secularist's creed, and hears them say it every night.'

'Well, I'm old-fashioned in such matters,' said Grail, not caring to
pursue the discussion. 'I'd a good deal rather hear children say the
ordinary prayer.'

Ackroyd laughed.

'Have you heard any talk,' he asked presently, 'about lectures by a
Mr. Egremont? He's a son of Bower's old governor.'

'No, what lectures?'

'Bower tells me he's a young fellow just come from Oxford or
Cambridge, and he's going to give some free lectures here in
Lambeth.'

'Political?'

'No. Something to do with literature.'

Ackroyd broke into another laugh--louder this time, and
contemptuous.

'Sops to the dog that's beginning to show his teeth!' he exclaimed.
'It shows you what's coming. The capitalists are beginning to look
about and ask what they can do to keep the people quiet. Lectures on
literature! Fools! As if that wasn't just the way to remind us of
what we've missed in the way of education. It's the best joke you
could hit on. Let him lecture away; he'll do more than he thinks.'