The destinies of one were ably steered by a veneered razorback named Grabit.
At the helm of the other stood one, Fairman by name.
Grabit was a Pillar and had a pew right down front, a little to windward.
He used to sit ample and contented every Sunday morning listening to the little chinless preacher extol his Sterling Virtues to the blank-faced congregation.
Fairman wasn’t cutting any bold slashing figure as a Pillar and he was the only man in town who wasn’t wasting away worrying about it.
The rest of the burg spent many anxious hours speculating upon the probable location of Fairman’s residential quarters in the Hereafter.
Grabit thought of his employes in terms of machinery and was a devoted husband and father, according to custom.
Fairman called his men his “helpers” and had the absurd notion that they were human.
In Grabit’s mind there was not so much as a peewee doubt that he (i. e., Mr. Grabit) was a very superior order of genius and that every man under him was somewhere along about the mollusk stage of unfoldment.
He felt that through Divine favor he was enabled to grant to his men the blessed concession of working 10 hours per diem for 8 hours payem. And he tucked his napkin under his chin and was very grateful.