On these afternoons the old church becomes a church once
more--not a gate to bar out the rush of commercialism. See where
she stands--quite out to the very curb, her warning finger
pointing upward. 'Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther,' she
cries out to the Four Per Cents. 'Hug up close to me, you old
fellows asleep in your graves; get under my lea. Let us fight it
out together, the living and the dead!' And now hear these
abominable Four Per Cents behind their glass windows: 'No place
for a church,' they say. 'No place for the dead! Property too
valuable. Move it up town. Move it out in the country--move it any
where so you get it out of our way. We are the Great Amalgamated
Crunch Company. Into our maw goes respect for tradition, reverence
for the dead, decency, love of religion, sentiment, and beauty.
These are back numbers. In their place, we give you something real
and up-to-date from basement to flagstaff, with fifty applicants
on the waiting list. If you don't believe it read our
prospectus!'"
Peter had straightened and was standing with his hand lifted above
his head, as if he were about to pronounce a benediction.
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