“Well, brother, how are your bones?” was the halfjesting greeting he
gave the old man, as he bustled in, buttoning and unbuttoning his long
black coat and swinging his broad-brimmed hat at his side. “Not holding
court this morning?” He laughed as he looked over the empty chairs.
“No; I sent the last prisoner up for life an hour ago,” the merchant
responded, jovially. “Set down, set down!”
The long-legged man with the poetic face complied. “Well,” he said,
“you'll have to be a judge in that sort of tribunal so long as you
inhabit this globe.” He smiled, showing two fine rows of white teeth.
“It looks like the Lord is pushing you on to unlimited prosperity,
and your work for humanity will increase instead of letting up.
Say, brother, I know the sort of thing you glory in, and I've had
an experience--the sort of experience that makes a fellow feel like
preaching is worth while. It was exactly the kind of thing you are
interested in yourself.”
“What have you run across now?” Whipple asked, as he leaned his elbow on
his desk and rested his florid face on his hand.
“The genuine thing, brother--a genuine reformation in a young chap
hardly out of his teens. He's been coming to my special meetings for
young men, and, as I'm a close observer, I was attracted by his face.
It interested me more than that of any boy's I ever saw. Finally, I
ventured to approach him. I never scare them off if I can help it, but I
singled him out from the rest last Thursday evening and spoke to him. I
saw that he was greatly moved, and I invited him into my study, and we
had a good long heart-to-heart talk. Brother Whipple, I never felt the
glory of God bearing down on me in my life as I did while that boy was
talking--while he was telling me his past history. Crying like his heart
would break, he confessed to having been almost everything a boy could
be--a thief, a tramp, and an all-round, good-for-nothing idler, from his
childhood up to his sudden awakening to what was right.”
“Good, good!” Stephen Whipple ejaculated, his features working, his kind
old eyes twinkling.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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