"
"By chanting the Athanasian creed at 'em, I suppose," said the big
employer, betraying the sneer he had been hiding hitherto.
"This thing is a fight," said the big employer, carrying on before the
bishop could reply. "Religion had better get out of the streets until
this thing is over. The men won't listen to reason. They don't mean
to. They're bit by Syndicalism. They're setting out, I tell you, to be
unreasonable and impossible. It isn't an argument; it's a fight. They
don't want to make friends with the employer. They want to make an end
to the employer. Whatever we give them they'll take and press us for
more. Directly we make terms with the leaders the men go behind
it.... It's a raid on the whole system. They don't mean to work the
system--anyhow. I'm the capitalist, and the capitalist has to go. I'm to
be bundled out of my works, and some--some "--he seemed to be rejecting
unsuitable words--"confounded politician put in. Much good it would do
them. But before that happens I'm going to fight. You would."
The bishop walked to the window and stood staring at the brilliant
spring bulbs in the big employer's garden, and at a long vista of
newly-mown lawn under great shapely trees just budding into green.
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