On this occasion he made straight for the space in front of the pulpit, where his vociferous hallelujahs entirely drowned the minister’s voice; while the thud, thud, thud of his feet upon the floor, as he jumped up and down, effectually filled up any gap of stillness which his hallelujahs might have left.
Hezekiah Sneedon knew that the Reverend Mr. Martin’s sermon would be ruined, and he saw all his cherished hopes destroyed in a moment. He was a man of action, and one glance at Sister Williams’ complacent countenance decided him. He rose, touched Isaac Jordan, and said, “Come on, let’s hold him.” Jordan hesitated a minute; but his leader was going on, and there was nothing to do but to follow him. They approached Lewis, and each seized an arm. The man began to struggle. Several other men joined them and laid hold on him.
“Quiet, brother, quiet,” said Hezekiah Sneedon; “dis is de house o’ de Lawd.”
“You lemme go,” shrieked Bud Lewis. “Lemme go, I say.”
“But you mus’ be quiet, so de res’ o’ de congregation kin hyeah.”
“I don’t keer whethah dey hyeahs er not. I reckon I kin shout ef I want to.” The minister had paused in his sermon, and the congregation was alert.
“Brother, you mus’ not distu’b de meetin’. Praise de Lawd all you want to, but give somebidy else a chance too.”
“I won’t, I won’t; lemme go. I’s paid fu’ shoutin’, an’ I’s gwine to shout.” Hezekiah Sneedon caught the words, and he followed up his advantage.
“You’s paid fu’ shoutin’! Who paid you?”