Only, each person will carry a properly insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere.
And--" "Yes, but the poor?
The workers?
What of them ?" "Devil take _them_, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some heat.

"Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is?
Who bothers about their health?
They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, anyhow--eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air.

Nobody cares, except perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! Working-class?
What do _I_ care about the cattle?
Let them die, if they want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer ?" "They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the atmosphere.

They'll die!" "Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already showing symptoms of drug-stimulation.

Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes.