“Good, good!” Stephen Whipple ejaculated, his features working, his kind old eyes twinkling.
“But now comes the climax to my experience,” the minister went on. “You and I meet a converted person now and then, but we don't often run across individuals in private life who are leading lives which convert. The boy went on to tell me, brother, how he was rescued from arrest by a young man who was a tramp like himself. They began searching for work side by side. The boy told me how his new friend—without ever saying a word that was preachy—gradually won him from his ingrained tendencies and taught him the difference between right and wrong. He gave me scores of touching and inspiring incidents that had happened between them during their wanderings here and there, trying to get work. Somehow I became even more deeply interested in the fellow I hadn't met than the one I had in tow, and so I asked the boy if he would introduce me to his friend. He hesitated for a while, and then finally agreed to take me to the room they had together. It was away over beyond the railroads, in the slums of our 'tenderloin' district. It seemed to be the only room whose price they could afford, and they were unwilling to contract for what they could not pay. It was an awful place, brother, up a narrow flight of shaky stairs, in the attic of a negro shoemaker's house, in the worst part of 'Dive-town.' The man, this Fred Spencer, when we came in, was seated at the little dingy window reading a newspaper. He seemed very much surprised, and flushed red as he stood up and shook hands. He was fine-looking—strong and tall, well-clad and neat from his feet to his carefully combed hair, but his great big sad eyes haunted me long after I left him, and when he spoke his voice seemed to come from a proud spirit that was crushed and broken. He began by saying that his friend had spoken to him of my meetings, and that he was exceedingly grateful for my interest and courtesy in calling. He tried to apologize for the appearance of the room, and insisted on my taking the only chair while he and his room-mate sat on the bed, which, by the way, was unfit for a convict to sleep on. They used it together, and yet it was barely wide enough for one. The straw in the mattress was crumbling to powder and falling to the floor.”
“Poor chaps,” the merchant sighed, “and they have evidently seen better days.”
“Spencer, the older one, has decidedly,” the minister answered. “He is evidently Southern, for he has the soft accent of Virginia, I should say, and the manner of the old aristocracy. I told him that I had heard of his good influence over the boy, and he got redder than ever, and tried to make light of what he had done, endeavored, in fact, to convince me that the boy had only spoken as he had out of personal friendship. Finally I offered my assistance toward finding employment for them both, and Spencer showed real embarrassment—as if he did not want to put me to any trouble in the matter.”
“He's tried to find work here, then?” Stephen Whipple mused, aloud.
“Yes, and been turned down on all sides. He has tried till he has lost hope. He likes Gate City, but is afraid they will be driven to the road again.”
“And to think that a fellow like that can't find work,” Whipple cried, indignantly, “when the world is full of grafters and panhandlers! Brother Matthews, I am interested in those fellows, especially the oldest one. My list is full, as you know, but I can manage to find places for the right sort. Couldn't you send him to me right away? I'll be here to-night after closing time. There won't be anybody else about, and me and him can talk undisturbed. I'd like to help a chap like that. You have got me interested. The world is too full of bad men who are prospering for his sort to go unrewarded.”
“Well, I'll send him, Brother Whipple. God bless you, old man, you can always be counted on!”
That evening the merchant sat in the light of his green-shaded gas-lamp at his desk waiting for the expected caller. The outer door of the great building, which opened on the main street, was ajar, and was plainly visible to the merchant from his seat. Now, as he heard his visitor coming, he rose to his feet, pushed his desk-chair back with his ponderous calves, and stood smiling cordially. As the young man entered, politely removing his hat, Whipple grasped Walton's hand and shook it warmly.
“I'm powerfully glad to know you, Mr. Spencer,” he said, “I am, indeed. I'm told you are a newcomer to our brag town, and as I'm one of the pioneers, so to speak, I take a personal pride in the place, and I want to see everybody that drifts this way anchored here for life. It certainly is the town for fresh young blood. Even old men can make money here, and I know the young can. Set down, set down! I'm glad you ran across my long-legged jumping-jack of a preacher. He is a wheel-horse, I am here to state. If all the churches in the world were led by men of his stamp, infidelity would die of the dry rot or burn up with shame.