You are too ignorant."
I bowed my head, prepared to take my punishment. But at once
Carpenter's voice softened. "You are a part of Mobland," he said;
"you cannot help yourself. In Mobland it is not possible for even a
martyrdom to proceed in an orderly way."
I gazed at him a moment, bewildered. "What's the good of a
martyrdom?" I cried.
"The good is, that men can be moved in no other way; they are in
that childish stage of being, where they require blood sacrifice."
"But what kind of martyrdom!" I argued. "So undignified and
unimpressive! To have hot tar smeared over your body, and be hanged
by the neck like a common criminal!"
I realized that this last phrase was unfortunate. Said Carpenter: "I
am used to being treated as a common criminal."
"Well," said I, in a voice of despair, "of course, if you're
absolutely bent on being hanged--if you can't think of anything you
would prefer--"
I stopped, for I saw that he had covered his face with his hands. In
the silence I heard him whisper: "I prayed last night that this cup
might pass from me; and apparently my prayer has been answered.
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