"I'll not go near him. It's me for
sleep. You can go and see if any of the other fellows want a job.
They're all down at a ball at the station. Get one of those wakeful
spirits to reason with John."
The conspirator made his way stealthily to the station, from whence
there issued the sound of music and dancing. Not wishing to alarm the
Grits, many of whom were joining in the festivities, and who would have
been quick to suspect that something was on foot, if they saw him
prowling around, he crept up to the window and waited until one of the
faithful came near. Gently tapping on the glass, he got the attention
of the editor, the very man he wanted, and, in pantomime, gave him to
understand that his presence was requested. The editor, pleading a
terrific headache, said good-night, or rather good-morning, to his
hostess, and withdrew. From his fellow-worker who waited in the shadow
of the trees outside, he learned that John Thomas had been secured in
the body but not in spirit.
The newspaper man readily agreed to labor with the erring brother and
hoped to be able to deliver his soul alive.
Once again was John Thomas roused from his slumbers, and not by a
familiar voice this time, but by an unknown vision in evening dress.
The editor was a convincing man in his way, whether upon the subject of
reciprocity or apostolic succession, but John was plainly bored from
the beginning, and though he offered no resistance, his repeated "I
know that!" "That's what I said!" were more disconcerting than the most
vigorous opposition.
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