know how to bring up the subject to Wade. Or what to do about it when he did.
Wade watched the changes sweeping his minister's face. 'And you didn't think boxing wrong?'
That grin again. 'No, I didn't. God liked his warriors.'
'You do like the Old Testament, don't you, Sam?'
'Yes, I do. Our nation—the world—would do well to go back to some of those hard Old Testament rules.'
Wade arched an eyebrow—a habit he picked up from watching George Sanders movies. 'A lot of people— ministers included—might disagree with you about that.'
'Good,' Sam said, sipping his coffee. 'I enjoy a fast debate. I'm a very opinioned minister, Wade. I've been called a maverick more than once, by my own peers. I really don't care, since I know for a fact that many ministers are notoriously naive about worldly ways. I think going back to the Old Testament might make a better people out of us. Myself, included. I know I could use some hard discipline from time to time.'
Interesting thing for him to say, Wade thought. Wonder why he said that? Jane Ann, perhaps. I know he's in love with her.
Wade knew that Sam came from a religious family, but had been a wild one, well up into his twenties. A street fighter; he openly admitted that. Sam's father had been a minister in Kansas City, Missouri. The elder Balon and his wife had been killed in an automobile accident when Sam was fifteen. Sam ran away from his Uncle's home in Iowa, drifting around the country, raising hell wherever he went, until a social worker in California persuaded him to go to college. Then the army.
'It amazes me how well you get along with young people, Sam. My oldest says you're a cool cat.'
But not 'cool' enough, Sam thought. The youth department at the church has gone from bad to worse to zero. Again, the radio station came to mind. It had to be. Sam could think of no other way it could have been done. But, he recalled, every teacher in the elementary and high school was in that parade of humanity I saw last night, heading out to worship the devil. The radio station and the teachers—a good combination to mold young minds.
'Wade, Jr. is a good boy,' the minister said. 'He just likes the girls, that's all.'
'Would I be asking you to violate a confidence if I asked what you told him that time he talked with you half the night. After you sobered him up, that is,' he added dryly.
'No. No violation of any confidence. I just told him if he couldn't keep it in his pants, at least put a rubber on it.'
Wade felt his face flush hot. He shook his head. 'Sam, you're the darnest minister I've ever met in my life.' He fought a losing battle to hide a smile.
'Friend, in this day of blossoming sexual promiscuity among the young—and it's going to get much worse before it levels off—I'm not about to tell a healthy young man to go home and jack off. He'd think me a fool! I have to do what most parents won't or can't do with their kids, mostly boys, and that is tell them about the birds and the bees. It's a job most ministers don't want and are not equipped to handle. It's not our job, although a great many parents seem to think it is. Lucas Monroe told me, last year, a young man said to him that he didn't want to know about the birds and the bees; what he wanted to know about was pussy.'
The editor stirred uncomfortably in his chair, embarrassed at the minister's bluntness. 'Damn, Sam!'
'I'm telling you the way it is, Wade. I shudder to think what it's going to be like ten or fifteen years from now. If you think it's a sex-oriented society now, just wait a few more years. The movies, the magazines, the song lyrics, and the books are going to be full of nothing but sex. You wait and see if I'm not correct. But right now, we'd all better get ready to cope with it until we can turn this society around and get back to some plain old decency. And we're going to hit rock bottom before we do.'
Wade smiled, a smile many would take for sarcastic, but which Sam knew was not. 'I'm getting a sermon on Saturday. What do I get to hear tomorrow, Sam?'
'I haven't written my sermon for tomorrow.'
The men stared at each other, Wade thinking: does this have anything to do with the feeling I've had for several weeks? Dwindling church attendance ? The strangeness that seems to have overtaken this town? If so, Sam, get to it. Convince me, Sam. Tell me what's wrong. Come on, stop walking around what's on your mind.
But neither wanted to be the first to mention it.
Wade wondered if his minister knew his wife was running around on him with an elder of the church? He decided Sam did, but in his usual manner, was playing it close to the vest.
'How's the paper's circulation, Wade?'
The question caught the editor off guard, startling him. He shrugged. 'So, so.'
'No one stopping their advertising with you?'
Wade's eyes narrowed slightly. 'It comes and goes, Sam.'
'Sure.'
'Terrible thing about John Benton,' Wade changed the subject.
'Awful. The funeral is tomorrow.'
'I heard about Jane Ann's trouble. It's very strange.'
'I guess you heard about the sheriff hiring George Best, then?'
'The same day? Yes. I suppose Walter had his reasons?'
'Right—whatever they may be.'
Wade let that lie for the moment. 'Is it true about Chester's kids? Did they leave home last evening?'
