Job Slip, who had somehow managed to take an extra drop from his pocket bottle during the electric disturbance of the last half hour, was staggering up the broad aisle, with the Italian and the sober man at either elbow. “Lemme go!” cried Job, with an air of unprecedented politeness. “Lemme get up thar whar I ken make a speech. D---- ye, I won’t cuss ye, for this is a meetin’-house, but I _will_ make my speech!” “Hush, Job!” said the girl in the sailor hat. She came forward before all the people and laid her hand upon the drunkard’s arm. “Hush, Job, hush! You bother the minister. Come away, Job, come away. Mari’s here, and the young one. Come along to your wife, Job Slip!” “I’ll join my wife when I get ready,” said Job solemnly, “for it’s proper that I should; but I ain’t a-goin’ to stand by an’ see a man that licked me licked out’n his rights an’ not do nothin’ for him! No, sir! Gentlemen,” cried Job pleasantly, assuming an oratorical attitude and facing round upon the disturbed house, “I’ll stick up for the minister every time. It ain’t _his_ fault he was late to meetin’. You hadn’t oughter kick him out for that, now! It’s all along of me, gentlemen! I drink--and he--ye see--don’t. I was threshin’ the life out’n my little boy down to Angel Alley, and he knocked me down for’t. Fact, sir! That there little minister, he knocked _me_ down. I’ll stand by him every round now, you bet! _I_’ll see’t he gets his rights in his own meetin’-house!” Half a dozen hands were at Job’s mouth; a dozen more dragged him back. The Council sprang to their feet in horror. But Job squared off, and eyed these venerable Christians with the moral superiority of his condition. He pushed on towards the pulpit. “Come on, Tony!” he cried to the Italian. “Come, Ben! You, Lena!” He beckoned to the girl, who had shrunk back. “Tell Mari an’ Joey to foller on! Won’t hear us, won’t they? Well, we’ll see! There ain’t a cove of the lot of _them_ could knock me down! Jest to save a little fellar’s bones! Gentlemen! look a’ here. Look at us. _We’re the delegation from Angel Alley, Sir._ Now, sir, what are you pious a-goin’ to do with _us_?” But a white, firm hand was laid upon Job’s shoulder. Pale, shining, frowning, Bayard stood beside him. “Come, Job,” he said gently, “come out with me, and we will talk it over.” The broad aisle quickly cleared, and the rejected minister left the church with the drunkard’s hand upon his arm. The remainder of the delegation from Angel Alley followed quietly, and the soft, green baize doors closed upon them. “Say,” said Job Slip, recovering a portion of his scattered senses in the open air,--“say, I thought you said they didn’t fight where you was goin’?” The drunkard’s wife stood outside. She was crying. Bayard looked at her. He did not know what to say. Just then he felt a tug at the tail of his coat, and small, warm fingers crept into his cold hand. He looked down. It was the little boy. VI.