The Washington herald., 1915-12-26

tHcIc, anu It's lIttlc StdnQ dt one enQ
for the preacher. There were hardly
a bakers dozen of men on the
benches. They turned and stared at
Gottlieb for moment and then fol-
lowed with their eyes the little man
as he went toward the stand and
opened his Book.
The old convict slipped into a seat,
tired of body, but feeling at home
among the tatterdemalions of society
that had gathered to hear the shabby
advocate of God among the miser-
| ables say what he had to say in his
Masters behalf.
Out in the hall the little man with
the cropped sandy mustache rolled a
cigarette and sat at the foot of the
stairs, sinister' thing in the yellow
light of Pickering gas jet.
The mission worker began his
preaching, and he talked directly to
the old gray outcast in the rear of
the room. The preacher was of the
underworld cognoscenti. He had "the
know" as Gottlieb would more hum
bly, express it. Gottlieb was as a prize
at Armageddon. The forces of kind
illness, Christliness and divine love
were fighting for him against the
forces of the written law typihed in
the shadow" m the hall.
A great peace descended upon the
soul of Gotlieb. 1t dropped quietly.
strangely. wrapping his inner being
as veil or as fog or as the early
morning mist might fold about a
flower that had somehow managed to
live through an exhausting and still
summers night. The wings of an
angel of God were tanning his heart.
He did not know that, and vet ne
was grateful Some of us breathe our
religion as we breathe the air.
The old mission preacher talked
the language of Gottlieb's own tribe.
He, too, had done the wrong things
in life and had come to know the sad
and yet helpful lessons of regret.
Something in the preachers argu-
ment for righteousness shonc forth
above all possible forms of creed and
dogma. The attitude of this worn
and aged worker in the vineyard was
so stripped of formal ministerial YES
ture that it gave scmblance to the at
titude of Jesus Christ, who was a
For five years Gottlieb hung about
the threshold of this genuine if dingy
place of worship in Oak street. His
beard grew until it reached his waist
in a cascade of silver. He lost the
prison pallor and flush of health
came to his cheeks. Until his friend,
the preacher, gave him the job as
janiter of the mission, he slept on
the wharves, crawling between bales
of freight of all sorts, like the Son
OF Man, uncertain of anywhere that
he might call his own for the casual
slumber of the harried fox.
Retnorseless mutation brought
death to Gottlieb's preacher friend.
He had to die some time, somewhere,
somehow. of course. So Gottlieb's
friend staggered to Gouverneur Hos
pital around on Front street and was
put to bed. The old convict went to
see him on the third gray day of his
sickness, and friendly, fevered hand
crept from between the sheets toward
the two hands of his visitor.
Jerry" said the dying man, good
bye"
Goodbye, and God bless you."
said Jerry.
"He has blessed us both"
"Ges, sir; he has done that"
viii you take my job for me,
Jerry"
81 wish | could, SIR" replied Jerry,
his eyes lighting until they were as
two blue lakes.
But you can and you will You
must" The old preacher tried to
raise himself on an elbow, but failed
Jerry's long arms reached under him
and lifted him to the pillows.
you see, SIR" the old convict ex-
planned, "1'm a two-termer and the
bulls always keep after me. I'd get
the whole mission pinched if | did
else but clean up the place.
That's my job. sir, I'm the janitor"
"Ha" The mission preachers
tongue Glove to the roof of his mouth
He died.
1t was in the late fall when this
The first snow was flying
and making mist over the East
River, which stretches like a ribbon
of tarnished silver under the bridges
between Brooklyn and Manhattan
Gottlieb felt the hands of his friend
grow cold. He left the body as a
nurse came and made record for
her report of the transition OF. the
evangelist He went to a window and
looked out into the fleecy, tumbling
sky. He told himself that he would
meet his friend again some time,
somewhere, somehow. He had come
to believe in the promises of God. He
stood stroking his great white beard
at the window, pondering nightly. /
Two tears welled to the lashes of
his eyes.
"Well, Santa Claus" voice
sounded in his ears. "Why not come
downstairs with me and have a cup
of tea?" The nurse had come to Of
fer, as best she could, her sympathy. |
Santa CLAUSE" he repeated, and his !
voice was sonorous and sad.
She took him by the arm. and led
him way from his friend who had
dird.
A little, paunchy dominic, with |
round checks and a diploma from a |
seminarial institution, endeavored to
take up the work that Gottlieb's
friend had relinquished because of
the closing of his eyes in eternal
slumber.. He was, however, not of
the humble. He parted his name in
the middle, and in Oak street that
seems a strange thing to do.
The well-polished benches. of the