drag
business into religion, sir. Religion is one thing and I respect
it,"--titters from the listening angels, "--and business is another
thing, and we think, sir, that you are trying to mix the insoluble, and
as business men who have our own deep religious convictions--" inaudible
guffaws from the angels, "--we feel the sacrilege of asking this
blatherskite Adams to speak on any subject in so sacred a place as our
consecrated pulpit, sir." Hoarse hoots from the angels.

No soft benignity beamed in the preacher's face as he turned to the
Courts. "My pulpit, Judge," answered John Dexter sternly, "first of all
stands for the gospel of Justice between man and man. It will afford
sanctuary for the thief and the Magdalene, but only the penitent thief
and the weeping Magdalene!" And John Dexter brought down a resounding
fist on the table before him. "I believe that the first duty of religion
is to preach shame on the wicked, that they may quit their wickedness,
and if," John Dexter's voice rose as he went on, "in the light of our
widening intelligence we see that employers are organized wickedly to
rob their workers of justice in one way or another, I stand with those
who would make the thief disgorge for his own soul's sake, incidentally,
but chiefly that justice may come into an evil world and men may not
mock the mercy and goodness of God by pointing at the evil men do
unrebuked in His name, and under His servants' noses. My pulpit is a
free pulpit, sir. When it is not that, I shall leave it. And even though
I do not agree sometimes with a man's message, so long as my pulpit is
free, any man who desires to cry stop thief, in the darkness of this
world, may lift his voice there, and no man shall say him nay! Have you
gentlemen anything further to offer?"

Commerce ceased rubbing its hands. Its alter ego, Business, was
obviously getting ready to say something, but was only whistling for the
station, and the crowd knew it would be a minute before his stuttering
speech should arrive. Patriotism was leaning forward with its hands back
of its ears, smiling pleasantly at what he did not understand, and
Industry, who saw the strings in which his world was wrapped up for
delivery, cut, and the world sprawled in confusion before him by the
preacher's defiance, was pulling his military goatee solemnly when
Science toddled in, white-clad, pink-faced, smoking his short pipe and
clicking his cane rather more snappily than usual. He sa