The young preacher compelled her gaze.
"No time for the gospel message? Read these, then," he added, smiling into her eyes, as he handed her a few tracts.
Venna took them with a "Thank you," and as she walked away with her father, she heard the young preacher's first words ring out to the crowd.
"My friends, that Divine music has thrilled your souls. What prompted that young lady to stop? It was the Spirit of God, working in this city of worldliness and"—
Venna heard no more—her father was walking her rapidly away. She folded the tracts, and put them in her bag.
"You're not angry with me, Daddy?" she asked at last, breaking the silence as they swung down Broadway.
"Angry, child? No! But don't do it again. Your aunt would never approve of such unconventionalism. You are too impulsive. Be dignified—even in religion."
"But Christ went into the highways. Oh, I like that young preacher so! He didn't look as though he had any 'may-bes!'"
"Forget him, Venna. Now what theatre shall we go to?"
Venna decided and they were soon sitting comfortably in their box, listening to the newest light opera New York had to offer.