obliged to gallop at their utmost speed in order to avoid being swept
behind the scenes. To enhance the realistic effect the scenery itself
was made to move in the same direction. Thus, amid a whirlwind of
excitement and the wild banging of the orchestra, the scenery flew by,
and the horses, neck and neck, raced across the stage--without
progressing a single foot.

And the thought came to me as I watched them that, after all, this
horserace was very much like the life we all of us were living here in
the city. The scenery was rushing by, time was flying, the band was
playing--while we, like the animals on the stage, were in a breathless
struggle to attain some goal to which we never got any nearer.

Now as I smoked my cigarette after breakfast I asked myself what I had
to show for my fifty years. What goal or goals had I attained? Had
anything happened except that the scenery had gone by? What would be the
result should I stop and go with the scenery? Was the race profiting me
anything? Had it profited anything to me or anybody else? And how far
was I typical of a class?

A moment's thought convinced me that I was the prototype of thousands
all over the United States. "A certain rich man!" That was me. I had
yawned for years at dozens of sermons about men exactly like myself. I
had called them twaddle. I had rather resented them. I was not a
sinner--that is, I was not a sinner in the ordinary sense at all. I was
a good man--a very good man. I kept all the commandments and I acted in
accordance with the requirements of every standard laid down by other
men exactly like myself. Between us, I now suddenly saw, we made the law
and the prophets. We were all judging ourselves by self-made tests. I
was just like all the rest. What was true of me was true of them.