"Well, what happened this morning?" he asked.
“Why,” said I to my hostess one day, “don’t Madame X.’s friends look after her? See—she is arching her neck over there in the corner, and I am perfectly certain she has told the man with her that he has been, is, or is going to be a horse.”
At the close of the drama a resonant voice from the stage addressed the throng. It was the ex-archon, Conon.
After listening to this man I thought I could understand in a way that I had not understood before the great success which the Salvation Army at one time had among the masses of the people of East London. In its early days, at least, the Salvation Army was of the people; it picked its preachers from the streets; it appealed to the masses it was seeking to help for its support; in fact, it set the slums to work to save itself. The Salvation Army is not so popular in East London, I understand, as it used to be. One trouble with the Salvation Army, as with much of the effort that has been made to help the people of East London, is that the Salvation Army seeks to reach only those who are already down; it does not attempt to deal with the larger and deeper problem of saving those who have not yet fallen.
For himself, he kept to his black, but his doublet was of velvet, as was the cloak which he now took down, to which he added a heavy gold chain, which so became his gentle face and venerable beard that in my eyes he looked as if he should be always dressed in this fashion. And in the midst of it all I remembered that this was the man to whom I had offered money for a meal, and I was overcome with shame. I suppose he perceived my thought, for he engaged us in talk at once about the festa until my confusion passed off. It seemed mighty strange to us, who had seen Jews so contemned in other places, and heard such stories of their wickedness and cruelty, to listen to one whom we had lately seen so despised and put upon talking as if a festa were his every-day affair, and our appearance the most particular concern he had on hand.
“You do love him! that beast that makes three-headed Cerberus look like a lamb!” cried Asia. “Ladice, you must be crazy! Grief over my poor father and the excitement of the past hour have unbalanced your mind. Come let me get you to bed, though there is yet another hour before set of sun.”
The irregulars, heads bowed, replied, "Namu Amida Butsu," Glory to the Amida Buddha! Hartford, though his training as an Axenite trooper had left him as untouched by religions as by microbes, joined the prayer, feeling that a degree of celestial interest in their stratagem would not be unwelcome.
Just in the midst of the great good news from the West came a thing most sad to the hearts of the Pres-i-dent’s fam-i-ly. One dear boy fell ill. It was Wil-lie Lin-coln.
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