"Well, I'll have to take you there some day and show you the town! Guess folks would talk about their bad old preacher then!"
They both laughed heartily.
"But seriously, Lulu, what I want to know is—uh— Oh! What I wanted to ask you: Do you think I ought to come down here and hold Wednesday prayer-meetings?"
"Why, I think that'd be awfully nice."
"But, you see, I'd have to come down on that ole hand-car."
"That's so."
"And you can't know how hard I got to study every evening at the Seminary."
"Oh, yes, I can imagine!"
They both sighed in sympathy, and he laid his hand on hers, and they sighed again, and he removed his hand almost prudishly.
"But of course I wouldn't want to spare myself in any way. It's a pastor's privilege to spend himself for his congregation."
"Yes, that's so."
"But on the other hand, with the roads the way they are here, especially in winter and all, and most of the congregation living way out on farms and all—hard for 'em to get in, eh?"
"That's so. The roads do get bad. Yes, I think you're right, Brother Gantry."
"Oh! Lulu! And here I've been calling you by your first name! You're going to make me feel I been acting terrible if you rebuke me that way and don't call me Elmer!"
"But then you're the preacher, and I'm just nobody."
"Oh, yes, you are!"
"Oh, no, I'm not!"
They laughed very much.
"Listen, Lulu, honey. Remember I'm really still a kid—just twenty-five this month—only 'bout five or six years older'n you are. Now try calling me Elmer, and see how it sounds."
"Oh, my! I wouldn't dare!"
"Well, try it!"
"Oh, I couldn't! Imagine!"
"'Fraid cat!"
"I am not so."
"Yes, you are!"
