“I'm really afraid you are worse than ever,” sighed Mrs. Lampson. “I don't know what to do with you.” She laughed good-naturedly as she rose and stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. “It really does make me rather mad,” she confessed, “to hear them making you out such a bad stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. I really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, but I do want you to be more religious.” When Miller reached his office about ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank on the corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual occurrence at that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people were on the street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. The church-bell in the next block was ringing for the revivalist's prayer-meeting, and Miller saw the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on their way to worship. Miller stood in his front door and bowed to them as they passed. Trabue hustled out of his office, pulling the door to with a jerk. “Prayer-meeting?” he asked, glancing at Miller. “No, not to-day,” answered Miller; “got some writing to do.” “That preacher's a hummer,” said the old lawyer. “I've never seen his equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe Murphy's converted--got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God all his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if it can do that sort of work.” “He's certainly worth it to Slocum,” said Miller, with a smile. “If I'd been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that to get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot that preacher's bill.” “You are a tough customer, Miller,” said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. “You'd better look out--May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you.” “I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig,” said Miller. “I see his door's not open.” “Oh, I reckon not,” said the old lawyer. “He's been taking part in the meeting. He may have overslept.” There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was a powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, and his suspenders were soiled and knotted. “I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door,” he said. “I've had my eye on it ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went thar to buy some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he wouldn't let me in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an hour ago. I mighty nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that Western fellow, Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon maybe Craig's got all the book-keepin' to do.”