No wonder the conductor smiled when the minister presented his credentials. As the railroader punched the ticket, he said: "Are you on your way to Presbytery with a lay delegate, or are you both bound for a distillery convention?"
The smoking car was crowded with woodsmen on their way to the city. A—— was in fighting trim and only the ever present bottle could keep him from stirring up the crowd. Every few minutes the minister passed him the bottle and it acted like paregoric on a colicky baby. "It was the only time I tended bar all day, and I am not anxious to repeat the experience," said Mr. Higgins.
At Spur 25, A—— was sufficiently sober to recognize a friend who was waiting on the platform, and immediately he cried to the ministerial bar tender, "Here, Sky Pilot, give Kirk a drink. Hand him the glass works and let him sample the cold tea."
Between Farley and Walker the effluvia from bodies long immune to water, the disregard of sanitary requirements, the expectorations and the foul air of the crowded car became unbearable. The missionary felt it very necessary that he should go elsewhere and breathe a cleaner atmosphere, so he called a teamster and installed him as bartender while he went into the day coach to breathe. A——'s father was in the day coach but did not dare to approach his drunken son.
The missionary had not counted all the possible exigencies when he pressed the teamster into service. The substitute bartender had solaced himself with the liquid goods before entering the train, and was soon in a rapturous state from the mixture brought about from imbibing A——'s whiskey. Every time A—— demanded a drink the driver took one himself, and being a frugal soul, drank largely because another was paying the bill. He was a happy jack and expressed himself in song. It was the eighteenth of March, the day after St. Patrick's Day. On the platform at Walker a crowd of Irishmen were lounging, the green ribbons of yesterday's celebration adorning their lapels. The maudlin teamster was a protestant Irishman, and the green streamers aroused in his befuddled mind visions of glorious Londonderry days where the fist played a larger part in religion than it does in Minnesota. Leaning far out the window, until he seemed to balance on his belt buckle, he began the soul stirring melody "Protestant Boys." At least it was soul stirring to the Catholic Irish. At the depot the old scenes of Londonderry were renewed and a blow drove the teamster across the car and jammed him between the seats on the filthy floor. The feet of the Orangeman stuck high in the air, and though the trainmen tried to release him, they could not.
Unaware of what was happening in the next car, the minister was talking with A——'s father when the conductor broke into the conversation.
"Come into the smoker and take care of your parishioners, Mr. Higgins," he said hurriedly, "we can't handle that booze-soaked crew."
When Mr. Higgins entered the car he found that he had two patients that needed his immediate attention.
At Brainerd they changed cars and waited two hours for the Minneapolis train. The minister took his charge into the station. Here A—— gave an exhibition of drunken hilarity that drove out the self-respecting loungers and caused the station master to demand A——'s exit. The streets received the minister and his charge, but after a few improper acts and worse remarks an officer ordered them off the streets.
The only places open to the strollers were the saloons, and the minister led his companion into one of them. The saloonmen, because of the natural results of their business can stand considerable of the unusual, but this woodsman was able to give the denizens of Billingsgate advance instruction in the unprintable and nauseating. Not having lost all sense of the fitness of things, the saloon keeper escorted the woodsman to the door and Mr. Higgins again linked himself to the staggering man.