the mud town with the smell and the sore-eyed children. Fact is, both of 'em guessed wrong."
"Sir?"
"Listen," Tinker said; and he became profoundly serious. "There's only just about one single thing been really cleared up in a religious line, you might say, in all the time these two old fellows been lyin' in this soil, and what is it? Listen, John—it's simply this: the human race has got to make progress. Well, you might ask: 'What for? Where's it got to progress to? It don't seem much use to be goin' unless you're goin' somewhere, so where are you goin'?' Well, that's a sensible question, and both these old dead fellows would probably 'a' given you the same answer. 'Goin' to try to keep out o' hell and get to heaven,' they'd 'a' said. So listen—that's out o' date. The only hell we worry about nowadays is slippin' back in our progress; we got to show a bigger and better business this year than we did last year."
"Sir?"
"It's like this, John," Tinker said benevolently. "The Almighty doesn't care a nickel about anything except our makin' that progress. He'll wipe us out in a minute if we don't make it. He'll wipe us out and go on about His business and never give us an-
