, Mrs. Hooper." Not trusting himself further, he began to
shake hands with the assembled elders. In answer to one who expressed
the hope that they would keep him, he said slowly and gravely:

"I always trust something to the inspiration of the moment, but I
confess I am greatly moved to refuse this call."

"That's what I said," broke in Mr. Hooper triumphantly, "and I said,
too, there were mighty few like you, and I meant it. But we don't want
you to act against yourself, though we'd be mighty glad to hev you
stay."

A chorus of "Yes, sir! Yes, indeed! That's so" went round the room in
warm approval, and then, as the minister did not answer save with an
abstracted, wintry smile, the Deacons began to file into the church.
Curiously enough Mrs. Hooper having moved away from the door during this
scene was now, necessarily it seemed, the last to leave the room. While
she was passing him, Mr. Letgood bent towards her and in an eager tone
whispered:

"And my answer?"

Mrs. Hooper paused, as if surprised.

"Oh! ain't you men stupid," she murmured and with a smile tossed the
question over her shoulder: "What _did_ I come here for?"

That sermon of Mr. Letgood's is still remembered in Kansas City. It is
not too much to say that the majority of his hearers believed him to be
inspired. And, in truth, as an artistic performance his discourse was
admirable. After standing for some moments with his hand upon the desk,
apparently lost in thought, he began in the quietest tone to read the
letter from the Deacons of the Second Baptist Church in Chicago. He then
read his reply, begging them to give him time to consider their request
He had considered it--prayerfully. He would read the passage of Holy
Scripture which had suggested the answer he was about to send to
the call. He paused again. The rustling of frocks and the occasional
coughings ceased--the audience straining to catch the decision--while
in a higher key he recited the verse, "For whosoever will save his life,
shall lose it; and whosoever will lose his life for My sake, shall find
it."

As the violinist knows when his instrument is perfectly attuned, so Mr.
Letgood knew when he repeated the text that his hearers had surrendered
themselves to him to be played upon. It would be useless here to
reproduce the sermon, which lasted for nearly an hour, and altogether
impossible to give any account of the preacher's gestures or dramatic
pauses, or of the modulations and inf