"Dad," said Mr. Brotherton, hammering his fat fist on the desk, "'there's more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio'--well say, man--that's Shakespeare. We sell more Shakespeares than all the other poets combined. Fine business, this Shakespeare. And when a man holds the lead in the trade as this Shakespeare has done ever since I went into the Red Line poets back in the eighties--I'm pretty nearly going to stay by him. And when he says, 'Don't be too damn sure you know it all--' or words to that effect--and holds the trade saying it--well, say, man--your spook friends are all right with me, only say," Mr. Brotherton shuddered, "I'd die if one came gliding up to me and asked for a chew of my eating tobacco--the way they do with you!" "Well," smiled Amos Adams, "much obliged to you, George--I just wanted your ideas. Laura Van Dorn has sent Kenyon's last piece back to Boston to see if by any chance he couldn't unconsciously have taken it from something or some one. She says it's wonderful--but, of course," the old man scratched his chin, "Laura and Bedelia Nesbit are just as likely to be fooled in music as I am with my controls." Then the subject drifted into politics--the local politics of the town, the Van Dorn-Nesbit contest. And at the end of their discussion Amos rubbed his bony, lean, hard, old hands, and looked away through the books and the brick wall and the whole row of buildings before him into the future and smiled. "I wonder--I wonder if the country ever will come to see the economic and social and political meaning of this politics that we have now--this politics that the poor man gets through a beer keg the night before election, and that the rich man buys with his 'barl.'" He shook his head. "You'll see it--you and Grant--but it will be long after my time." Amos lifted up his old face and cried: "I know there is another day coming--a better day. For this one is unworthy of us. We are better than this--at heart! We have in us the blood of the fathers, and their high visions too. And they did not put their lives into this nation for this--for this cruel tangle of injustice that we show the world to-day. Some day--some day," Amos Adams lifted up his face and cried: "I don't know! May be my guides are wrong but my own heart tells me that some day we shall cease feeding with the swine and return to the house of our father! For we are of royal blood, George--of royal blood!" "Why, hello, Morty," cut in Mr. Brotherton. "Come right in and listen to the seer--genuine Hebrew prophet here--got a familiar spirit, and says Babylon is falling." "Well, Uncle Amos," said Morty Sands, "let her fall!" Old Amos smiled and after Morty had turned the talk from falling Babylon to Laura Van Dorn's kindergarten, Amos being reminded by Laura of Kenyon and his music, unfolded his theory of the occult source of the child's musical talent, and invited George and Morty to church to hear Kenyon play.