they do it in Saint Peter's at Rome and in Westminster Abbey and Saint
John's Cathedral in New York. Why shouldn't we do it here in our little
churches?"

"Make a note of it, J.W.," ordered Joe. "It's worth suggesting to some
of the preachers."

J.W. made his note, rather absently, and offered a conclusion of his
own:

"The church must take note of the town's sore spots too. I've found out
that crowding people in tenements and shacks means disease and
immorality. Isn't that the church's affair? Angus MacPherson has taught
me that when the jobs are gone little crimes come, followed by bigger
ones; and sickness comes too, with the death rate going up. Babies are
born to unmarried mothers, and babies, with names or without, die off a
lot faster in the river shacks and the east side tenements than they do
up this way. Maybe the church couldn't help all this even if it knew;
but I'm for asking it to know."

"I'll vote for that," Joe asserted, "if you'll vote for my proposition,
which is this: our churches must quit trying just to be prosperous; they
must quit competing for business like rival barkers at a street fair;
they must begin to find out that their only reason for existence is the
service they can give to those who need it most; they've got to believe
in each other and work with each other and with all the other town
forces that are trying to make a better Delafield."

"That's right," said J.W. "I was talking to Mr. Drury this morning, and
I asked him what he would think of our starting a suggestion list. He