"I s'pose you get your way, but Court's keen
intellectually, and if he happens to strike a good preacher he's liable
to fall for what he says, in the mood he's in now."
"Well, he won't strike a good preacher. There isn't one nowadays. There
are orators in the pulpit, plenty of them, but they're all preaching
about politics these days, or raving about uplifting the masses, and
that sorta thing won't hurt Court. Most of 'em are dry as punk. If Court
keeps awake through the service he won't go again, mark my words."
They chose a church at random, these two who had decided to go up to the
house of God. High-arched and Gothic were its massive walls, with intricate
carving like lace in the stonework. Softly swung leather doors shut the
sanctuary from the outer world. The fretted gold-and-blue-and-scarlet
ceiling stretched away miles, as it were, in the space above them, and
rich carvings in dark, costly wood met the wonderful frescoes at lofty
heights. The carpets were soft, and the pews were upholstered in tones
to match. A great silence brooded over the place, making itself felt
above and beneath the swelling tones of the wonderful organ. People trod
the aisles softly, like puppets playing each his part. They bent in form
of prayer for a moment and settled into silence. The minister came
stiffly into the pulpit, casting a furtive eye about his congregation.
They noticed almost at once that the most unpopular professor in the
university was acting as usher on the other side of the church.
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