“They’re guilty if they don’t think,” sez Arvilly, “if they are blest with common sense. If I wuz walkin’ by a deep pond in broad daylight, and see a dozen little children sinking that I might save by a little effort, I wonder how many would believe me when I said that I see ’em drowndin’ but didn’t try to save ’em because I didn’t think. If I had ears and eyes and common sense, and could save ’em and didn’t, I wuz guilty of murder, and so the Lord would look at it and everybody else that knew anything.” And she looked at me some as if I didn’t know anything, jest because I intimated that ministers and church members didn’t want to do such wickedness, but didn’t think––Arvilly is hash. But I had to admit that she had some common sense on her side. Sez she agin:
“The Church of Christ could do anything it wanted to if it jined its forces, took holt as if it meant to do sunthin’, but as it is indifference folds its hands, self interest murders humanity, greed upholds intemperance, and all about us in Church and State are drink makers and drink takers, and heaven knows which of ’em will git to hell first!” Arvilly is dretful hash; when she gits rousted up her indignation is like lightnin’, and she don’t care where it strikes or who. It struck Elder Wessel hard.
“I should be afraid!” sez he, and his voice fairly trembled with indignation, “I should be afraid to talk of the Church of Christ as you do!”
“Let it behave itself then!” sez Arvilly, “be converted and come out on the Lord’s side to the help of the weak aginst the mighty!”
“The saloon,” sez Elder Wessel dogmatically, “is the Poor Man’s Club.” He wuz all rousted up by her hash talk and come out plainer than he had come. “The rich man has his club, and the saloon is the Poor Man’s Club. He has a right to go there for a little recreation.”
“Re-creation!” sez Arvilly. “If you think drinkin’ pizen whiskey is re-creatin’ a man, you’re different from me.”
“And me, too,” sez I. “If you call it re-creatin’ to go to the Poor Man’s Club sober and sane,” sez Arvilly, “and stagger home at midnight crazy drunk, I say he hain’t no right to re-create himself that way; he re-creates himself from a good man and worthy member of society into a fiend, a burden and terror to his family and community. Now Elder White’s idee of re-creatin’ men is different; he believes in takin’ bad men and re-creatin’ ’em into good ones, and I wish that every minister on earth would go and do likewise.”
“I know nothin’ about Elder White,” sez Elder Wessel hautily.
“He’s our minister in Loontown,” sez Arvilly. “He has his church open every night in the week for re-creatin’ in the right way.”