That Printer of Udells | Page 7

a drink."
His new-found friend looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Oh
take a glass, stranger. You need it; and then help yourself to the lunch."
Dick shook his head; he could not speak.
"Look here!" broke in the bartender, with another string of vile
language, as he quickly filled the empty glass and set it on the counter
before Dick. "You drink this er git out. That there lunch is fer our
customers and we aint got no room fer temperance cranks er bums.
Which'll it be? Talk quick."
Dick's eyes went from the food to the liquor; then to the saloon man's
hard face, while a strange hush fell over those who witnessed the scene.
Slowly the stranger swept the room with a pleading glance, but met
only curious indifference on every side. Again he turned to the food
and liquor, and put out his hand. A light of triumph flashed in the eyes
of the man behind the bar, but the hand was withdrawn and Dick
backed slowly toward the door. "I won't," he said, between his clenched
teeth, then to his would-be friend, "Thank you for your good intention."
The silence in the room was broken by a shout of harsh laughter as the
bartender raised the glass of beer he had drawn for Dick and mockingly
drank him good luck as the poor fellow stepped through the doorway
leaving warmth and food behind.
All that day Dick continued his search for work. Night came on again
and he found himself wandering, half dazed, in the more aristocratic
portion of the city. He was too tired to go to the old smelter again. He
could not think clearly and muttered and mumbled to himself as he
stumbled aimlessly along.
The door of a cottage opened, letting out a flood of light, and a

woman's voice called, "Dick, Oh Dick, come home now; supper is
waiting." And a lad of ten, playing in the neighboring yard with his
young companion, answered with a shout as he bounded across the
lawn. Through the windows our Dick caught a glimpse of the cosy
home: father, mother, two sisters, bright pictures, books, and a table set
with snowy linen, shining silver and sparkling glass.
Later, strange voices seemed to call him, and several times he paused to
listen. Then someone in the distance seemed to say, "Move on; Move
on." The words echoed and re-echoed through his tired brain. "Move on;
Move on," the weary, monotonous strain continued as he dragged his
heavy feet along the pavement. "Move on; Move on;" the words
seemed repeated just ahead. Who was it? What did they want, and why
couldn't they let him rest? He drew near a large building with beautiful
stained glass windows, through which the light streamed brilliantly. In
the center was a picture of the Christ, holding in his arms a lamb, and
beneath, the inscription, "I came to seek and to save that which was
lost."
"Move on; Move on;" the words seemed shrieked in his ears now, and
looking up he saw a steeple in the form of a giant hand, pointing
toward the stormy sky. "Why of course,"--he laughed with mirthless
lips,--"of course,--it's a church. What a fool--I ought to have come here
long ago.--This is Thursday night and that voice is the bell calling
people to Prayer Meeting."
"I'll be all right now," he continued to himself as he leaned against a
tree near the building. "I ought to have remembered the church
before.--I've set up their notices many a time; they always say
'Everybody welcome.' Christians won't let me starve--they'll help me
earn something to eat.--I'm not a beggar--not me," and he tried to
straighten his tired figure. "All I want is a chance."
By this time, well-dressed people were passing where Dick stood
muttering to himself, and entering the open door of the church. Then
the organ began to play, and arousing himself by a supreme effort of
his will, Dick followed them into the building.

The organ now filled the air with its sweetly solemn tones. The bell
with its harsh command to move on was forgotten; and as Dick sank on
a cushioned seat near the door, his heart was filled with restful thoughts.
He saw visions of a Gracious Being who cared for all mankind, and
who had been all this time waiting to help him. Had he not heard his
mother pray, years ago in the cabin, "O Lord take care o' Dick!--" How
foolish he had been to forget--he ought to have remembered,--but he
would never forget again,--never.
The music and the singing stopped. The pastor arose and read the
lesson, calling particular attention to the words recorded in the
twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew: "Inasmuch as ye have done