[Illustration: THE SEXTON IN ALL HIS GLORY.]
When the sexton had received the first ten dollars the perspiration stood
out on his forehead as though he had been caught in something. It was
getting heavy, something that never occurred before in the history of
church collections at the Bay. As he passed by the boys, and dollar after
dollar was added to his burden, he felt like he was at a picnic, and when
twenty-five dollars had accumulated on the plate he had to hold it with
both hands, and finally the plate was full, and he had to go and
empty it on the table in front of the pulpit, though he was careful to
remember where he left off, so he wouldn't go twice to the same drummer.
As he poured the shekels out on the table, as still as he could, every
person in the audience almost raised up to look at the pile, and there was
a smile on every face, and every eye turned to the part of the church
where sat the seventy-five solemn looking traveling men, who never wore a
smile. The sexton looked up to the minister, who was picking up a hymn, as
much as to say, "Boss, we have struck it rich, and I am going back to work
the lead some more." The minister looked at the boys, and then at the
sexton as though saying, "Verily, I would rather preach to seventy-five
Milwaukee and Chicago drummers than to own a brewery.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139