Ten year old Johnny decided he was going to be a capitalist. So, he gathered his capital of ten dollars together and bought five packets of lemonade and a hundred paper cups. He went back home and made a pitcher-full of lemonade, put ice cubes in it and set up a wooden crate stand at the edge of his front yard. He’d made a big sign on a three foot by three foot piece of cardboard and leaned it up against the birch tree. Big black letters announced: Lemonade! Twenty-five cents a cup! The cups were a good medium size.
It was early on the hot July day, but Johnny lived on a busy street, and soon he had sold ten cups for a total of two-fifty, and the pitcher was still a third full! Almost time to make another! And, it was only ten in the morning.
Then a policeman walked up. He asked johnny, “Hey, sonny, you got a permit to sell lemonade?”
Johnny replied, “Nope. I don’t need a permit.”
“Well, sonny, the government says you do.”
“How does the government know what I need?”
“Look, sonny, the law says you got to have a permit.”
“I didn’t hear the law say a thing.”
“Well, you heard me.”
“You’re not the law. You’re just a man.”
“I represent the law.”
“You don’t represent me? If someone came and robbed me, you wouldn’t chase after him?”
“Well, yes, I would.”
“Because what is mine, is mine, right?”
“Then why are you trying to take away my business? It’s mine. Doesn’t that make you a crook?”
“Bah! It’s too hot to argue. Gimme a cup of lemonade.”
“That’ll be thirty cents, an added nickel for holding up the line.”
Standing in a civilized line behind the policeman two older gents and three young people began applauding.