Then I observe a new phenomenon:  a man gliding here and there among the bootstrap-lifters, approaching from the rear and slipping his hands into their pockets.  The position of the spiritual exercisers greatly facilitates his work; their eyes being cast up to heaven, they do not see him, their thoughts being occupied, they do not heed him; he goes through their pockets at leisure, and transfers the contents to a bag he carries, and then moves on to the next victim.  I watch him for a while, and finally approach and ask, “What are you doing, sir?”

He answers, “I am picking pockets.”

“Oh,” I say, puzzled by his matter-of-course tone.  “But—­I beg pardon—­are you a thief?”

“Oh, no,” he answers, smilingly, “I am the agent of the Wholesale Pickpockets’ Association.  This is Prosperity.”

“I see,” I reply.  “And these people let you—­”

“It is the law,” he says.  “It is also the gospel.”

I turn, following his glance, and observe another person approaching—­a stately figure, clad in scarlet and purple robes, moving with slow dignity.  Ha gazes about at the sweating and grunting hordes; now and then he stops and lifts his hands in a gesture of benediction, and proclaims in rolling tones, “Blessed are the Bootstrap-lifters, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.”  He moves on, and after a bit stops and announces again, “Man doth not live by bread alone, but by every word that cometh out of the mouth of the prophets and priests of Bootstrap-lifting.”

Watching a while longer, I see this majestic one approach the agent of the Wholesale Pickpockets’ Association.  The agent greets him as a friend, and proceeds to transfer to the pockets of his capacious robes a generous share of the loot which he has collected.  The majestic one does not cringe, nor does he make any effort to hide what is going on.  On the contrary he cries aloud, “It is more blessed to give than to receive!” And again he cries, “The laborer is worthy of his hire!” And a third time he cries, yet more sternly, “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s!” And the Bootstrap-lifters pause long enough to answer:  “Lord have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law!” Then they renew their straining and tugging.

I step up, and in timid tones begin, “Reverend sir, will you tell me by what right you take this wealth?”

Instantly a frown comes upon his face, and he cries in a voice of thunder, “Blasphemer!” And all the Bootstrap-lifters desist from their lifting, and menace me with furious looks.  There is a general call for a policeman of the Wholesale Pickpockets’ Association; and so I fall silent, and slink away in the throng, and thereafter keep my thoughts to myself.