"The thing that can't
be put into words is getting itself expressed. Something is being done
here in this field. A new force is coming into the world."
Half beside himself McGregor ran up and down swinging his arms. Again
turning to the reporter who stood by a factory wall--a rather
dandified figure he was with a tiny moustache--he shouted:
"Don't you see?" he cried. His voice was harsh. "See how they march!
They are finding out what I mean. They have caught the spirit of it!"
McGregor began to explain. He talked hurriedly, his words coming forth
in short broken sentences. "For ages there has been talk of
brotherhood. Always men have babbled of brotherhood. The words have
meant nothing. The words and the talking have but bred a loose-jawed
race. The jaws of men wabble about but the legs of these men do not
wabble."
He again walked up and down, dragging the half-frightened man along
the deepening shadow of the factory wall.
"You see it begins--now in this field it begins. The legs and the feet
of men, hundreds of legs and feet make a kind of music. Presently
there will be thousands, hundreds of thousands. For a time men will
cease to be individuals. They will become a mass, a moving all-
powerful mass. They will not put their thoughts into words but
nevertheless there will be a thought growing up in them.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240