"About five minutes later Deacon Morris tiptoed back up the aisle, smiling, and sat down just across the aisle.
"The fan slipped along the pew, leaned out, and an instant later the worshipers in the surrounding pews heard him ask in a stage whisper:
"'What's the score?'
" And without a flicker of hesitation Deacon Morris whispered back, so he could be heard by half the church:
"'Sox got 'em beat in the sixth.'
"For just an instant everybody looked startled, and then the minister, whether by accident or design, no one knows, remarked:
"'Let us sing the long meter doxology.'
"But there is a minister out on the Northwest side who made himself one of the most popular men in the district on that same Sunday afternoon, when all Chicago and most of the world waited to hear the news.
"There was a meeting of the Bible class called for 4.30 in the afternoon. This class is the biggest thing in the church, and almost all the men and women, especially the young ones, are members.
"That Sunday afternoon the lecture room of the church was crowded—and the minister was late. He usually started things off, and then turned over the meeting to the class itself, explaining and helping only when needed or called upon. So the meeting was opened without him.
"Shortly thereafter he came in, red from rapid walking, and beaming with smiles. He sat down until the hymn was finished, and then, walking forward, remarked:
"'Ladies and Gentlemen: I have glorious news for you. The White Sox are champions of the world—I stopped to learn the score, feeling that we could study better if we knew.'
"And the class broke into cheers."
Some twenty odd years ago the local department of the Brooklyn Eagle happened to be rushed with work during the absence of the Base Ball editor, and it was found necessary to assign the religious editor to the task of writing up the Base Ball match of the day at the Capitoline grounds. The writer in question went to the game, watched the contest to its finish, and the next morning sent in the following report:
