“I am afraid,” said a padre to me once, “the boys are sceptical.”
“Come with me to-morrow,” I answered. “I’ll prove to you they are not sceptical.”
We were half an hour ahead of time and the hut was crowded with eight hundred men. They were singing when I got in—something about “an old rooster—as you used to.”
Do you suppose I had no better sense than to go in and say, “Stop this ungodly music?” You can catch more flies with treacle than with vinegar.
I looked at the boys and said, “That’s great, sing it again.”
And I turned to the padre and asked, “Isn’t that splendid? Isn’t that fine?”
While we were waiting to begin the meeting, I said, “Boys, we must have another.”
“One of the same sort?” they shouted.
“Of course,” was my reply. And they sang “Who’s your lady friend?” and when they had sung that, I called out, “Boys, we will have one more. What shall it be?”
“One of yours, sir.”