Then a funny thing happened. A big limousine with a chauffeur drove up before the Ross home one summer evening, and out stepped a stately personage in snow-white flannels; a tall young man with yellow hair and a solemn visage—Eli Watkins, by heck! He shook hands all round—he had developed the manners of an archbishop—and then asked for a private conference with Dad. He was taken into the “den,” and half an hour later came out smiling, and bowed himself away; and Dad said nothing until he was alone with Bunny, and then his face expanded into a grin and he chuckled, by Judas Priest, Eli had gone into the real estate business. He had found a block on the outskirts of the city which was exactly the size for the temple which the angel of the Lord had commanded him to build; or rather he had found some real estate subdividers who had a pull with the city board of supervisors, and had got permission to create a block of this unprecedented size. So the word of the Lord had been vindicated, and the golden temple was to arise. But for some reason unknown the Lord had failed to tip off Eli to the panic, and here he was “stuck,” just like any common, unholy business man, with a payment on his hundred and seventy-five thousand dollar tract nearly a month overdue. The collections at the revivals had fallen off, and the Lord had made it manifest that He desired Eli to employ some other method of raising funds.
“What did he want of you, Dad?”
“The Lord had revealed to him that I would take a second mortgage on the property. But I told him the Lord had failed to reveal where I was to get the cash. I gave him five hundred to help him over.”
“Good God, Dad! I thought we were economizing!”
“Well, Eli pointed out that he had blessed that first well on the Paradise tract, and that was why we had got all the oil. You can see, it would ’a been sort of blasphemy if I’d denied it.”
“But Dad, you know you don’t believe in Eli Watkins’ bunk!”
“I know, but that fellow has got a tremendous following, and we might need him some day, you can’t be sure. If there should come a close election, here or at Paradise, we might get our money back many times by getting Eli to endorse our ticket.”
XII
Bunny thought this over, and then summoned his nerve, and went back to his father. “Look here, Dad! If you’ve got five hundred for a joke with Eli Watkins, I want five hundred for something serious.”
Dad looked alarmed right away. He should not have told Bunny about that money! “What is it, son?”