It was Tom.
I didn't know him then. There are so many such cases on the Bowery one
gets used to them. But I took particular notice of this young man. He
sat down and listened to the services, and when the invitation was given
to those who wanted to lead better lives he put up his hand.
Now there was something striking about his face, and I took to him. I
thought of my own life and dreaded the future for him. I spoke to him,
gained his confidence by degrees, and he told me his story as written in
the preceding pages.
Here was a prodigal just as bad as the one in the Bible story. Well, he
was converted that night and took Jesus as his helper. He told me all
about his home, mother, and friends who had enough and to spare. The
servants had a better time and more to eat than he. "Tom," I said, "why
don't you go home?" "Oh, Mr. Ranney," he said, "I wish I could, but I
want to go back a little better than I am now." And God knows he was in
bad shape; the clothes he had on you couldn't sell to a rag-man; in
fact, he had nothing!
I pitied the poor fellow from my heart. I was interested. I got his
father's address and sat down and wrote him a letter telling him about
his son's condition, etc.
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