"Maybe," Grundy said broodingly, "just maybe there is a damn good reason why the Fathers are called the Fathers!" There are moments in life so terrifying that the very ground seems to shift beneath one's feet. That was the sensation that Comstock was experiencing. All was alien. He clung to the tattered copy of Father Goose as the only tangible thread that held his reeling sanity together. Averting his eyes from Grundy's and Bowdler's faces he hurriedly read, "There was a little girl Who had a little curl Right in the middle of her ........ And when she was good she was very, very good. But when she was bad she was ......" Even the familiar rhyme failed in its lulling purpose. He could no longer hide behind its chant-like curtain. Bowdler's voice went on, striking ever more harshly at the roots of Comstock's being. "What a mockery all of our lives would be if what Grundy and I think is true. Suppose everything we have been taught is a lie. What then little man? What then?" From some unknown and previously untapped reservoir of strength Comstock managed to dredge up the ability to say, "That's ridiculous. There would be no reason under the two suns for that to be true. The truth is mighty and will prevail." "Just a little less of the copy-book maxims if you don't mind, old man," Bowdler said. "Hear us out." "Just suppose," Grundy bent his stocky middle body over so that he was closer to Comstock. "Just suppose for the sake of argument, that we are right. That our whole way of life is false. Look what that could mean." Bowdler broke in, excitement making his voice harsh and rasping. "Suppose there is no real merit in old age. Suppose that the one-hundred-and-fifty year olds whose intelligence we worship as a matter of course, are really just senile old people! Then what?" Grundy's face set. His mouth set in thin lines of derision. "I know for a fact, that the Elders are just that. Elder. There's no magic in old age no matter what they taught us in school or what they keep yelling and yammering at us all the time. Old people are just old...." Was there no end to the men's blasphemies? Comstock shook his aching head wearily. First they had attacked the peak of all things, The Grandfather. Next they had profaned the Fathers, and now the Elders. What sacred functionaries were left to attack? None, he realized with some relief. For the pyramid of his government was erected on the broad base of the Elders, who were guided and advised by the Fathers, who were in turn guided and led by that font of all knowledge, The Grandfather.