The speaker beamed modestly upon his hearers.  Gideon was quick to clutch the moment’s pause.

“What about this boy Merle?” he demanded before Dave could resume.

“Oh, him?” said Dave.  “Him and his holy rolling?  Is that all you want to know?  Why didn’t you say so?  That’s easy!  You’ve raised him to be a house cat.  So shut off his cream.”

“A house cat!” echoed Harvey D., shocked.

“No education,” resumed Dave.  “No savvy about the world.  Set him down in Spokane with three dollars in his jeans and needing to go to Atlanta.  Would he know how?  Would he know a simple thing like how to get there and ride all the way in varnished cars?”

“Is it possible?” murmured Harvey D.

The Whipples had been dazed by the cosmic torrent, but here was something specific;—­and it was astounding.  They regarded the speaker with awe.  They wanted to be told how one could perform the feat, but dreaded to incur a too-wordy exposition.

“Not practical enough, I dare say,” ventured Harvey D.

“You said it!” replied Dave.  “That’s why he’s took this scarlet rash of socialism and holy rolling that’s going the rounds.  Of course there are plenty that are holy rollers through and through, but not this boy.  It’s only a skin disease with him.  I know him.  Shut off his cream.”

“I said the same!” declared Sharon Whipple, feeling firm ground beneath his feet for the first time.

“You said right!” approved Dave.  “It would be a shock to him,” said Harvey D.  “He’s bound up in the magazine.  What would he say?  What would he do?”

“Something pretty,” explained Dave.  “Something pretty and high-sounding.  Like as not he’d cast you off.”

“Cast me off!” Harvey D. was startled.

“Tell you you are no longer a father of his.  Don’t I know that boy?  He’ll half mean it, too, but only half.  The other half will be showing off—­showing off to himself and to you people.  He likes to be noticed.”

Sharon Whipple now spoke.

“I always said he wouldn’t be a socialist if he couldn’t be a millionaire socialist.”

“You got him!” declared Dave.

“I shall hate to adopt extreme measures,” protested Harvey D.  “He’s always been so sensitive.  But we must consider his welfare.  In a time like this he might be sent to prison for things printed in that magazine.”

“Trust him!” said Dave.  “He wouldn’t like it in prison.  He might get close enough to it to be photographed with the cell door back of him—­but not in front of him.”

“He’ll tell us we’re suppressing free speech,” said Harvey D.