They clapped, they made their faces to shine upon him. Eddie Fislinger won him by sighing, “Old fellow, you got me beat at my own game like you have at your game!” There was much hand-shaking. None of it was more ardent than that of his recent enemy, the Latin professor, who breathed:
“Where did you get all those fine ideas and metaphors about the Divine Love, Gantry?”
“Oh,” modestly, “I can’t hardly call them mine, Professor. I guess I just got them by praying.”
VII
Judson Roberts, ex-football-star, state secretary of the Y. M. C. A., was on the train to Concordia, Kansas. In the vestibule he had three puffs of an illegal cigarette and crushed it out.
“No, really, it wasn’t so bad for him, that Elmer what’s-his-name, to get converted. Suppose there isn’t anything to it. Won’t hurt him to cut out some of his bad habits for a while, anyway. And how do we know? Maybe the Holy Ghost does come down. No more improbable than electricity. I do wish I could get over this doubting! I forget it when I’ve got ’em going in an evangelistic meeting, but when I watch a big butcher like him, with that damn’ silly smirk on his jowls—I believe I’ll go into the real estate business. I don’t think I’m hurting these young fellows any, but I do wish I could be honest. Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, I wish I had a good job selling real estate!”
VIII
Elmer walked home firmly. “Just what right has Mr. James B. Lefferts got to tell me I mustn’t use my ability to get a crowd going? And I certainly had ’em going! Never knew I could spiel like that. Easy as feetball! And Prexy saying I was a born preacher! Huh!”
Firmly and resentfully he came into their room, and slammed down his hat.
It awoke Jim. “How’d it go over? Hand ’em out the gospel guff?”