Disappointing attitude of Ezekiel. Suggested nuptials of Miss Moonbeam. An occasion for tact and postponement. I am obliged to write a letter. Ezekiel accompanies me to the Empresses Theatre. We are a little taken back by the numbers to be rescued. An apparently delightful beverage. I address Miss Moonbeam’s friends on the subject of temperance. Ezekiel addresses them on the evils of the drama. We arrange a meeting. Description of meeting.
Afterwards, as I have suggested, I was to discover in Miss Moonbeam an almost incredible capacity for evil. But that night, as I emerged from the theatre into the anxious arms of Ezekiel Stool, I could not help feeling in the utmost agreement with him as to her character and physical appearance. Indeed so complete was my endorsement both of his judgment and prevision that I must confess to having been a little surprised by his reception of my news.
“So you’re meeting her again?” he said.
“Yes, to-morrow evening,” I replied, “when I hope to draw closer to her in every way.”
He stopped abruptly and began to peer at me suspiciously through the dense tangle that now covered his face.
“How do you mean closer?” he said.
I waved my hand.
“She has so much to learn,” I said, “so much to understand. She’s like a little child, Ezekiel, just as you supposed—a female child that has never been properly taught.”
“Yes, very likely,” he said. “But why shouldn’t I teach her myself? I’m the President of the Union after all.”
“But, my dear Ezekiel,” I said, “undoubted as are your gifts both as organizer and financer of our movement, do you really consider that you have quite the personality for such intimate soul-work as Miss Moonbeam requires?”