Sanders, a heavy-set man, bald-headed and red-bearded, rose. He took a prodigious quid of tobacco from his mouth and dropped it on the floor at the side of his chair. His remarks were crisp and to the point.
“My opinion is that Ab Calihan hain’t a bit more right in our church than Bob Inglesel. He’s got plumb crooked.”
“What have you heerd ’im say? That’s what we want to git at,” said Odell, his leathery face brightening.
“More ’n I keered to listen at. He has been readin’ stuff he ortn’t to. He give up takin’ the Advocate, an’ wouldn’t go in Mary Bank’s club when they’ve been takin’ it in his family fer the last five year, an’ has been subscribin’ fer the True Light sence Christmas. The last time I met ’im at Big Cabin, I think it wuz the second Sunday, he couldn’t talk o’ nothin’ else but what this great man an’ t’other had writ somewhar up in Yankeedom, an’ that ef we all keep along in our little rut we ’ll soon be the laughin’-stock of all the rest of the enlightened world. Ab is a slippery sort of a feller, an’ it’s mighty hard to ketch ‘im, but I nailed ’im on one vital p’int.” Sanders paused for a moment, stroked his beard, and then continued: “He got excited sorter, an’ ‘lowed that he had come to the conclusion that hell warn’t no literal, burnin’ one nohow, that he had too high a regyard fer the Almighty to believe that He would amuse Hisse’f roastin’ an’ feedin’ melted lead to His creatures jest to see ’em squirm.”
“He disputes the Bible, then,” said Odell, conclusively, looking first into one face and then another. “He sets his puny self up ag’in’ the Almighty. The Book that has softened the pillers o’ thousands; the Word that has been the consolation o’ millions an’ quintillions o’ mortals of sense an’ judgment in all ages an’ countries is a pack o’ lies from kiver to kiver. I don’t see a bit o’ use goin’ furder with this investigation.”
Just then Mrs. Filmore stepped out from her corner.
“I hain’t been axed to put in,” she said, warmly; “but ef I wuz you-uns I’d go slow with Abner Calihan. He’s nobody’s fool. He’s too good a citizen to be hauled an’ drug about like a dog with a rope round his neck. He fit on the right side in the war, an’ to my certain knowledge has done more to ‘ds keepin’ peace an’ harmony in this community than any other three men in it. He has set up with the sick an’ toted medicine to ‘em, an’ fed the pore an’ housed the homeless. Here only last week he got hisse’f stung all over the face an’ neck helpin’ that lazy Joe Sebastian hive his bees, an’ Joe an’ his triflin’ gang didn’t git a scratch. You may see the day you ’ll regret it ef you run dry shod over that man.”
“We simply intend to do our duty, Sister Filmore,” said Odell, slightly taken aback; “but you kin see that church rules must be obeyed. I move we go up thar in a body an’ lay the case squar before ‘im. Ef he is willin’ to take back his wild assertions an’ go’long quietly without tryin’ to play smash with the religious order of the whole community, he may stay in on probation. What do you-uns say?”
“It’s all we kin do now,” said Sanders; and they all rose and reached for their hats.
“You’d better stay an’ look atter the store,” Filmore called back to his wife from the outside; “somebody mought happen along.” With a reluctant nod of her head she acquiesced, and came out on the little porch and looked after them as they trudged along the hot road toward Abner Calihan’s farm. When they were out of sight she turned back into the store. “Well,” she muttered, “Abner Calihan may put up with that triflin’ layout a-interfeerin’ with ’im when he is busy a-savin’ his hay, but ef he don’t set his dogs on ’em he is a better Christian ‘an I think he is’ an’ he’s a good un. They are a purty-lookin’ set to be a-dictatin’ to a man like him.”