Mr. Adams, who accompanied us on that excursion, pricked up his ears and, bending his head, listened attentively. He made a sign to us to come closer. What we heard was very much like the scene in the New York flophouse which we saw on our first evening in America. With this exception : there paupers were being persuaded, while here the rich were being persuaded. But they were being persuaded in absolutely the same manner—by means of living witnesses and incontrovertible facts.

"Brothers," the elderly gentleman was saying," twenty years ago I was poor and unhappy. I lived in San Francisco. I had no job. My wife was dying. My children were starving. I could turn nowhere for help, except to God. And one morning the voice of God said to me: ' Go to New York and get a job in an insurance company.' I forsook everything and made my way to New York. Hungry and in tatters, I walked through the streets and waited for the Lord to help me. Finally, I saw the sign of an insurance company and understood that God had sent me to that place. I entered the huge and shiny building. In my tattered suit they did not want to let me see the manager. I nevertheless went to him and said:

" 'I want to get a job from you.'

"'Do you know the insurance business?' he asked me.

"'No,' I answered in a firm voice.

"'Why, then, do you want to work for an insurance company?'

"I looked at him and I said:

"' Because the Lord God sent me to you.'

"The director did not say anything in reply to me. He called out his secretary and told him to give me a job as an elevator operator."

Having reached this point, the narrator stopped.

"What happened to you then?" one of his auditors asked impatiently.

"You want to know what I am now? Now I am the vice-president of that insurance company. It was God who did that."

We walked out of the church somewhat dumbfounded.

"No, gentlemen," Mr. Adams said excitedly. "Have you heard? I one businessman can in all seriousness tell another businessman, to the sound of calculating machines and telephone bells, that God sent him there to him to get a job, and this recommendation by God is actually taken into consideration, then you can see for yourself that this is a very useful, businesslike God. That is the real American God, of offices and business, not some European chatterbox with a penchant for useless philosophy. Even Catholicism has acquired special attributes in America. Father Coughlin has built himself his own radio station and he advertises his God no less frantically than Coca-Cola is advertised. Seriously, European religions do not suit Americans. They are predicated on an insufficiently businesslike basis. Besides, they are too clever for the average American. He needs something simpler. He must be told which god to worship. He cannot decide for himself. Besides, he has no time to make the decision; he is a busy man. I repeat, he must have a simple religion, telling him definitely what advantages a given religion yields, how much it will cost him, and in what way this religion is better than others. But whatever you say, do say it concretely. The American cannot endure vagueness."

Once, when we were sitting in our Hollywood Hotel, hard at work, the Adamses ran into our room. We had never before seen them in such a dither. Mr. Adams's coat hung on only one of his shoulders, just as it had hung on Pushkin before the duel. He emitted inarticulate cries, and minute by minute his face turned redder and redder. Mrs. Adams, meek Mrs. Adams, who never lost her presence of mind and her composure, even while we were crossing the icy mountain passes, was running around the room and exclaiming from time to time:

"Why didn't I have a revolver with me? I would have shot her like a dog!"

"No, Becky, would shoot her like a dog!"

We were frightened.

"What's come over you? Whom are you going to shoot like a dog? Why like a dog?"

But more than ten minutes passed before the Adamses calmed down and were able to begin the story of what had so incensed them.

We learned that early that morning, not wishing to wake us, they departed for Los Angeles to hear a sermon by a well-known woman in America who had created a new religion, Aimee McPherson.

After quibbling about who should tell the story, Mr. Adams, as usual, won out.

"Gentlemen, it is simply incredible!" he cried in a stentorian voice. "You have missed a lot because you were not with us. Write it down in your little books that we all lost out. And so, Becky and I went to the temple of Aimee McPherson. In spite of the fact that it was still a whole hour before the sermon was to begin, the church was full. More than a thousand people were sitting there. All of them were good, simple people. The ushers evidently decided that we were important people, so they placed us in the first row. Very well. We sit and wait. Yes, yes. Of course, in the meantime we got into conversation with our neighbours. Excellent people. One of them, a farmer from Iowa; another, had also journeyed here especially for this. He has a small ranch in Nevada. Good, honest people, who want to believe in something, who long for spiritual sustenance. They must be given something without fail! They need something, gentlemen! Finally, we hear music. A flourish of music blares forth, and, just as in a circus, Aimee McPherson appears, marcelled, all in curls, with a raspberry manicure, in a white cape, all primped up and rouged. No longer young, but still good-looking. Everybody is elated. And why not? Just think of it, gentlemen! Instead of a dull preacher, a handsome modern woman comes out. And do you know what she said? It was frightful!"

"If I only had a revolver," Mrs. Adams interposed. "I would have..."

"No, no, Becky, you must not be so bloodthirsty. And you must not interrupt me. And so, gentlemen, I will not bother to repeat to you the nonsense she talked. In Europe it would have called forth laughter, even from the most ignorant people. But we are in America! Here you must say only very simple things. My word of honour, the good people who filled the church were in raptures. The spiritual food which Aimee McPherson offered to them would not have suited even a canary, if a canary needed religion. Crude charlatanism, manured with pathetic witticisms, and a considerable quantity of eroticism in the form of a chorus of young women in transparent white dresses. But the main thing was still ahead! We learned that Aimee McPherson needed a hundred thousand dollars to repair the temple. A hundred thousand dollars, gentlemen, is big money even in rich America. And I must tell you that Americans do not like to part with their dollars. You understand yourself that if she had merely asked the assembly to contribute money for the repair of the temple, she would not have collected much. But she thought up a trick of genius! The orchestra, which was shaking the joists, became silent; and, marcelled, like an angel, Sister McPherson again turned to the crowd. Her speech was truly inspiring. Gentlemen, you missed everything because you did not hear that amazing speech. ' Brothers,' she said,'money is needed. Not for me, of course, but for God. Can you give God one penny for every pound of your body's weight which He has given to you as a gift of His unutterable grace ? Only one penny? It isn't much! Only one penny God asks of you! Will you refuse Him that?'

"And right away the attendants ran down the aisles, distributing leaflets on which was printed:

"' Pray, weigh yourself, and pay!'

"' Only one penny for each pound of your live weight. Weigh yourselves! Weigh your relatives!Weigh your friends!'