"You may write your name on that card for me."
Tode obeyed with alacrity, and wrote in capitals, because he had a dim notion that capitals belonged especially to names:
T O D E M A L L.
"What are you going to do for a living after this?" further questioned Mr. Stephens, thoughtfully fingering the ten dollar bill.
"Going to keep a hotel of my own."
"Oh, you are? In what part of the town?"
"Don't know. Down by the depot somewhere, I reckon."
Mr. Stephens folded the ten dollar bill and put it in his pocket. Tode rose to go.
"Now, my friend," said Mr. Stephens, "shall you and I kneel down and thank the Lord Jesus for the care which he has had over you to-night, and for the help which he has given you?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tode, promptly, not having the remotest idea what kneeling down meant, but he followed Mr. Stephens' movement, and was commended to God in such a simple, earnest prayer that he had never heard before. He went out from the house in a sober though happy mood. He felt older and wiser than he did when he entered; he had heard a prayer offered for him, and he had been told that the Lord Jesus was pleased with his attempt to do right. Instead of going home he went around by the depot, and bestowed searching glances on each building as he passed by. Directly opposite the depot buildings there were two rum-shops and an oyster-saloon.