Before I left B---, God gave a most blessed realization of his
wonderful watch-care over those who are earnestly trying to serve him.
On Monday, April 9, word reached me that I should be on my guard. The
proprietor of the ---- dance-hall had declared vengeance. I had
accepted an invitation to dine with the chief of police and family that
evening, but on account of this word of warning I deemed it wise to
telephone to the sheriff's office and ask protection. An enemy must
have received the message and responded. When I came out of the house
to keep my dinner engagement, I had walked but a few yards when I
received a sudden impression to look behind me. On a fenceless lawn,
not three feet away, stood --- --- with his hand in his right hip
pocket. Quick as a flash I pointed the forefinger of my right hand in
his face, saying, "You dare not shoot." "Only your sex protects you,
you --- ----- ----," he sneered. Never mind the vocabulary of awful
adjectives and names he hurled at me, dear reader. I've never heard
their equal before or since. There was no one in sight until his sister
presently crossed the road. But God was protecting me, and I knew it.
Then the man sneered about my calling up the sheriff's office for
protection. I now knew he had a coworker there.
When at last there was a chance for me to speak, I quietly told him
that he was soon going to an awful hell unless he quickly amended his
ways, and that God was going to hold him and his kind everlastingly
responsible for the ruination of many, many souls, and implored him to
turn to this outraged God and plead for mercy and pardon before it was
eternally too late. As they turned to recross the street, I added, "God
wants to bless you." With an oath he hurled back at me,"---- ---- ----
----! I don't want God to bless me." Then I heard a fiendish laugh from
behind a hedge; somebody clapped their hands in great glee, and a
woman's voice shouted, "Good for you ----! Give it to her, the ----
---- ---- ---- ----! Why didn't you finish her while you were about
it?" ...
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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