Roberts turned to Elmer again, and gloated:
“Well, old son, I’ve been hearing a lot about you. Gee whillikins, that must have been a great game you played against Thorvilsen College! They tell me when you hit that line, it gave like a sponge, and when you tackled that big long Swede, he went down like he’d been hit by lightning.”
“Well, it was—it was a good game.”
“Course I read about it at the time—”
“Did you, honest?”
“—and course I wanted to hear more about it, and meet you, Hellcat, so I been asking the boys about you, and say, they certainly do give you a great hand! Wish I could’ve had you with me on my team at U of Chi—we needed a tackle like you.”
Elmer basked.
“Yes, sir, the boys all been telling me what a dandy fine fellow you are, and what a corking athlete, and what an A-1 gentleman. They all say there’s just one trouble with you, Elmer lad.”
“Eh?”
“They say you’re a coward.”
“Heh? Who says I’m a coward?”
Judson Roberts swaggered across from the bed, stood with his hand on Elmer’s shoulder. “They all say it, Hellcat! You see it takes a sure-enough dyed-in-the-wool brave man to be big enough to give Jesus a shot at him, and admit he’s licked when he tries to fight God! It takes a man with guts to kneel down and admit his worthlessness when all the world is jeering at him! And you haven’t got that kind of courage, Elmer. Oh, you think you’re such a big cuss—”
Old Jud swung him around; Old Jud’s hand was crushing his shoulder. “You think you’re too husky, too good, to associate with the poor little sniveling gospel-mongers, don’t you! You could knock out any of ’em, couldn’t you! Well, I’m one of ’em. Want to knock me out?”
With one swift jerk Roberts had his coat off, stood with a striped silk shirt revealing his hogshead torso.
“You bet, Hellcat! I’m willing to fight you for the glory of God! God needs you! Can you think of anything finer for a big husky like you than to spend his life bringing poor, weak, sick, scared folks to happiness? Can’t you see how the poor little skinny guys and all the kiddies would follow you and praise you and admire you, you old son of a gun? Am I a sneaking Christian? Can you lick me? Want to fight it out?”
“No, gee, Mr. Roberts—”
“Judson, you big hunk of cheese, Old Jud!”
“No, gee, Judson, I guess you got me trimmed! I pack a pretty good wallop, but I’m not going to take any chance on you!”
“All right, old son. Still think that all religious folks are crabs?”
“No.”
“And weaklings and pikers?”
“No.”
“And liars?”
“Oh, no.”
“All right, old boy. Going to allow me to be a friend of yours, if I don’t butt in on your business?”
“Oh, gee, sure.”
“Then there’s just one favor I want to ask. Will you come to our big meeting tomorrow night? You don’t have to do a thing. If you think we’re four-flushers—all right; that’s your privilege. Only will you come and not decide we’re all wrong beforehand, but really use that big fine incisive brain of yours and study us as we are? Will you come?”
“Oh, yes, sure, you bet.”
“Fine, old boy. Mighty proud to have you let me come butting in here in this informal way. Remember: if you honestly feel I’m using any undue influence on the boys, you come right after me and say so, and I’ll be mighty proud of your trusting me to stand the gaff. So long, old Elm! So long, Jim. God bless you!”
“So long, Jud.”
He was gone, a whirlwind that whisked the inconspicuous herb Eddie Fislinger out after it. And then Jim Lefferts spoke.
For a time after Judson Roberts’ curtain, Elmer stood glowing, tasting praise. He was conscious of Jim’s eyes on his back, and he turned toward the bed, defiantly.
They stared, in a tug of war. Elmer gave in with a furious:
“Well, then, why didn’t you say something while he was here?”
“To him? Talk to a curly wolf when he smells meat? Besides, he’s intelligent, that fellow.”
“Well, say, I’m glad to hear you say that, because—well, you see—I’ll explain how I feel.”
“Oh, no, you won’t, sweetheart! You haven’t got to the miracle-pulling stage yet. Sure he’s intelligent. I never heard a better exhibition of bunco-steering in my life. Sure! He’s just crazy to have you come up and kick him in the ear and tell him you’ve decided you can’t give your imprimatur—”
“My what?”
“—to his show, and he’s to quit and go back to hod-carrying. Sure. He read all about your great game with Thorvilsen. Sent off to New York to get the Review of Reviews and read more about it. Eddie Fislinger never told him a word. He read about your tackling in the London Times. You bet. Didn’t he say so? And he’s a saved soul—he couldn’t lie. And he just couldn’t stand it if he didn’t become a friend of yours. He can’t know more than a couple of thousand collidge boys to spring that stuff on! … You bet I believe in the old bearded Jew God! Nobody but him could have made all the idiots there are in the world!”
“Gee, Jim, honest, you don’t understand Jud.”
“No. I don’t. When he could be a decent prizefighter, and not have to go around with angleworms like Eddie Fislinger day after day!”
And thus till midnight, for all Jim’s fevers.
But Elmer was at Judson Roberts’ meeting next evening, unprotected by Jim, who remained at home in so vile a temper that Elmer had sent in a doctor and sneaked away from the room for the afternoon.
II
It was undoubtedly Eddie who wrote or telegraphed to Mrs. Gantry that she would do well to be present at
