"I'll pay you, Mose, when I come over." Before Jimmie could answer he was gone. He went to Fagin's, got several drinks, tried his best to pick a fight with Mike, then went home and went to bed. Jimmie ate all there was in sight, and with a full stomach became very cheerful and talked to Mose, the colored waiter. "Gee, I guess me belly t'ought me t'roat was cut. I bet if it could talk it would ast me what I was doin' up dere." CHAPTER VIII _Bill's Pension_ After Mr. and Mrs. Morton had listened to Jimmie's story of Mrs. Cook's prayer, Floe's "gittin' hurted" and Dave's talk, he went into detail as he described the wonderful breakfast he had eaten. "Gee, I was scart I'd bust when I straightened up. I don't feel like I wanted nothin' for a week." "Tell me more about Floe," said Mrs. Morton, much interested. "Do you think she would come to live with us while she is sick? I would love to care for her and be her friend if she would let me." "Do yer mean she can board here?" asked Jimmie in surprise. "No, I want her to come and live with us; I want her for my friend and companion. She can be our Floe and make this her home." "Will her name be Floe Morton then?" asked Jimmie. "Yes, you may call her that if you like, but I do want her to come and live with us. When you go to see her this morning, ask her if she will allow me to see her. If she will, you come right back for me and we will go down together." After prayer Jimmie started for Bucktown, very happy, and confident that the day would be a day of victory for Jesus. His faith was wonderful. His prayers were so simple and childlike; he prayed to God and asked Him for things in the same language and tone of voice he used when he talked to any one else. He had not acquired the professional whine as yet, and for that reason he received answers to his prayers, because he prayed to God and did not whine to the people who might be around to hear him. Many godly people have been shocked in the Mission because some redeemed drunkard would use slang in his fervent prayer to the Almighty. He simply prayed in his own language. The language of the slums is just as much a language as German or French; it must be learned before it can be understood. The idea that these men must not pray until they have learned that professional, unnatural, painful whine, is as absurd as confining prayer to Latin. When a man or woman is occupied by the wording of a prayer and not with the prayer and with their God, it may be beautiful, but it never gets higher than the bald spot on their head. Jimmie prayed as he ran along the railroad tracks, and asked God to help him say the right thing at the right time. "Hello, Bill, yer up, are yer? Yer must be feelin' better." "Yes, he's up and he ain't had a drink ter-day nor las' night, have yer, Bill?" said Mrs. Cook proudly. "And what's more, yer ain't goin' ter have none, are yer, Bill?"