That same Winter I went to a church for another entertainment. I sat in the pulpit beside the minister and every time I stopped for breath he would lean over and whisper:
“Make them laugh! Give them something humorous! Make them laugh!”
He saw that laughter was religion at such a time. It was a gloomy night. The people were sad and discouraged. Their religion was a torment to them at the time. Nothing but laughter could cure them, and I did my best with discouraging results. I will confess that I lost faith for once in my life and quit trying. There was one intelligent and prosperous farmer in the front pew. He seemed to be a leader and I directed my efforts straight to him. It came to be the one desire of my life to make that solemn-faced man laugh, and he would not do it. It seemed to me as if he sat there with his solemn face a little bent forward, like some wise old horse listening to the chatter of a young colt. I could not stir him and I confess that I quit ingloriously and “took up the collection.”
But, when we all went out on the church steps while lanterns were being lighted and the boys brought up the horses I saw my solemn-faced friend talking with another farmer.
“John,” said the farmer as he snapped down the globe of his lantern, “how did you like the show?”
“Well, Henry, it was good all the way through. I am so sore around my ribs that I’m going home to rub liniment on my sides.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, Henry, that young feller was so funny that I never come so nigh to laughing in the House of God as I done tonight. When I get home out of sight of the elder, I am going to stand right up on my hind-legs and holler.”