Word of God. I expect you to join, Brother Karkis, unless you're one of these dirty higher critics that want to break down the Bible."
"Oh, you make me tired," said Eddie.
"You make me tired—always twisting the plain commands of Scripture," said Brother Karkis, shutting the door—weightily, and from the outside.
"You all make me tired. My God, how you fellows can argue!" said Elmer, chewing his Pittsburgh stogie.
The room was thick now with tobacco fumes. Though in Mizpah Seminary smoking was frowned on, practically forbidden by custom, all of the consecrated company save Eddie Fislinger were at it.
He rasped, "This air is something terrible! Why you fellows touch that vile weed— Worms and men are the only animals who indulge in tobacco! I'm going to get out of here."
There was strangely little complaint.
Rid of Eddie, the others turned to their invariable topic: what they called "sex."
Frank Shallard and Don Pickens were virgins, timid and fascinated, respectful and urgent; Horace Carp had had one fumbling little greensick experience; and all three listened with nervous eagerness to the experiences of Elmer and Harry Zenz. Tonight Elmer's mind reeked with it, and he who had been almost silent during the ecclesiastical wrangling was voluble now. The youngsters panted as he chronicled his meetings with a willing choir-singer, this summer past.
"Tell me—tell me," fretted Don. "Do girls, oh—nice girls—do they really ever—uh—go with a preacher? And aren't you ashamed to face them afterwards, in church?"
"Huh!" observed Zenz, and "Ashamed? They worship you!" declared Elmer. "They stand by you the way no wife ever would—as long as they do fall for you. Why, this girl— Oh, well, she sang something elegant."
He finished vaguely, reminiscently. Suddenly he was bored at treading the mysteries of sex with these mooncalves. He lunged up.
"Going?" said Frank.
Elmer posed at the door, smirking, his hands on his hips, "Oh, no. Not a-tall." He looked at his watch. (It was a
