Tennelly prided himself upon being a student of human nature, and before he knew it he was interested in this mass of common people about him.  But now and again his gaze went uneasily back to Courtland, whose eyes were fixed intently upon the preacher, as if the words he spoke were of real importance to him.

Tennelly sat back in wonder and tried to listen.  It was all about a mysterious companionship with God, stuff that sounded like “rot” to him; uncanny, unreal, mystical, impossible!  Could it be true that Court, their peach of a Court, whose sneer and criticism alike had been dreaded by all who came beneath them—­could it be that so sensible and scholarly and sane a mind as Court’s could take up with a superstition like that?  For it was to Tennelly foolishness.

He owned to a certain amount of interest in the emotional side of the sermon.  It was true that the little man could sway that uncouth audience mightily.  He felt himself swayed in the tenderer side of his nature, but of course his superior mind realized that it was all emotion; interesting as a study, but not to be taken seriously for a moment.  It wasn’t a healthy thing for Court to see much of this sort of thing.  All this talk of a cross, and one dying for all!  Mere foolishness and superstition!  Very beautiful, and perhaps allegorical, but not at all practical!

The minister was down by the door before they got out, and grasped Courtland’s hand as if he were an old friend, and then turned and grasped Tennelly’s.  There was something so genuine and sincere about his face that Tennelly decided that he must really believe all that junk he had been preaching, after all.  He wasn’t a fake, he was merely a good, wholesome sort of a fanatic.  He bowed pleasantly and said a few commonplaces as he passed out.

“Seems to be a good sort,” he murmured to Courtland.  “Pity he’s tied down to that sort of thing!”

Courtland looked at him sharply.  “Is that the way you feel about it, Nelly?” There was something half wistful in his tone.

Tennelly looked at him sharply.  “Why, sure!  I think he’s a bigger man than his job, don’t you?”

“Then you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The Presence of God in that place!”

There was something so simple and majestic about the way Courtland made the extraordinary statement—­not as a common fanatic would make it, nor even as one who was testing and feeling around for confirmation of a hope, but as one who knew it to be a fact beyond questioning, which the other merely hadn’t been able to see—­that Tennelly was almost embarrassed.

“Why—­I—­ Why—­no!  I can’t say that I noticed any particular manifestation.  I was entirely too much taken up by the smell to observe the occult.  Say, what’s eating you, anyway, Court?  Such foolishness isn’t like you.  You ought to cut it out.  You know a thing like this can get on your nerves if you let it, just like anything else, and make you a monomaniac.  You ought to go in for more athletics and cut out some of your psychology and philosophy.  Suppose we go and take a ride in the park this afternoon.  It’s a great day.”