Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/33

the bitter sweat of unremitting labor. We have invented airplanes that make the whole round earth one community. The earth has shrunk to a neighborhood and we must be good neighbors, sharing our lives together, our lives and destinies.

"Yes, this century of iron and steel," he droned on, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses, "has travelled far beyond the most optimistic goal; the only goal it has not reached is maybe the most vital of all-the human heart. The earth is full of riches and blessings. There is enough and more than enough for everybody. There is only one little detail missing, how to divide the earth's fruits fairly and equitably. That is the greatest task of all."

"Just hand 'em over to me. I'll show you how to take care of 'em," came a sudden shout from someone in the crowd. The unexpected remark halted the cool flow of the speaker's oratory and precipitated a roar of laughter among the listeners. The meek, professorial looking man on the platform seemed to become flustered, and made vague movements with his delicate hands. Someone standing behind poked him in the shoulders and prompted him back to his forgotten speech. He managed to resume, pushed into passionate speech by the anger of the crowd.

"Demagogy," Morris Berger reflected despondently. "It's all nonsense. Good-will isn't enough to accomplish anything. It can't cut bread or slice an onion. It's only the bureaucrats who argue that way-or the sky-scratching idealists, the white- collar workers, the professors, the people who sit on their fannies, in their arm-chairs and ponder about the limits of the illimitable. Such crap-such humbug!" He wanted to shout out, "You don't belong here, brother!" but his natural timidity and habit of silence deterred him. Instead he puffed at his pipe nervously and turned homeward.