“There’s a joke! I’ve been in several prosperous homes lately where I got a glimpse of that joyous work stuck under the sofa pillows. Everybody’s afraid to be caught with it--afraid it points to a state of panic in the purchaser. It’s the kind of thing folks read and know it’s all true, and get so low in their minds they pull the old black bottle from its hiding place and seek alcoholic oblivion.” “I bought the thing as a matter of business. If all creation’s going to shoot the chutes I want to be prepared. It’s silly for me to get all set to build houses for people if the world’s coming to an end.” “By Jove, when the crash comes I’m going to be stuck with a lot of Plantagenets!” “But this chap thinks the world can be saved! He says in the mad rush to find some joy in life we’re forgetting God. The spiritual spark growing dim--all that sort of thing.” “Um-m.” Henderson took the pipe from his mouth and peered into the bowl. “Now on this spiritual dope, I’m a sinner--chock full of sin, original and acquired. I haven’t been to church since my wedding except to a couple of funerals--relations where I couldn’t dodge the last sad rites. Cheerless, this death stuff; sort o’ brings you up with a jerk when you think of it. Most of us these days are frantically trying to forget man’s inevitable destiny by running as wild as we dare--blindfolded. It isn’t fashionable to be serious about anything. I tell you, my boy, I could count on the fingers of one hand all the people I know who ever take a good square look at life.” “Oh, not as bad as that!” said Bruce, surprised at Henderson’s unwonted earnestness. “There must be a lot of people who are troubled about the state of their souls--who have some sort of ideals but are ashamed to haul them out!” “Ashamed is the word!” Henderson affirmed. “We’re afraid of being kidded if anybody sneaks up on us and catches us admiring the Ten Commandments or practicing the Christian virtues! Now I know the rattle of all the skeletons in all the closets in this town. If they all took a notion to trot up and down our main thoroughfares some moonlit evening they’d make quite a parade. You understand I’m not sitting in judgment on my fellow man; I merely view him at times like this, when I’m addressing a man of intellect like you, with a certain cheerful detachment. And I see things going on--and I take part in them--that I deplore. I swear I deplore them; particularly,” he went on with a grim smile, “on days when I’m suffering from a severe case of hang-overitis.” “You must have been on a roaring tear last night. You have all the depressing symptoms.” “A cruel injustice! I’m never terribly wicked. I drink more than I need at times and I flirt occasionally to keep my hand in. Maybelle doesn’t mind if I wander a little, but when she whistles I’m right back at my own fireside pretending nothing happened.” “I’ll wager you do!” laughed Bruce.