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the very last moment of their chance for salvation! O God, move their hard hearts!

"Brother Northcutt! Sister Biggers! Sister Wendler, get out and work among these lost souls. They are saying by their actions they don't want to meet Jesus in Heaven! They are willing to sink to a burning hell! O my God! What will become of these people! Brother Northcutt, I knew a man once, a doctor in Polk Flat, Alabama, a healthy young man . . ." The Reverend Blackman flung up his hands with a sense of the futility of relating the tragedy. He turned to the choir and motioned for a song.

For some strange reason the choir seemed always exempt from the preacher's maledictions. They were like the Greek chorus, a group explanatory of, but outside of, the dramatic action. Now they began a heavy drumming hymn,

The Reverend Blackman started up the aisle to do personal work. The dissipated face of Mr. Tug Beavers near the door attracted him and he made his way among the seats to Tug's side.

"My friend," he lifted his voice above the plangent uproar, "won't you give your heart to God?"

Tug became exceedingly nervous. "I—I'm goin' to, some day, Brother Blackman."

"Some day! Some day! Brother, don't you know it's the devil whispering that answer? He is standing right by your side lulling you to destruction!"

"I'm comin' up some day," repeated Tug emptily. "I always try to throw my influence on the . . ."

Tug's answers were in a very low voice while the minister meant himself to be heard all over the house.

"But, my God, brother, who knows you will live another day! We are worms of the dust! The least thing may kill you! You are not sure you will ever get home alive to-night! My dear brother, with life that uncertain, and torment