It is mighty poor consolation to the ladies of a church society to give
sociables, ice creameries, strawberry festivals and all kinds of things to
raise money to buy a carpet for a church or lecture room, and wash their
own dishes than hear that some infidel who is around the country calling
God a pirate and horse thief, at a dollar a head, to full houses, has
miraculously struck a million dollar silver mine.
To the toiling minister who prays without ceasing, and eats
codfish and buys clothes at a second hand store, it looks pretty rough to
see Bob Ingersoll steered onto a million dollar silver mine. But it may be
all right, and we presume it is. Maybe God has got the hook in Bob's
mouth, and is letting him play around the way a fisherman does a black
bass, and when he thinks he is running the whole business, and flops
around and scares the other fish, it is possible Bob may be reeled in, and
he will find himself on the bottom of the boat with a finger and thumb in
his gills, and a big boot on his paunch, and he will be compelled to
disgorge the hook and the bait and all, and he will lay there and try to
flop out of the boat, and wonder what kind of a game that is being played
on him.
Everything turns out right some time, and from what we have heard of God,
off and on, we don't believe he is going to let no ordinary man,
bald-headed and appoplectic, carry off all the persimmons, and put his
fingers to his nose and dare the ruler of the universe to tread on the
tail of his coat.
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