"Are you a preacher?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. You want to preach?"
"I don't know where I can get a hall."
"Oh, stranger, I'll give ye my dance-hall; jest the thing, and I tell ye we need preaching here bad."
"Good; I will preach."
The saloon man stretches a large piece of cotton across his bar, and writes,—
"Divine service in this place from ten A.M. to twelve to-morrow. No drinks served during service."
It is a strange crowd: there are university men, and men who never saw a school. With some little trembling the minute-man begins, and as he speaks he feels more freedom and courage. At the conclusion the host seizes his big hat, and with a revolver commences to take up a collection, remarking that they had had some pretty straight slugging. On the back seats are a number of what are called five-cent-ante men; and as they drop in small coin, he says,—
"Come, boys, ye have got to straddle that."