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I went downtown the next morning after I had become a certified one hundred per cent. convert, and was met by swarms of Brothers and Sisters who overwhelmed me with congratulations, and regaled me with tales of their own experiences when they saw God, and of the temptations that the Devil would now prepare for me. It seemed that I was not yet safe; I had, so far as they knew, accepted God and was one of His chosen children, although not a Jew, but He would still permit Satan to have his way with me upon occasion. I was instructed to walk humbly and with downcast eyes, not daring to look up lest I be led into sin. The Brothers, gloating the while, seemed especially anxious that the handsome young virgins of the town should not induce me to tread the scarlet paths of wickedness; the Sisters were more concerned with the Drink Demon, and the evils of playing cards and dancing. One Sister stopped me in front of Morris Brothers’ store and, beating time with her hand, lifted her voice in song:
“Yield not to temptation,
For yielding is sin.”
And so on.
Nearly all of them seemed to be obsessed by the conviction that at last I had done something to justify my ancestry; that Bishop Asbury had looked down from the Heavenly Mansions upon Brother McConnell’s revival meeting and had approved the manner in which my conversion had been brought about.
“The Bishop is proud of you to-day, Herbie,” said one devout Brother who sold shoddy clothing at high prices. “Last night was a great night for God and the Bishop.”
I did not ask him how he knew that Bishop Asbury was proud of me, nor did I inquire into the source of his information that the conversion, by force, of a fourteen-year-old boy was a great thing for God. I merely said: “Yes, sir,” and went my way. But it went on day after day; everybody in town, it seemed, had a word to say about the pride that now swelled the heart of the Bishop as he went about among the virgins of Heaven and lolled on a cloud strumming his golden harp and producing platinum and diamond music. I got very tired of it, and finally, to one old Sister who had apparently thought of nothing else for a week, I said:
“Oh, to hell with the Bishop!”
What blasphemy! She gasped and hurried away, and long before I reached home she had telephoned and told my mother that I had blasphemed and cried out against God. Naturally, my mother was worried; she thought from the tale told to her that I had gone up and down the streets of the town shouting defiance of God and yelling open praise of the Devil and all his works. But I told her the whole story, and she listened without comment, and when I had finished all she said was this: