David turned the horses into a wide boulevard that ran south through
the factory district of the west. As they came out into the boulevard
they saw sitting on the sidewalk before a saloon a drunkard with a
drum in his hand. The drunkard beat upon the drum and tried to sing
the marching song of the workers but succeeded only in making a queer
grunting noise like a distressed animal. The sight brought a smile to
David's lips. "Already it has begun to disintegrate," he muttered. "I
brought you into this part of town on purpose," he said to Margaret.
"I wanted you to see with your own eyes how much the world needs the
thing he is trying to do. The man is terribly right about the need for
discipline and order. He is a big man doing a big thing and I admire
his courage. He would be a really big man had he the greater courage."
On the boulevard into which they had turned all was quiet. The summer
sun was setting and over the roofs of buildings the west was ablaze
with light. They passed a factory surrounded by little patches of
garden. Some employer of labour had tried thus feebly to bring beauty
into the neighbourhood of the place where his men worked. David
pointed with the whip. "Life is a husk," he said, "and we men of
affairs who take ourselves so seriously because the fates have been
good to us have odd silly little fancies.
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