This idea is destroying your will, your brain, your
religion, and will finally sap the moral fiber of your character.
It is the greatest sentimentalist."
Gordon grunted.
"It's funny how you have the faculty of putting the opposition in
terms of its last absurdity."
"Grunt if you like; I'm in dead earnest. You want to put on the
brakes. You've struck the down grade. Socialism takes the temper
out of the steel fiber of character. It makes a man flabby. It is
the earmark of racial degeneracy. The man of letters who is poisoned
by it never writes another line worth reading; the preacher who
tampers with it ends a materialist or atheist; the philanthropist
bitten by it, from just a plain fool, develops a madman; while the
home-builder turns free-lover and rake under its teachings."
"You're a beauty to grieve over the loss to the world of home-builders!"
Gordon cried, with scorn.
"Maybe my grief is a little strained--but really, Frank, I hate
women, not because I don't feel the need of their love--"
He drew the muscles of his big mouth together and looked thoughtfully
out of the window with his single piercing eye.
"No; for the first time on that point I'll make an honest, clean
confession to you.
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