Sandy took this rating with equanimity, and, when the smith’s back was turned, he shrugged his shoulders, took a fresh bite of tobacco from the plug which he drew from his hip pocket, winking at the others as he did so. He leisurely followed Macdonald out of the shop, saying in a whisper as he passed the whittler:
“I wouldn’t rile the old man, if I were you.”
The club then adjourned to the outside, all except those who sat on the bench. Yates asked:
“What’s the matter with Macdonald? Doesn’t he like protracted meetings? And, by the way, what are protracted meetings?”
“They’re revival meetings—religious meetings, you know, for converting sinners.”
“Really?” said Yates. “But why protracted? Are they kept on for a week or two?”
“Yes; I suppose that’s why, although, to tell the truth, I never knew the reason for the name. Protracted meetings always stood for just the same thing ever since I was a boy, and we took it as meaning that one thing, without thinking why.”
“And doesn’t Macdonald like them?”
“Well, you see, it’s like this: He never wants to go to a protracted meeting, yet he can’t keep away. He’s like a drunkard and the corner tavern. He can’t pass it, and he knows if he goes in he will fall. Macdonald’s always the first one to go up to the penitent bench. They rake him in every time. He has religion real bad for a couple of weeks, and then he backslides. He doesn’t seem able to stand either the converting or the backsliding. I suppose some time they will gather him in finally, and he will stick and become a class leader, but he hasn’t stuck up to date.”
“Then he doesn’t like to hear the subject spoken of?”