cause he pulls a lot of guff— I guess I know how I felt when I stood up and had all them folks hollering and rejoicing— I guess I know whether I experienced salvation or not! And I don't require any James Blaine Lefferts to tell me, neither!"
Thus for an hour of dizzy tramping; now colder with doubt than with the prairie wind, now winning back some of the exaltation of his spiritual adventure, but always knowing that he had to confess to an inexorable Jim.
It was after one. Surely Jim would be asleep, and by next day there might be a miracle. Morning always promises miracles.
He eased the door open, holding it with a restraining hand. There was a light on the washstand beside Jim's bed, but it was a small kerosene lamp turned low. He tiptoed in, his tremendous feet squeaking.
Jim suddenly sat up, turned up the wick. He was red-nosed, red-eyed, and coughing. He stared, and unmoving, by the table, Elmer stared back.
Jim spoke abruptly:
"You son of a sea-cook! You've gone and done it! You've been saved! You've let them hornswoggle you into being a Baptist witch-doctor! I'm through! You can go—to heaven!"
"Aw, say now, Jim, lissen!"
"I've listened enough. I've got nothing more to say. And now you listen to me!" said Jim, and he spoke with tongues for three minutes straight.
Most of the night they struggled for the freedom of Elmer's soul, with Jim not quite losing yet never winning. As Jim's face had hovered at the gospel meeting between him and the evangelist, blotting out the vision of the cross, so now the faces of his mother and Judson hung sorrowful and misty before him, a veil across Jim's pleading.
Elmer slept four hours and went out, staggering with weariness, to bring cinnamon buns, a wienie sandwich, and a tin pail of coffee for Jim's breakfast. They were laboring windily into new arguments, Jim a little more stubborn, Elmer ever more irritable, when no less a dignitary than President the
