"It gets me going when I look down the aisle at the altar and
see the arches and so on. And the priests in their robes--they
look so--so way up--oh, I dunno just how to say it--so kind of
_uplifted_."

"Sure, I know. Just the esthetic end of the game. Esthetic,
you know--the beauty part of it."

"Yuh, sure, that's the word. 'Sthetic, that's what it is.
Yes, 'sthetic. But, just the same, it makes me feel's though I
believed in all sorts of things."

"Tell you what I believe may happen, though," exulted Morton.
"This socialism, and maybe even these here International Workers
of the World, may pan out as a new kind of religion. I don't
know much about it, I got to admit. But looks as though it might
be that way. It's dead certain the old political parties are just
gangs--don't stand for anything except the name. But this comrade
business--good stunt. Brotherhood of man--real brotherhood. My
idea of religion. One that is because it's got to be, not just
because it always has been. Yessir, me for a religion of guys
working together to make things easier for each other."

"You bet!" commented Mr. Wrenn, and they smote each other upon
the shoulder and laughed together in a fine flame of shared hope.

"I wish I knew something about this socialism stuff," mused Mr.
Wrenn, with tilted head, examining the burnt-umber edges of the
sunset.