Whereat he becomes instantly angry. "You are one of the scoffers!"

"But, friend," I protest, "don't you feel the earth under your feet?"

"You are a materialist!"

"But, friend, I can see--"

"You are without spiritual vision!"

And so I move on among the sweating and groaning hordes. Being of a
sympathetic turn of mind, I cannot help being distressed by the
prevalence of this singular practice among so large a portion of the
human race. How is it possible that none of them should suspect the
futility of their procedure? Or can it really be that I am
uncomprehending? That in some way they are actually getting off the
ground, or about to get off the ground?

Then I observe a new phenomenon: a man gliding here and there among
the bootstrap-lifters, approaching from the rear and slipping his
hands into their pockets. The position of the spiritual exercisers
greatly facilitates his work; their eyes being cast up to heaven, they
do not see him, their thoughts being occupied, they do not heed him;
he goes through their pockets at leisure, and transfers the contents
to a bag he carries, and then moves on to the next victim. I watch him
for a while, and finally approach and ask, "What are you doing, sir?"

He answers, "I am picking pockets."

"Oh," I say, puzzled by his matter-of-course tone. "But--I beg