f you felt so on the subject of dancing, why did you come here?"
demanded Keith. "It seems to me that dancing is one of the least sins
of Gumbolt."

The preacher looked at him almost pensively. "I thought it my duty. I
have encountered ridicule and obloquy; but I do not mind them. I count
them but dross. Wherever I have found the print of my Lord's shoe in the
earth, there I have coveted to set my feet also."

Keith bowed. The speech of Mr. Valiant-for-Truth carried its cachet with
it. The stiff, awkward figure had changed. The preacher's sincerity had
lent him dignity, and his simple use of a simple tinker's words had
suddenly uplifted him to a higher plane.

"Do not you think you might go about it in a less uncompromising spirit?
You might succeed better and do more good," said Keith.

"No, sir; I will make no compromise with the devil--not even to succeed.
Good-by. I am sorry to find you among the obdurate." As he shook hands,
his jaw was set fast and his eye was burning. He strode off with the
step of a soldier advancing in battle.

Keith had not long to wait to test old Gilsey's advice. He was sitting
in the public room of the Windsor, a few evenings later, among the
motley crew that thronged that popular resort, who were discoursing of
many things, from J. Quincy Plume's last editorial on "The New Fanny
Elssler," to the future of Gumbolt, when Mr. Plume himself entered. His
appearance was the signal for some humor, for Mr. Plume had long passed
the time when any one but himself took him seriously.

"Here comes somebody that can tell us the news," called some one. "Come
in, J. Quincy, and tell us what you know."

"That would take too long," said Mr. Plume, as he edged himself toward
the stove. "You will find all the news in the _Whistle_ to-morrow."

Just then another new arrival, who had pushed his way in toward the
stove, said: "I will tell you a piece of news: Bill Bluffy is back."

"Come back, has he?" observed one of the company. "Well, that is more
interesting to J. Quincy than if the railroad had come. They are hated
rivals. Since J. Quincy has taken to writing editorials on Terpy, Bill
says there ain't no show for him. He threatened to kill Terp, I heard."

"Oh, I guess he has got more sense than that, drunk or sober. He had
better stick to men; shootin' of women ain't popular in most parts, an'
it ain't likely to get fashionable in Gumbolt, I reckon."

"He is huntin' for somebody," said the newc