"Ef you made dat money sneakin' roun' henrooses in de dark o' de moon—I don't say you is, but ef you is—you set right still in yo' seat an' don't dare ter offer it ter de Lord, I say!
"Ef you backed yo' wagon inter somebody else's watermillion patch by de roadside an' loaded up on yo' way ter town 'fo' sunup—I don't say you is, mind yer, but ef you is—set right whar you is, an' do des like you been doin', 'caze de money you made on dat early mornin' wagon load ain't fitt'n fur wheels fur de gorspil train!
"An' deze yo'ng men at de winders, I say, ef de wheels in yo' pockets come f'om matchin' nickels on de roadside, or kyard-playin', or maybe drivin' home de wrong pig. (You nee'n't ter laugh. De feller dat spo'ts de shinies' stovepipe hat of a Sunday sometimes cuts de ears off'n de shoat he kills of a Sa'day, 'caze de ears got a tell-tale mark on 'em.) An', I say, ef you got yo' money dat a-way, won't you des move back from de winders, please, an' meck room fur some o' dem standin' behin' yer dat got good hones' wheels ter pass in!"
This secured the window crowds intact, and now Jordan turned to the congregation within.
"An' now, dear beloved." He lowered his voice. "For sech as I done specified, let us pray!"
He had raised his hands and was closing his eyes in prayer, when a man rose in the centre of the church.
"Brer Jordan," he began, laughing with embarrassment. "Ef some o' de brers ur sisters'll change a dime fur me—"
Jordan opened his eyes and his hands fell.
"Bless de Lord!" he exclaimed, with feeling.
"Bless de Lord, one man done claired 'isse'f! Glory, I say! Come on up, Brer Smiff, 'n' I'll gi'e you yo' change!"