Henderson picked up the book Bruce had been reading, “A World in Need of God,” and ran his eye over the chapter headings.
“‘The Unlit Lamp,’ ‘The Descent Perilous,’ ‘Untended Altars’—so you’ve got it too, have you?”
“I’ve got the book, if that’s what you mean,” Bruce replied. “I paid two dollars for it. It’s a gloomy work; no wonder the author put it out anonymously.”
“It’s a best seller,” Henderson replied mournfully as he seated himself and drew out his pipe. “The world is nervous about itself—doesn’t know whether to repent and be good or stroll right along to the fiery pit. Under my stoical exterior, Bruce, old boy, I trouble a good deal about the silly human race. That phrase, ‘The Descent Perilous,’ gives me a chill. If I’d edited that book I’d have made it ‘The Road to Hell is Easy’ and drawn a stirring picture of the universe returning to chaos to the music of jazzy bands. People seem anxious to be caught all lit up when our little planet jumps the track and runs amuck. But there really are a few imbeciles, like the chap who produced that book, who’re troubled about the whole business. We all think we’re playing comedy rôles, but if we’d just take a good square look at ourselves in the mirror we’d see that we’re made up for tragedy.”
“Lordy! Hear the boy talk! If I’d known you were coming I’d have hidden the book.”
“There’s a joke! I’ve been in several prosperous homes lately where I got a glimpse of that joyous work stuck under the sofa pillows. Everybody’s afraid to be caught with it—afraid it points to a state of panic in the purchaser. It’s the kind of thing folks read and know it’s all true, and get so low in their minds they pull the old black bottle from its hiding place and seek alcoholic oblivion.”
“I bought the thing as a matter of business. If all creation’s going to shoot the chutes I want to be prepared. It’s silly for me to get all set to build houses for people if the world’s coming to an end.”
“By Jove, when the crash comes I’m going to be stuck with a lot of Plantagenets!”
“But this chap thinks the world can be saved! He says in the mad rush to find some joy in life we’re forgetting God. The spiritual spark growing dim—all that sort of thing.”
“Um-m.” Henderson took the pipe from his mouth and peered into the bowl. “Now on this spiritual dope, I’m a sinner—chock full of sin, original and acquired. I haven’t been to church since my wedding except to a couple of funerals—relations where I couldn’t dodge the last sad rites. Cheerless, this death stuff; sort o’ brings you up with a jerk when you think of it. Most of us these days are frantically trying to forget man’s inevitable destiny by running as wild as we dare—blindfolded. It isn’t fashionable to be serious about anything. I tell you, my boy, I could count on the fingers of one hand all the people I know who ever take a good square look at life.”