"Oh yes," he replied, "if you want to."
We walked on in silence for a while. And then I said:
"Why does everybody have a number?"
"To distinguish him by," answered my companion.
"Don’t people have names, then?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Oh! there was so much inequality in names. Some people were called Montmorency, and they looked down on the Smiths; and the Smythes did not like mixing with the Joneses: so, to save further bother, it was decided to abolish names altogether, and to give everybody a number."
"Did not the Montmorencys and the Smythes object?"
"Yes; but the Smiths and Joneses were in THE MAJORITY."
"And did not the Ones and Twos look down upon the Threes and Fours, and so on?"
"At first, yes. But, with the abolition of wealth, numbers lost their value, except for industrial purposes and for double acrostics, and now No. 100 does not consider himself in any way superior to No. 1,000,000."
I had not washed when I got up, there being no conveniences for doing so in the Museum, and I was beginning to feel somewhat hot and dirty. I said:
"Can I wash myself anywhere?"
He said:
"No; we are not allowed to wash ourselves. You must wait until half-past four, and then you will be washed for tea."
"Be washed!" I cried. "Who by?"
"The State."
He said that they had found they could not maintain
