Reverend John Wesley Robinson had just returned from his morning service in the First Methodist Church, pleasantly tired and stimulated by the exercise of his sacred office. He was a young man of vigorous, indeed athletic, physical frame, of excellent education, and was supposed to be somewhat radical in his theological position; a popular preacher and, in vulgar parlance, “a good mixer”; greatly liked by his congregation too he was, and by his wife adored. To the companions of his boyhood days and to his college mates he was known as “Wes” Robinson, but his wife, being of High Anglican extraction and accepting his denominational relations with considerable reluctance, abjured the “Wesley” in his name and called him Jack.
He was late for lunch and therefore was received at the door with vigorous chiding.
“You are terribly late, Jack. I pity your people this morning. Why did you preach such a long sermon? What in all the world keeps you till this hour?”
“Am I late? I suppose I am. I apologise. And I shall be ready for lunch in three minutes. I have had an exciting experience.”
“Well, hurry then,” she cried after him as he ran upstairs.
Settled down for lunch and with the preliminaries well on the way, the minister’s wife proceeded to question her husband as to his exciting experience.
“Now tell me all about it,” she said, “and begin at the beginning. Did you have a good congregation?”
“A great congregation,” replied her husband. “And splendid singing.”
“And, of course,” said his wife, “a good sermon. Did you ‘make ’em sit up,’ as you told me you would?”
“Well, certainly I made one young fellow sit up. And he nearly beat me up for my pains.”