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?”
“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.