d contended
night upon night after his arrival in Macon. That had been horrible, for
the devil and an angel had locked in his heart then, and their efforts
had torn him pitiably. But his angel had won in the end. The red-gold
hair and the eyes of wine came no more to make a picture of living
temptation above his pillow. They were banished. Now the same devil had
come again, and the same angel, and it was all to do over again. This
time the devil told him to keep his mouth shut, or tell only a part of
the truth, since he had already been fool enough to say that something
had occurred back in Jericho. The angel bade him lay the whole story
bare; this was the only honourable course. John was aware that the
outcome of this fight must be decided by his attitude. The combatant to
which he lent his aid would overcome the other. And while he knew
perfectly well what he should do, the devil pulled steadily the other
way, whispering all the time that to speak the truth would mean total
loss, and that a partial falsehood, at least, would be excusable,
considering all that was at stake.

The new doctor's leisure hours were getting less frequent now. His
remarkable success in treating the Scribbenses had all at once lifted
him on a wave of popularity. Then, too, the story of how he had whipped
Devil Marston in fair fight had gone abroad some way, and this, coupled
to his defense of the jail, had thrown him in the full glare of the
lime-light, and had also raised him on a sort of pedestal for the good
people of Macon. They had never had anyone in their quiet community who
could "do things" before. They began to hold him in a kind of awe, and
to honour him in every way they could. Some of the most substantial
recognition came from the wealthy population, who sent for him when
illness required the presence of a physician. Glenning began to realize
that his position was secure and his future assured.

One day Dillard joined him on the street, and accompanied him to his
office. He was worried, as usual. He preceded his opening remark by
shaking his head solemnly.

"It's no use, Glenning; it's no use."

Delivering this characteristic speech in a despondent tone, he walked to
the window, and looked out.

"What's no use?" came the sharp, quick question, charged with
irrepressible vim and a trace of nervousness.

"He won't do it! He won't do it!" was the still doleful reply.

"Stop your riddles and talk sense!" snapped John.

Dilla