Naturally, one of the members came to meet the brother; and naturally, again, he took the daily hack which regularly met the train, since it was about a mile and a half from the station to the town. I was the only passenger to get off, and as I had a smooth-shaven face and wore a Prince Albert coat the deacon supposed I was his man. He rushed up, greeted me cordially, grasped my grip and invited me into the hack. I, naturally thinking he was a hotel runner (in these God-forsaken places everyone wears such a forlorn and melancholy look that it is hard to distinguish a preacher from a porter), followed without resistance. We started off at a good gait, the way was rough, and the driver in a hurry. We were the only passengers and sat on the same seat, the front one being occupied by my valise and various packages which seemed to be in care of the driver. Time after time, as the wheels struck a particularly bad spot, my companion and I were jammed together. Whenever this happened he would turn to me with what seemed to be a surprised and aggrieved frown on his face and say: “Look out, brother. Stop, stop.” Finally, after a particularly big lurch, he said positively: “See here, now, I want you to quit.” As I was to blame no more than he for these little, unpleasant accidents, I could not understand his taking them so seriously, but I noticed that he kept getting redder in the face and madder the further we traveled. At first I took it for a local joke and tried to laugh it off, but the more I laughed the madder he grew. The hack was going at a rapid rate, and on turning sharply an angle in the road we were jammed into each other more savagely than ever. This time he jumped up as quick as a flash, his eyes blazing with rage, and let forth such a torrent of words that he cut large holes in the air. Whew! He gave me the worst tongue-lashing I ever got in my life, beating the oration of a mother-in-law. Even she would not have used the language he did, for it was scientifically applied and too strong for ordinary use. By this time I began to smell a mouse, and, taking things calmly, induced him to explain. Then I made an investigation. I had in my pocket a file, which I used to regulate my street torch. The point of it had worked out, and every time we were jammed together he would catch it in his side. The last time it caught him stronger than ever, causing his extreme outburst. He looked from my face to the file, and then from my face to the file again. Then, to my surprise, he suddenly covered his face with his hands and burst into a flood of tears. I have heard men cry, both before and since, but never a strong man weep like he did. It did not turn me against him, but, on the contrary, I tried to console him, and so his story came out. He was a reformed man, who kept violent passions under control only by the greatest effort; and to him it seemed he had sinned beyond pardon, and that there could be no hope for him in the future.