“To make themselves feel good,” repeated the other perplexed.
“Sure!” said the man. “You take one of those rich women—she's got a lot of money that she never earned, and she spends all her life amusing herself and ordering servants about. And all the time she knows that most of the people—the people that do the work—are suffering and dying. And she don't want to let that make her feel bad, so she hires some fellow like your friend, the doctor, to preach to 'em—and maybe give 'em a turkey at Christmas. And that takes the trouble off her mind. Don't you see?”
“Yes,” said the other weakly. “I see.”
“Or else,” added Charlie, “take some of those smooth grafters they've got up there—the men, I mean. They spend six days in the week cutting other people's throats, and robbing the public. Don't you think it's handy for them to know they can come on Sunday and drop a five-dollar-bill in the plate, and square the whole account?”
Samuel sought for a reply to these cruel taunts. “I don't think you put it quite fairly,” he protested.
“Why not?” demanded the other.
“In the first place, men like that wouldn't go to church—”
Charlie stared at him. “What!” he exclaimed.
“No,” said the boy.
“Why not?”