Kneel down!" he added, with peremptory suddenness. "Kneel,
Scranton!"
In fear the other knelt.
"You're going to get religion now--here. You're going to pray for what
you didn't get--and almost got--in the desert. You're going to ask
forgiveness for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for
the spirit to come down. You ain't a scoundrel at heart--a friend of
mine says so. You're a weak vessel, cracked, perhaps. You've got to
be saved, and start right over again--and 'Praise God from whom all
blessings flow!' Pray--pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth,
and get it--get religion. Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out
loud. Remember the desert, and Mary Jewell, and your mother--did you
have a mother, Scranton--say, did you have a mother, lad?"
Tim's voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer
had broken down in a torrent of tears.
"Oh, my mother--O God!" he groaned.
"Say, that's right--that's right--go on," said the other, and drew back a
little, and sat down on a log. The man on his knees was convulsed with
misery.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64