Part 12 (1/2)
”When I had naught to give, except Some words of hope and trust; I bade him still have faith, for G.o.d Who rules above is just.”
Then the grave angel smiled and moved Ajar the pearly gate And said: ”O, soul! we welcome thee Unto this new estate.
”Enter! Nor sorrow more is thine, Nor grief; we know thy creed-- Thou who hast soothed thy fellowmen In hour of sorest need.
”Thou who hast watched thy brother's dust, When the wrung soul had fled; And to the stranger gave thy cloak, And to the orphan, bread.
”And when all else was gone, had still A word of kindly cheer For one more wretched than thyself, Thou, soul, art welcome here.
”Put on the robe thou gav'st away 'Tis stainless now and white; And all thy words and deeds are gems; Wear them, it is thy right!”
And then from choir and harp awoke A joyous, welcome strain, Which other harps and choirs took up, In jubilant refrain,
Till all the aisles of Summer Land Grew resonant, as beat The measures of that mighty song Of welcome, full and sweet.
”That is purty. I hope there were no mistake about the gintleman making the showing up above,” said Corrigan.
”What lots of music there must be up in that country,” chimed in Carlin.
”I wonder if there are any buildings any where on the back streets where new beginners practice.”
”That represents the Hebrew idea of Heaven,” said Alex. ”I like that of the savage better, with hills and streams and glorious old woods. There is a dearer feeling of rest attached to it, and rest is what a life craves most after a buffet of three score years in this world.”
”Rest is a pretty good thing after an eight-hours' wrestle with the gnomes down on a 2,300 level of the Comstock,” said Miller; ”suppose we say good night.”
”Withdraw the motion for a moment, Miller,” said Wright. ”First, I move that our friends here be made honorary members of the Club.”
It was carried by acclamation, and thereafter, for several nights, the three were present nightly.
CHAPTER IX.
When the Club rea.s.sembled Carlin, addressing the Colonel, said: ”You told us of a royal old b.u.mmer last night, and Miller told us of an angel in miner's garb. Your stories reminded me of something which happened in Hamilton, in Eastern Nevada, in the early times, when the thermometer was at zero, when homes were homes and food was food. There was a royal fellow there, too, only he was not a miner, and though he lived upon the earnings of others, he never accepted charity. By profession he was a gambler, and not a very 'high-toned' gambler at that. He was known as 'Andy Flinn,' though it was said, for family reasons, he did not pa.s.s under his real name.
”Well, Andy had, in sporting parlance, been 'playing in the worst kind of luck' for a good while. One afternoon his whole estate was reduced to the sum of fifteen dollars. He counted it over in his room, slipped it back into his pocket and started up town. A little way from the lodging where he roomed he was met by a man who begged him to step into a house near by and see how dest.i.tute the inmates were.
”Andy mechanically followed the man, who led the way to a cabin, threw open the door and ushered Andy in. There was a man, the husband and father, ill in bed, while the wife and mother, a delicate woman, and two little children, were, in scanty garments, hovering around the ghost of a fire.
”Andy took one look, then rushed out of doors, the man who had led him into the cabin following. Andy walked rapidly away until out of hearing of the wretched people in the house, then swinging on his heel, for full two minutes hurled the most appalling anathemas at the man for leading him, as Andy expressed it, 'into the presence of those advance agents of a famine.'
”When he paused for breath the man said, quietly: 'I like that; I like to see you fellows, that take the world so carelessly and easily, stirred up occasionally.'
”'Easy!' said Andy; 'you had better try it. You think our work is easy; you are a mere child. We don't get half credit. I tell you to make a man an accomplished gambler requires more study than to acquire a learned profession; more labor than is needed to become a deft artisan. You talk like a fool. Easy, indeed!'
”'I don't care to discuss that point with you, Andy,' said the man. 'I expect you are right, but that is not the question. What are you, a big, strong, healthy fellow, going to do to help those poor wretches in the cabin yonder?'
”Andy plunged his hand into his pocket, drew out the fifteen dollars and was just going to pa.s.s it over to the man when a thought struck him.
'Hold on,' he said; 'a man is an idiot that throws away his capital and then has to take his chances with the thieves that fill this camp. You come with me. I am going to try to take up a collection. By the way,' he said, shortly, 'do you ever pray?'
”The man answered that he did sometimes. 'Then,' said Andy, 'you put in your very biggest licks when I start my collection.'