"Never more snug in my life."
"That's right; the loose way in which most people travel is a continual menace to life and limb. I believe in keeping things snug, spiritually, physically, socially, financially and politically snug. And if things are spiritually snug, all the others must be so, as a matter of course. I learned that fact years ago in England."
"Are you an Englishman," I inquired.
"No, sir; I'm a Presbyterian" he laughingly replied; "my father was born in England, my mother was born in Ohio, and I was born the first time in New Jersey. Then on a visit to England I was 'born again.' My father was a Methodist; my mother was a Quaker, so of course I had to be a Presbyterian."
His unctuous laughter made the seat tremble. "Not a blue one, mind you. Blue? Not a bit of it. Why, bless you, when I became a Christian, all the blue went out of my heart and went into my sky.
"My father was physically large—I take after him. My mother—" he stopped abruptly and lifted his hat reverently; the tears filled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks, and presently, with choking voice he continued:
"My mother, God bless her memory, was the best woman and the grandest
Christian I ever knew. She lives in heaven, and she lives in my heart.
I would that I were as much like mother spiritually as I resemble father
physically."
The tender pathos of his voice, as he said this, made me feel that his sainted mother, were she present, would have no reason to feel ashamed of her son.
As he was about to replace his hat on his head, I noticed in large letters pasted on the lining, these words, "Hinder nobody—help everybody."
"Excuse me, sir;" I said, as I pointed to the words, "what is the meaning of that?"