a library of technical books for young
workmen--though, unfortunately, no young workman ever entered the church
except to wash the windows or repair the furnace--and a sewing-circle
which made short little pants for the children of the poor while Mrs.
Drew read aloud from earnest novels.

Though Dr. Drew's theology was Presbyterian, his church-building
was gracefully Episcopalian. As he said, it had the "most perdurable
features of those noble ecclesiastical monuments of grand Old England
which stand as symbols of the eternity of faith, religious and civil."
It was built of cheery iron-spot brick in an improved Gothic style, and
the main auditorium had indirect lighting from electric globes in lavish
alabaster bowls.

On a December morning when the Babbitts went to church, Dr. John
Jennison Drew was unusually eloquent. The crowd was immense. Ten brisk
young ushers, in morning coats with white roses, were bringing folding
chairs up from the basement. There was an impressive musical program,
conducted by Sheldon Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A.,
who also sang the offertory. Babbitt cared less for this, because some
misguided person had taught young Mr. Smeeth to smile, smile, smile
while he was singing, but with all the appreciation of a fellow-orator
he admired Dr. Drew's sermon. It had the intellectual quality which
distinguished the Chatham Road congregation from the grubby chapels on
Smith Street.

"At this abundant harvest-time of all the year," Dr. Drew chanted,
"when, though stormy the sky and laborious the path to the drudging
wayfarer, yet the hovering and bodiless spirit swoops back o'er all the
labors and desires of the past twelve months, oh, then it seems to
me there sounds behind all our apparent failures the golden chorus of
greeting from those passed happily on; and lo! on the dim horizon we
see behind dolorous clouds the mighty mass of mountains--mountains of
melody, mountains of mirth, mountains of might!"

"I certainly do like a sermon with culture and thought in it," meditated
Babbitt.

At the end of the service he was delighted when the pastor, actively
shaking hands at the door, twittered, "Oh, Brother Babbitt, can you wait
a jiffy? Want your advice."

"Sure, doctor! You bet!"

"Drop into my office. I think you'll like the cigars there." Babbitt did
like the cigars. He also liked the office, which was distinguished from
other offices only by the spirited change of the familiar wa