"You find a broad street paved with gold. Diamonds in profusion stud the street for traction, since gold is somewhat slippery as a pavement. The sidewalks are pure silver and the street-stop lights are composed of green emeralds, red rubies, and amber amethysts. They got sort of practical at that point, Reverend. Oh, I also see that you have taken your sample." Doylen looked down at the brick. It was the size of a housebrick--but of pure gold. Stamped in the top surface were the words: "99.99% pure gold. A souvenir of Fabriville." "What means all this?" stormed the Reverend, waving the brick. "My very good friend, it is intended to prove only one thing. Nothing--absolutely nothing--is worth anything. The psychological impact of the pearly gate and the street of gold tends to strike home the fact that here in Fabriville nothing of material substance is of value. Service, which cannot be duplicated, is the medium of exchange in Fabriville--have you anything to offer, Reverend?" "The Lord saith: 'Six days shalt thou labor--' You have destroyed that law, Johnson." "That's no law. That's an admonition not to overdo your labor. He didn't want us laboring seven days per. If He were running things under the present set-up, He'd be tickled pink to see people taking it easy five days per week, believe me." "Sacrilege!" "Is it? Am I being sacrilegious to believe that He has a sense of humor and a load more common sense than you and I?" "To speak familiarly--" "If I've offended Him, let Him strike me where I stand," smiled Keg. "He is far too busy to hear the voice of an agnostic." "Then He is far too busy to have heard that I mentioned Him in familiar terms. What is your point, Reverend? What do you want?" "A return to religion." "Good. Start it." "People will not come to church. They are too busy satiating themselves with the worldly goods and luxuries."