The Doctor [108]
terror-stricken, hunted. From the trembling lips of the man he heard the words of base denial, "I know not the man," and in his heart there rose a cry, "O Christ! shall I do this?" "No," came the answer, strong and clear, from his lips, "I will not do this thing, so help me God."
Margaret turned quickly around and looked at him in dismay. "You won't?" she said faintly.
"I'll take the service," he replied, setting the long jaws firmly together. And with that they went forth to the hall.
They found the place crowded far beyond its capacity, for through Tommy Tate it had been noised abroad that Dr. Bailey was to preach. There were wild rumors, too, that the doctor had "got religion," although "Mexico" and his friends scouted the idea as utterly impossible.
"He ain't the kind. He's got too much nerve," was "Mexico's" verdict, given with a full accompaniment of finished profanity.
Tommy's evidence, however, was strong enough to create a profound impression and to awaken an expectation that rose to fever pitch when Barney and Margaret made their way through the crowds and took their places, Margaret at the organ, which Dick usually played himself, and Barney at the table upon which were the Bible and the Hymn-book. His face wore the impenetrable, death-like mark which had so often baffled "Mexico" and his gang over the poker table. It fascinated "Mexico" now. All the years of his wicked manhood "Mexico" had, on principle, avoided anything in the shape of a religious meeting, but to-day the attraction of a poker player preaching proved irresistible. It was with no small surprise that the crowd saw "Mexico," with two or three of his gang, make their way toward the front to the only seats left vacant.
When it became evident beyond dispute that his old-time enemy was to take the preacher's place, "Mexico" leaned over to his pal, "Peachy" Bud, who sat between him and Tommy Tate, and muttered in an undertone audible to those in his immediate neighbourhood, "It's his old game. He's runnin' a blank bluff. He ain't got the cards."
But painful experience shook "Peachy's" confidence in his friend's judgment on this particular point, and he only ventured to reply, "He's got the lead." "Peachy" preferred to await developments.
The opening hymn was sung with the hearty fervour that marks the musical part of any religious service in the West. But there was in the voices that curious thrill that is at once the indication and the quickening of intense excitement.
"This here'll show what's in his hand," said "Peachy," when the moment for prayer arrived. "Peachy" was not unfamiliar with religious services, and had, with unusual keenness of observation, noted that when a man undertook to pray he must, if he be true, reveal the soul within him.
"Mexico" grunted a dubious affirmative. But "Peachy" was disappointed, for in a voice reverent, but unimpassioned, the preacher for the day led the people's devotions, using the great words taught those men long ago who knew not how to pray, "Our Father who art in Heaven."
"Blanked if he ain't bluffed again! We've got to wait till he begins to shoot, I guess," said "Peachy," mixing his figures.
The lesson was the parable of the unforgiving debtor and the parallel passage containing the matchless story of the sinful woman and the proud Pharisee. In the reading of these lessons the voice, which had hitherto carried the strident note of nervousness, mellowed into rich and subduing fulness. The men listened with that hushed attention that they give when words are getting to the heart. The utter simplicity of the reader's manner, the dignity of his bearing, the quiet strength that showed itself in every tone, and the undercurrent of emotion that made the voice vibrate like a stringed instrument, all these, with the marvellous authoritative tenderness of the great utterance on a theme so closely touching their daily experience, gripped these men and held them in complete thrall.
When the reading was done the doctor stood for some moments looking his audience
Margaret turned quickly around and looked at him in dismay. "You won't?" she said faintly.
"I'll take the service," he replied, setting the long jaws firmly together. And with that they went forth to the hall.
They found the place crowded far beyond its capacity, for through Tommy Tate it had been noised abroad that Dr. Bailey was to preach. There were wild rumors, too, that the doctor had "got religion," although "Mexico" and his friends scouted the idea as utterly impossible.
"He ain't the kind. He's got too much nerve," was "Mexico's" verdict, given with a full accompaniment of finished profanity.
Tommy's evidence, however, was strong enough to create a profound impression and to awaken an expectation that rose to fever pitch when Barney and Margaret made their way through the crowds and took their places, Margaret at the organ, which Dick usually played himself, and Barney at the table upon which were the Bible and the Hymn-book. His face wore the impenetrable, death-like mark which had so often baffled "Mexico" and his gang over the poker table. It fascinated "Mexico" now. All the years of his wicked manhood "Mexico" had, on principle, avoided anything in the shape of a religious meeting, but to-day the attraction of a poker player preaching proved irresistible. It was with no small surprise that the crowd saw "Mexico," with two or three of his gang, make their way toward the front to the only seats left vacant.
When it became evident beyond dispute that his old-time enemy was to take the preacher's place, "Mexico" leaned over to his pal, "Peachy" Bud, who sat between him and Tommy Tate, and muttered in an undertone audible to those in his immediate neighbourhood, "It's his old game. He's runnin' a blank bluff. He ain't got the cards."
But painful experience shook "Peachy's" confidence in his friend's judgment on this particular point, and he only ventured to reply, "He's got the lead." "Peachy" preferred to await developments.
The opening hymn was sung with the hearty fervour that marks the musical part of any religious service in the West. But there was in the voices that curious thrill that is at once the indication and the quickening of intense excitement.
"This here'll show what's in his hand," said "Peachy," when the moment for prayer arrived. "Peachy" was not unfamiliar with religious services, and had, with unusual keenness of observation, noted that when a man undertook to pray he must, if he be true, reveal the soul within him.
"Mexico" grunted a dubious affirmative. But "Peachy" was disappointed, for in a voice reverent, but unimpassioned, the preacher for the day led the people's devotions, using the great words taught those men long ago who knew not how to pray, "Our Father who art in Heaven."
"Blanked if he ain't bluffed again! We've got to wait till he begins to shoot, I guess," said "Peachy," mixing his figures.
The lesson was the parable of the unforgiving debtor and the parallel passage containing the matchless story of the sinful woman and the proud Pharisee. In the reading of these lessons the voice, which had hitherto carried the strident note of nervousness, mellowed into rich and subduing fulness. The men listened with that hushed attention that they give when words are getting to the heart. The utter simplicity of the reader's manner, the dignity of his bearing, the quiet strength that showed itself in every tone, and the undercurrent of emotion that made the voice vibrate like a stringed instrument, all these, with the marvellous authoritative tenderness of the great utterance on a theme so closely touching their daily experience, gripped these men and held them in complete thrall.
When the reading was done the doctor stood for some moments looking his audience