Yet it is curious how many of the weekly
prizes of the Panama lottery find their way into the pockets of
American canal builders, and in any Zone gathering of whatever
hour--or sex!--you are almost certain to hear flitting back and
forth mysterious whispers of "--have a 6 and a 4 this week."
The Zone system is work-coupons for all; much as the Socialist
would have it. Only the legitimate members of the community--the
workers--can live in it--long. You should see the nonchalant way a
clerk at the government's Tivoli hotel charges a tourist a quarter
for a cigar the government sells for six cents in its
commissaries. Mere money does not rank high in Zone society. It's
the labor-coupon that counts. They sell cigarettes at the
Y.M.C.A.; you are in that state where you would give your ticket
home for a smoke. Yet when you throw down good gold or silver,
black Sam behind the showcase looks up at you with that pitying
cold eye kept in stock for new-comers, and says wearily:
"Cahn't take no money heah, boss."
That surely is a sort of socialism where a slip of paper showing
merely that you have done your appointed task gets you the same
meal wherever you may drop in, a total stranger, yet without being
identified, without a word from any one, but merely thrusting your
coupon-book at the yellow West Indian at the door as you enter
that he may snatch out so many minutes of labor.
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