“We shall be glad to hear from the Reverend Mr. Huddleston,” mildly suggested the chairman, who was evincing an enjoyment of the proceedings quite puzzling to Dr. Strong. The old clergyman got slowly to his feet. His mild, weak face was troubled. “Let us bear and forbear,” he pleaded in a tremulous voice. “I cannot believe these charges against our good friend, Professor Gray. I am sure that he is a good and worthy man. He has given most liberally to the church. I am informed that he is a member of his home church in good and regular standing, and I find in the editorial columns of the ‘Church Pillar’ a warm encomium upon his beneficent work, advising all to try his remedies. Surely our friend, Dr. Strong, has been led astray by mistaken zeal. “Only yesterday two members of my congregation, most estimable ladies, called to see me and told me how they had benefited by a visit just made to Professor Gray. He had treated them with his new Gospel Elixir, of which he has spoken to me. There was evidence of its efficacy in their very bearing and demeanor—” “I should say there was! _And_ in their breath. Did you smell it?” The interruption came in a very clear, positive, and distinct contralto. “Great Grimes’s grass-green ghost!” exclaimed Mr. Thomas Clyde, quite audibly amidst the startled hush. “Grandma Sharpless is among those present!” “I—I—I—I do not think,” began the clergyman, aghast, “that the matter occurred to me.” “Because, if _you_ didn’t, _I_ did,” continued the voice composedly. “They reeked of liquor.” The tension to which the gathering had been strung abruptly loosened in mirth. “Mrs. Sharpless will please take the platform,” invited the Mayor-chairman. “No, I’ll do my talking from here.” The old lady stood up, a straight, solid, uncompromising figure, in the center of the floor. “I met those two ladies in the parsonage hall,” she explained. “They were coming out as I was going in. They stopped to talk to me. They both talked at once. I wouldn’t want to say that they were—well—exactly—” “Spifflicated,” suggested a helpful voice from the far rear. “Spifflicated; thank you,” accepted the speaker. “But they certainly were—” “Lit up,” volunteered another first-aid to the hesitant. “Yes, lit up. One of them loaned me her bottle. If I’m any judge of bad whiskey, that was it.” An appreciative roar from the house testified to the fact that Mrs. Sharpless had her audience in hand.