“Out of work? Do you mean not working for money? Of course. At any one time I don’t suppose you will find more than half the population working to make money.”
“Don’t those that work object to working while the others are idle?”
“Why should they? Everybody can’t work all the time or nobody would have time to use what he has produced—no time to spend his credit. Everybody works whenever he feels the need of replenishing his credit—or if he has an occupation that he likes whether he needs more credit or not.”
“Does everybody work part time?”
“No. Most professional people work regularly because they like to. Take a surgeon for example. He will work forty weeks every year. If he is famous and loves his work, his vacation will be as busy as his credit work. Take me for example, I work every week now and have for quite a long time, a broadcast like tonight every week, not to mention recordings for stories and songs.”
“Is that one broadcast all the work you do?”
“I have to rehearse a lot and I’m expected to invent a new dance each week.”
“How about people that aren’t professional people, the various kinds of skilled or semi-skilled labor, and tradesmen and so forth.”
“Some work full time and some part time. Quite a number of people work for several years and then quit. Some people don’t work at all—not for money at least. They have simple tastes and are content to live on their heritage, philosophers and mathematicians and poets and such. There aren’t many like that however. Most people work at least part of the time.”
“Diana, is the United States a socialism now?”
“Why no, not if by socialism you mean government ownership of the factories and stores and farms and such. New Zealand has that kind of a government and I believe it works pretty well, but I don’t believe it would be suited to the American temperament. But see here, Perry, I’m no economist. I’ve got a pal at the University of California who is. I’ll get him to run up here in a day or two after you’ve studied up on history a little and he will be able to answer all of your questions. Which reminds me. If you are to have those recordings tomorrow, I had better order them.” She stepped to the communicator. Perry heard her calling the University of California at Berkeley.
“Will you be able to order at this time of night?” he enquired.
“Probably not, not without paying an excessively high bonus. I’ll simply set for recorded message and they will get the order first thing in the morning.”
“How do you do that?”
“Either one of two ways. I can have my voice recorded, or write with the telautograph. Want to see the telautograph work, Perry?”
He stepped over to her side. “They haven’t changed much.”
“Do you mean to say that you could telewrite in 1939?”
“Uh huh. They weren’t used much, but I remember seeing one in the Union Station in Kansas City. It was used for train orders.”
“Hm—, maybe our mechanical marvels aren’t going to surprise you as much as I had thought.”
“I’m sure I’ll find plenty to amaze me. But remember, Dian’. I was an engineer albeit in 1939. I take it you are an artist primarily. I may not be impressed at the things that you expect will impress me.”
“That’s probably true.” She wrote slowly with the telautograph, stopping several times to think. Finally she signed it and closed the machine. “That will do for now. I’ve ordered a general catalog too so that you can pick out any records you may be interested in.”
“Do you buy these records?”
“No, not unless you want to. There is a small charge for using them. If you find you want to keep a record permanently, you can pay for it and keep it.”
“Do you have any here?”
“Oh yes, but not very many except for my professional library. I have quite a number of those, recordings of my own dances of course and a lot more of every sort of dancing. Most of the others are story records, just for amusement. Want to see some of them?