“Yes,” said the deacon, with a look of doubt, “I suppose that’s what we will have to call it, for want of a better word.”

“It is a very short story,” said Bartram, now entirely calm, as he leaned against his desk and folded his arms.  “Like every other man with any brains, I’ve always been interested in religion, intellectually, and have had to believe that if it was right, as I heard it talked, it had sometimes got away from its Founder in a manner for which there seemed to be no excuse.  Everything was being taught by the servants, nothing by the Master.  When I want to know your wishes, deacon, about any matter in which we are mutually interested, I do not go to your back door and inquire of your servants:  I go to you, direct.  But when people—­you among the number—­have talked to me about religion, they’ve always talked Peter and Paul and James and John,—­never Jesus.”

“The Apostle Paul—­” began the deacon, but the lawyer snatched the words from his lips, and continued: 

“The Apostle Paul was the ablest lawyer that ever lived.  I’ve studied him a good deal, in past days, for style.”

“Awful!” groaned the deacon.

“Not in the least,” said the lawyer, with fine earnestness.  “He was just the man for his place and his time; ’twas his business to explain the new order of things to the hard-headed Jews, of whom he had been so notable a representative, that to convert him it was necessary that he should be knocked senseless and remain so for the space of three days:  you remember the circumstance?  He was just the man, too, to explain the new religion to the heathens and pagans of his day, for those Greeks and Romans were a brainy lot of people.  But why should he have been quoted to me, or any other man in the community?  We don’t have to be convinced that Jesus lived:  we believe it already.  The belief has been born in us; it has run through our blood for hundreds of years.  Do you know what I’ve honestly believed for years about a lot of religious men in this town, you among the number?  I’ve believed that Jesus was so good that you’ve all been making hypocritical excuses, through your theology, to get away from this!”

“Get away from my Saviour!” gasped the deacon.

“Oh, no; you wanted enough of Him to be saved by,—­enough to die by; but when it comes to living by him—­well, you know perfectly well that you don’t.”

“Awful!” again groaned the deacon.

“When I heard of that wretched convict taking his Saviour as an exemplar of daily life and conduct, it seemed ridiculous.  If better men couldn’t do it, how could he?  I had no doubt that while he was under lock and key, with no temptations about him, and nothing to resist, he had succeeded; but that he could do it in the face of all his old influences I did not for an instant believe.  I began to study him, as I would any other criminal, and when he did not break down as soon as I had expected, I was mean enough—­God forgive me!—­to try to shake his faith.  The honest truth is, I did not want to be a Christian myself, and had resisted all the arguments I had heard; but I was helpless when dear friends told me that nothing was impossible to me that was being accomplished by a common fellow like Sam Kimper.”