(Ardsley stands impassive till the Governor has gone out and the Bishop has again got the attention of the people, then goes quickly into the side room)
Bishop Hardbrooke.
Imagine what a state of things we'd have
If every wooden fellow in these walls,
Not only here but in the mill upstairs,
Should lend his heart to tongues of discontent
Until his very tools became a burden.
A Voice.
Anarchy.
Bishop Hardbrooke.
Very true. Where would this be,
This beautiful thing that Colonel Egerton
Has built with so much labor and so much taste?
And out there in the world where we all dwell,
Where all of us have places in the walls,
Some working with their hands on farms, in mines;
Some building; some at forges; at machines
Weaving our garments; others more endowed
Loaned to us from the higher planes of being,
Men of the Over-Soul, inventors, dreamers,
Planners of longer railroads, bigger mills,
The great preparers for the finer souls
That build the dome, the finishers of things,
Prophets of God, musicians, artists, poets,
As we've all seen how Colonel Egerton
In his third story has his books and pictures—
Suppose a bitter wind of discontent
Should shake the great walls of this social order,
Set the first story men against the second,
The second against the third, until the mass,
Throwing their tools down on the world's great floor,
Should clamor up the dome for pens and brushes,
Shutting their eyes to the cold facts of life
That we climb up Life's ladder by degrees—
(His attention is attracted for a moment to a group of men that has been collecting forward centre, evidently concerned with whatever it is that is going on in the side room)
Bishop Hardbrooke.
(Recovering himself quickly)