“Who does Your Highness mean?” wondered Count Werder. “Well, people like this young Brodler.” The Prince-Regent's thin lips parted in a disparaging smile. “If he were in my place and had really to face the problem, had really to wrack his brain to procure bread and work and prosperity he would learn a new concept of what it means to improve the world.” “True,” sighed Count Werder. “It all depends on one's station in life.” “And I believe,” the Prince-Regent continued, “I believe that I am right in assuming that one can see further from an elevated station than from below, jammed together in the crowd.” “But down there one would have a more intimate contact with poverty,” remarked the Prime Minister. “One would feel it in one's own body.” “But does rioting do away with poverty? When a poor police officer gets his head split open, does any one get more to eat?” The Prince-Regent spoke quietly, as if his own mind had long since been made up. He added: “That is why I say that people think it much too simple.” Then he smiled again. “Thank you very much, my dear Count.” The Prime Minister departed.