to work and I get three squares a day and a room at the
shopkeepers’ expense. Oddly enough, the warden thinks he’s doing