Between prayer-meetings at Terwillinger, Judson Roberts sat in the Bible History seminar-room, at a long table, under a bilious map of the Holy Land, and had private conferences with the men students. A surprising number of them came edging in, trembling, with averted eyes, to ask advice about a secret practice, and Old Jud seemed amazingly able to guess their trouble before they got going.
“Well, now, old boy, I’ll tell you. Terrible thing, all right, but I’ve met quite a few cases, and you just want to buck up and take it to the Lord in prayer. Remember that he is able to help unto the uttermost. Now the first thing you want to do is to get rid of—I’m afraid that you have some pretty nasty pictures and maybe a juicy book hidden away, now haven’t you, old boy?”
How could Old Jud have guessed? What a corker!
“That’s right. I’ve got a swell plan, old boy. Make a study of missions, and think how clean and pure and manly you’d want to be if you were going to carry the joys of Christianity to a lot of poor gazebos that are under the evil spell of Buddhism and a lot of these heathen religions. Wouldn’t you want to be able to look ’em in the eye, and shame ’em? Next thing to do is to get a lot of exercise. Get out and run like hell! And then cold baths. Darn’ cold. There now!” Rising, with ever so manly a handshake: “Now, skip along and remember”—with a tremendous and fetching and virile laugh—“just run like hell!”
Jim and Elmer heard Old Jud in chapel. He was tremendous. He told them a jolly joke about a man who kissed a girl, yet he rose to feathered heights when he described the beatitude of real ungrudging prayer, in which a man was big enough to be as a child. He made them tearful over the gentleness with which he described the Christchild, wandering lost by his parents, yet the next moment he had them stretching with admiration as he arched his big shoulder-muscles and observed that he would knock the block off any sneering, sneaking, lying, beer-bloated bully who should dare to come up to him in a meeting and try to throw a monkey-wrench into the machinery by dragging out a lot of contemptible, quibbling, atheistic, smart-aleck doubts! (He really did, the young men glowed, use the terms “knock the block off,” and “throw a monkey-wrench.” Oh, he was a lulu, a real red-blooded regular fellow!)
Jim was coming down with the grippe. He was unable to pump up even one good sneer. He sat folded up, his chin near his knees, and Elmer was allowed to swell with hero-worship. Golly! He’d thought he had some muscle, but that guy Judson Roberts—zowie, he could put Elmer on the mat seven falls out of five! What a football player he must have been! Wee!
This Homeric worship he tried to explain to Jim, back in their room, but Jim sneezed and went to bed. The rude bard was left without audience and he was practically glad when Eddie Fislinger scratched at the door and edged in.
“Don’t want to bother you fellows, but noticed you were at Old Jud’s meeting this afternoon and, say, you gotta come out and hear him again tomorrow evening. Big evening of the week. Say, honest, Hellcat, don’t you think Jud’s a real humdinger?”
“Yes, I gotta admit, he’s a dandy fellow.”
“Say, he certainly is, isn’t he! He certainly is a dandy fellow, isn’t he! Isn’t he a peach!”
“Yes, he certainly is a peach—for a religious crank!”
“Aw now, Hellcat, don’t go calling him names! You’ll admit he looks like some football shark.”
“Yes, I guess he does, at that. I’d liked to of played with him.”
“Wouldn’t you like to meet him?’ ”
“Well—”
At this moment of danger, Jim raised his dizzy head to protest, “He’s a holy strikebreaker! One of these thick-necks that was born husky and tries to make you think he made himself husky by prayer and fasting. I’d hate to take a chance on any poor little orphan nip of bourbon wandering into Old Jud’s presence! Yeh! Chest-pounder! ‘Why can’t you hundred-pound shrimps be a big manly Christian like me!’ ”
Together they protested against this defilement of the hero, and Eddie admitted that he had ventured to praise Elmer to Old Jud; that Old Jud had seemed enthralled; that Old Jud was more than likely—so friendly a Great Man was he—to run in on Elmer this afternoon.
Before Elmer could decide whether to be pleased or indignant, before the enfeebled Jim could get up strength to decide for him, the door was hit a mighty and heroic wallop, and in strode Judson Roberts, big as a grizzly, jolly as a spaniel pup, radiant as ten suns.
He set upon Elmer immediately. He had six other doubting Thomases or suspected smokers to dispose of before six o’clock.
He was a fair young giant with curly hair and a grin and with a voice like the Bulls of Bashan whenever the strategy called for manliness. But with erring sisters, unless they were too erring, he could be as lulling as woodland violets shaken in the perfumed breeze.
“Hello, Hellcat!” he boomed. “Shake hands!”
Elmer had a playful custom of squeezing people’s hands till they cracked. For the first time in his life his own paw felt limp and burning. He rubbed it and looked simple.
“Been hearing a lot about you, Hellcat, and you, Jim. Laid out, Jim? Want me to trot out and get a doc?” Old Jud was sitting
