Griggs: Well, I presume because they are posing to be disinterested. When they take away such big returns we set them down as hypocrites.
Briggs: But they have a right to make a living.
Griggs: You might say that of any one else—any get-rich-quick chap, for example, provided he can get away with it.
Briggs: But the get-rich-quick man is cheating his customers.
Griggs: Well, a good many people feel that both Bryan and Sunday are cheating their customers. I don’t say they are, mind you. I am only giving that side of the argument, and, according to it, they are deluding their customers with false hopes. Bryan says that a combination of free silver, grape juice, and peace will cure all ills, and he gets five hundred dollars a lecture for saying it. Billy Sunday gets thousands of dollars for dragging hell out into the limelight. They are both popular forms of amusement. They divert the mind. Why shouldn’t they be paid? There are far worse moving-picture shows than Bryan or Sunday.
Briggs: You believe that, now, don’t you? Be honest and say it’s your genuine opinion, and not put it off on someone else.
Griggs (Lowering his voice): Well, I’ll tell you, old chap. I believe it about Bryan, but not about Sunday. Sunday’s all right. He hates money! How do you feel about it?
Briggs: You’re wrong. I believe it about Sunday, but not about Bryan. Bill Bryan is all right. He’s a patriot. I wouldn’t trust Sunday, but W.J. Bryan’s whole thought is for others. (Looking at his watch.) Heavens! I didn’t realize it was so late. I must rush off.
Griggs: Is it that late? I must hurry away also. Where are you going?
Briggs: I’m going to hear Sunday. Where are you going?
Griggs: I’m going to hear Bryan.
When James B. Reynolds was Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, Senator Root sent for Mr. Reynolds one day to discuss with him some matters concerning a trade conference in Paris which Mr. Reynolds had been selected to attend.
“I suppose,” said Mr. Root, “you speak French?”
“Well, yes,” responded Mr. Reynolds. “I know a little French. I have no trouble to make the waiters and the cab drivers understand me.”
“I see,” said Mr. Root. “But, Mr. Reynolds, suppose there should be no waiters and cab drivers at the conference?”
Much sobered by the importance of the news he had to communicate, youthful Thomas strode into the house and said breathlessly:
“Mother, they have a new baby next door, and the lady over there is awful sick. Mother, you ought to go right in and see her.”
“Yes, dear,” said his mother. “I will go over in a day or two just as soon as she gets better.”