"And if you do get in, and will let me know, I will report at once to the proper authorities that the gate-keepers have been unfaithful to their trust," said Marion, triumphantly.
"But, my dear madam, what justice is there in that? I have paid my money, and what business is it to them when I present my ticket? That is keeping me out of my just dues."
"Oh, not a bit of it; that is, if you can read, and have, as you admit, read their printed statement that you are not invited to the ground on Sunday. Your fifty-cent ticket will admit you on Monday. And you surely will not argue that the Association has not a right to limit the number of guests that it will entertain over the Sabbath?"
"Yes, I argue that it is their business to let me in whenever I present their ticket."
Marion laughed outright.
"That is marvelous!" she said. "It is wicked for them to receive payment for your coming in on the Sabbath, and it is wicked for them not to let you in on your ticket. Really, I don't see what the Association are to do. They are committing sin either way it is put. I see no way out of it but to have refused to sell you any tickets at all. Would that have made it right?"
The laugh that was raised over this innocently put question seemed to irritate her new acquaintance. He spoke hastily.
"It is a Sabbath-breaking concern, viewed in any light that you choose to put it. There is no sense in holding camp-meetings over the Sabbath, and every one agrees that they have a demoralizing effect."
"Do you mean me to understand you to think that the several thousand people who are now stopping at Chautauqua will be breaking the Sabbath by going out of their tents to-morrow and walking down to the public service?"
The bit of sophistry in this meekly put question was overlooked, or at least not answered, and the logical young gentleman asked: