Here we are like a family." He ordered tea of a waiter who seemed more like a bosom friend.

And leaning eagerly forward, he began to speak in glowing terms of the men and girls from sweatshops who spent their nights in these feasts of the soul, talking, listening, grappling, "for the power to think with minds as clear as the sun when it rises," he ardently cried.

"There is not a night in this city, not one, when hundreds do not talk like this until the breaking of the day! And then they sleep! A little joke! For at six o'clock they must rise to their work! And that is a force," he added, "not only for those people but a force for you and me.

Do you see?
When you feel tired, when all your hopes are sinking low, you think of those people and you say, 'I will go to their places.' And you go.

You listen and you watch their faces, and such fire makes you burn! You go home, you are happy, you have a new life! "And perhaps at last you will have a religion," he continued, in fervent tones.