He made frequent visits to Dismal Dan, but kept entirely away from the store. That place was a sink of iniquity that he desired to avoid. He and the old man spent many hours together that were sweetened with blissful discourse. Dismal Dan felt that a life time devoted to expounding the gospels had found glorious fruition in the salvation of Muskrat Hyatt, and he was greatly elated by the sustained piety of the proselyte.
He proposed to Brother Hyatt that they go together to the store, and, if possible, “convert the bunch on the platform.” In his opinion a successful attack on that citadel of sin would practically put the devil out of business in the river country.
Brother Hyatt willingly consented. He was without fear of ridicule. He floated in an atmosphere of moral purity that the mockery of sinners could not defile.
They took a Bible, two old hymn books, and some lunch to the canoe, and, accompanied by the trustful and devoted Spot, they proceeded down the river. They stopped at the house boat and secured the gun and cartridges that the trapper had left in exchange for the dog, and went on down to the bridge.
On the river they practiced some of the old hymns, in the rendition of which Brother Hyatt displayed a woeful technique. They finally gave up trying to sing them, and Brother Butters droned out the rhythmic lines in a most doleful way, that Brother Hyatt soon imitated successfully.
Brother Butters then outlined the form of exhortation that he would use at the store, and instructed his assistant how he was to cooperate with deep and loud amens, whenever big climaxes were reached. Minor climaxes were to be left to Brother Hyatt’s judgment. He was to watch Brother Butters, and when the forefinger was raised above the head, an amen of more than usual sonorousness was to be forthcoming.
Brother Hyatt had studied the hymn books industriously, and had selected scattered verses that pleased him and seemed appropriate. They were laboriously copied on loose sheets of paper. It was his intention to introduce these snatches of hymns into Brother Butters’s sermon with the amens, whenever possible, and they both considered that holy power would thereby be added to the exhortation. The order in which the extracts were to be introduced was considered on the way down, but the sheets got somewhat mixed in Brother Hyatt’s pocket before it was time to use them.
The enemies of Satan, with their carefully prepared batteries of pious invective and Calvinistic hymns, landed safely under the bridge, late in the afternoon. The canoe was pulled out. Brother Hyatt peeked over the top of the embankment, and saw that the chairs on the store platform were all filled, and that its edge was festooned with the usual attendants.
Tipton Posey, Pop Wilkins, Bill Stiles, Doc Dust, Bill Wirrick, “the Jaundiced Viking,” “the Serpent’s Hiss,” and the other “regulars,” were all there. The vineyard looked ripe and inviting.
Bill Stiles hailed the proselyters cordially as they approached the stronghold.