Yet he was so righteously indignant, so wrought up over his heroic task, that the peasants who had risen to remonstrate with him or to attack him, sank back into their seats; while over them all came a solemn silence, broken only by the grinding and jolting of the flat car-wheels. This was the psychological moment for the prophet to declare his mission and preach to us all, and he did. It was a fervent message; one in which much truth and falsehood mingled, and if Dowie's spirit hovered near, his satisfaction at hearing one of his disciples speak of the things for which he fought and on which he throve, would have been marred only by the fact that, for once at least, "Elijah the Second" was outdone. All the Dowie vernacular, translated into the realistic Slavic, was let loose by this apostle. Now it was the voice of some Old Testament prophet which spoke; and again it was as if a John pleaded for love's sake. Then came a jumble of words and bitter invective, which, by comparison, caused the imprecatory Psalms to seem like the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. No sooner had the preacher resumed his seat than the spell he had woven about his auditors was broken. The butter and egg man rose and demanded to be reimbursed for his wasted palenka, concluding his remarks by asserting that in America good people do drink whiskey, that everybody drinks, and that "they make you drink whether you want to or not." "Tak ye," so it is, said a young man, who, as far as his clothing was concerned, might have just stepped out of an American Jockey Club. His voice was guttural and every sentence was punctuated by oaths. "My father keeps a saloon in Hazleton, and the policemen and aldermen come there and drink, and at election time the burgess comes and 'sets 'em up' for everybody." While he spoke, he jingled the money in his pockets and kept his audience much interested by telling about his betting on horse-races, the intricacies of the game of poker, how much money his father made on liquor and what a high and mighty position was that of a saloon-keeper in Hazleton. He was going to Galicia to visit his grandparents, and he meant to show the slow town of Przemysl what it means to have a "hot time." At Hodonin, in Moravia, I had to leave the train; so I bade good-bye to the interesting company. The woman from McKeesport said, as we shook hands, "America all right, and you bet I'm going back just as soon as I have seen to my property." With a contemptuous glance at the young Jew, the Moravian girl said: "Right she is! There's nothing the matter with America, and when I go back, I bet you I'll get an American husband!" "Oh, yes! Of course. They are lying on the shelf waiting for you!" sneered the object of her contempt. The sport tried to be kind in his good-bye words; but he used so many oaths that he became repulsive. When I remonstrated, he said: