The speaker was not so easily secured. Thomas went to the
Methodist missionary. The missionary was quite a young man and had the
reputation of being an orator. He listened gravely while his visitor
unfolded his plan.
"I'll tell you what to do, Mr. Shouldice," he said, smiling, when the
other had finished the recital of his country's wrongs. "Get Father
O'Flynn; he'll make you a speech that will do you all good."
Thomas was too astonished for words. "But he's a Papist!" he sputtered
at last.
"Oh, pshaw! Oh, pshaw! Mr. Shouldice," the young man exclaimed;
"there's no division of creed west of Winnipeg. The little priest does
all my sick visiting north of the river, and I do his on the south.
He's a good preacher, and the finest man at a deathbed I ever saw."
"This is not a deathbed, though, as it happens," Thomas replied, with
dignity.
The young minister threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Can't
tell that until it is over--I've been at a few Orange walks down East,
you know--took part in one myself once."
"Did you walk?" Thomas asked, brightening.
"No, I ran," the minister said, smiling.
"I thought you said you took part," Thomas snorted, with displeasure.
"So I did, but mine was a minor part. I stood behind the fence and
helped the Brennan boys and Patrick Costigan to peg at them!"
"Are ye a Protestant at all?" Thomas roared at him, now thoroughly
angry.
"Yes, I am," the minister said, slowly, "and I am something better
still; I am a Christian and a Canadian.
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