“No, sir, I don’t, for I haven’t any ill-gotten gains. I never sold anything but good liquor, and the price was always fair. I never sold any liquor to a drunken man, either. What I came to you for is this: I know who drinks, when they drink, what they take, and I know pretty well _why_ they drink. Some of them signed the pledge last night, and they’re going to have an awful hard job in keeping it.” “Prayer----” interrupted the minister, but the hard-headed Crupp quickly completed the sentence. “Prayer never cured a dyspeptic stomach, that I’ve heard of, and I don’t believe it’ll take away a man’s hunger for whisky. These fellows that’s been drinking, and have got anything to ’em, _can_ be kept from falling into the old ways again; but they’ve got to be handled carefully, and what I came to you for was to ask who was going to do the handling? You know who’s free-handed with money in your congregation, and free-handed men ought to be free-hearted. I’m going to Dominie Brown on the same errand, and to the other preachers, too.” Mr. Crupp’s speech consumed only a moment of time, but its effect upon the preacher was wonderful--and depressing. From being a mirror of irrepressible Christian exultation, Mr. Wedgewell’s face became as solemn as it ever was when he bemoaned from the pulpit the apathy of the elect. His eyes enlarged behind his glasses, and he stared for a moment in an abstracted manner at a dreadful chromo which hung upon his wall--a chromo at which no one in active possession of his mental faculties could possibly have looked so long. But the old pastor had a heart so great that even his theology had been unable to wall it in, and after a moment of inevitable despondency he realized that Crupp was intent upon doing good. “Mr. Crupp,” said he, turning his head suddenly, and regaining a portion of his earlier expression of countenance, “I do not fully comprehend your intention, but I can see that it is good. May I ask what the people of God can do for these beings who have been under the dominion of alcohol?” “Well, it’s a long story,” replied the old bartender. “Among them that signed, there isn’t one in ten that ever drank, and of them that drank, half of ’em’ll take something before night.” “And break their solemn vow! Awful! awful!” ejaculated the minister.