A Guy Called God (Continued from page 5) of enterprises known as Humanity, Inc.; but the newsmen didn't have much time for him now. Twenty-three reporters were to have been there, but only seven showed up. The other sixteen remained in the bar around the corner. They would get the story later from those who did go; there was no use for them all to waste their time. Mr. God sat at his office desk when Miss Magdalene came in to announce the arrival of the press. "Very well," he said, "show them in." The seven reporters filed into Mr. God's resplendent office, six of them leaving their hats on. Mr. God was grateful for their attendance; he said so as he passed cigars to the reporters. They each took a handful. "Gentlemen," Mr. God began, "thank you for coming. I shall try to take only a little of your time. What I have to tell you I believe will be of worth to your various publications; at least it seems to me to be in the public interest. That is how it is intended as it goes from my office. "You realize, gentlemen, that for some time my corpora' tion has been in arrears. The reports your papers have been receiving from my office give indication of that fact. You have been most sympathetic in your appreciation of my diffi-culties, however; for that too, thank you. You have perhaps not realized the nefarious influences I must combat; but I assure you they are many. My secretary cheats me on the time she should work, and she tries to seduce me; I am led into disgrace in a night club; my branch offices report failure; and into the green pastures where my son leads my sheep, the wolves have crept. I am so tired, so very tired, gentlemen. I do not think I can keep my business going much longer. "Then, too, I am saddened when I think of how it has been my own fault, this failure. I started my business from nothing; I created all that is Humanity, Inc., today. But I faltered somehow in the making; the Pots I marred, to turn to ceramics for a symbol of the creation. "Should it be the vessel's fault then, if the hand of the Potter slipped? Perhaps it is the fashioner of the vessel who should abjure himself. That I do, gentlemen; I bring charge against myself of being at fault in the creation of my poor misshapen products. "What am I to do? 'Pish1 your Tent-maker said, 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all be well!' But gentlemen, I am afraid it will not all be well, for my corporation or for myself. My hand slipped in manufacture, yes; but the imperfection is still present in the created, be the fault in the original clay or in the Potter's fumbling fingers. They suffer for the possession, I for the creation; perhaps I most, for I bear the failure of all others. And gentlemen, I am getting old, and so tired. I do not think I can keep my corporation going much longer. "That, gentlemen, is my news for you today. Humanity, Inc., will liquidate, and a general tragedy will see its conclusion. "I was enthusiastic about it at first, many years ago. But I was young then, and ambitious, and in a measure careless. I cannot excuse myself now, however. I did not create the best of all possible worlds. The failure of Humanity, Inc., has caused my own dissolution to be imminent. "Good day, gentlemen." The seven members of the press filed out. The one of the seven who had removed his hat in Mr. God's presence kept it off as they marched down the corridor. When they had left, Mr. God sat for a long time in his inner office alone. Then he got up, walked to the window, and stood gazing far down into the street below. Mr. God walked to his desk, found the cap to an ink bottle, returned to the window, and dropped it. It fell quickly and with a small swishing sound to the sidewalk, bounced, then rolled into the gutter, where it lay glittering. It took such a short time to fall, Mr. God thought, and it must feel pleasant to hurtle through the cool cushiony air. Of a sudden Mr. God chuckled. "I'd like to do that," he said in glee. "I would like to fall from here! When I landed I would make such a pretty splash! A pretty splash!" He chuckled again. "I'll have to try it sometime," he thought as he turned from the window. The stock exchange next morning was a flush of activity as Mr. God entered. Several of the elderly men tipped their hats respectfully to Mr. God. He greeted their politenesses with keen vigor, sleep having dissipated his apathy of the previous evening. Some of the respect accorded Mr. God may have been because of his precarious position in the exchange; one is always inclined to sympathize with the man who is failing. The incessant decline of stock in Mr. God's corporation was commonly discussed. Indeed, such seemed to be the subject of an altercation at the far end of the exchange, where the buying and selling was carried on. A small dark man was making vociferous but unintelligible demands. On closer approach Mr. God discerned that the man was attempting to buy stock in Humanity, Inc. The seller, however, was reluctant. "But I will have it!" the man shrilled. "I dislike selling you the stock," the seller said, and again hesitated. "Ten thousand shares are a great many. And in a failing corporation." Two husky men came in the front door of the exchange and surveyed the room. "There he is!" exclaimed one as his eye caught the troublesome figure. The two guards from the near asylum, for such they were, hurried across the room, and each grasped the dark little man by an arm. "Let me loose," the little man screamed. "I want to buy my stock! I want ten thousand shares of Humanity, Inc.'" "He's crazy," one of the guards explained. "He just escaped." He jerked the captive's arm. "Come on, let's get going back." Mr. God observed the incident without a word. The humor of it brought a smile to his lips, but his thoughts were sober. A crazy man wanting to buy stock in his corporation! Yes, perhaps only a crazy man would. Mr. God returned to his office that afternoon and went directly to his private room. He sat again looking from his lofty window down upon what was not the best of all possible worlds. Humans swarmed along the streets far below. But (Continued on page 16) Page Fourteen Winslow. Page Fifteen