"What?" and Gordon's face was full of amazement; "in where?—where do you want me to get your father in?—you mean the hospital, do you, my boy?"
"No, sir—into heaven. That's what the teacher said about it last Sunday—about when folks was dyin'—an' how they get 'em in. An' dad, he's dyin'—an' I want you to get him in."
The face of the poor ignorant child was aglow with its eagerness of hope and fear. The signs of poverty and neglect were everywhere about him, and the ill-nourished frame told how severe had life's struggle been to him. But the glint of the Eternal was on the grimy face, upturned to Gordon in wistful entreaty. His plea was the plea of love, his prayer the prayer of faith; and the scene could not have been more holy if some white-robed priest had been interceding before the Throne.
Gordon's arms went out impulsively towards the lad; I believe he put them a moment about his neck.
"Yes, my boy," he said in an unsteady voice; "yes, I'll go. And we'll get your father in—yes, please God, we'll get him in."
They went out together into the darkness, the boy leading the way with such haste as stirs the feet of those who race with death. And I was left alone, the little table still littered with the relics of our financial conference. The stainful butcher's bill lay on top of all—and the magic document, with its story of our shares, was still held tightly in my hand.
I did not open it again; but I sat long looking at it—and it struck me even then how helpless it was to aid in the real tragedies of life.
XXVII
WHERE GUS CAST ANCHOR
I have asked Gordon to write down for me his experiences of that night. Two considerations led me to this course: first, because the incident had so much to do with his own soul's life, his faith, his future ministry; second, because Gordon was so much more able than I, when one of life's great events was concerned, to tell it as it should be told.