Full text: The little review (8 (1922), 2)

other follows carrying the round black hat and half entreating, 
half commanding the curious crowd to keep off and go away. 
Then the captive is taken round another corner and in through 
the dark basement door of a public building. The second 
policeman follows and closes the door. Then all go away 
quickly except me. 
I wait for a time; the tallest policeman comes out and goes 
away, and soon afterward the burly attacker with his parcel; 
they hurry off as if to make up lost time. And after an interval 
the little preacher comes himself, alone and somewhat put to 
rights; goes quietly back around the corner, past the hospital 
and medical school and the park and on toward the corner 
where he was taken. But he seems to consider his work for 
this night done, for he does not stop but picks his way across 
the street of business and starts off northward as if beginning 
a long journey. I follow him curiously for two kilometers or 
more, but at last, concluding from the way he looks about 
when he passes under the street lights that he suspects he is 
being followed, I turn off and go my way. 
Next night he is at his corner again, with a large crowd 
about him this time, for it is the gay free night before the 
Sabbath when the people have their wages for the week. 
Crowds are entering and leaving the brothels; loud cheery talk 
sounds everywhere, in the dark and in the cold blue light of 
the street lamps; and coins fall steadily into the hat by the 
hydrant. A tall spectacled friend, well dressed in fur cap and 
greatcoat with fur collar, accompanies the little preacher 
tonight and treats him disdainfully; but just as before, with 
the same bright earnestness, the little man tells simply of his 
“mission,” of God’s laws and God’s promises, and urges obedi 
ence to God. Without dismay, even with some zest, he speaks 
of last night: “Let em come an git me again,” he says, “Ah’ll 
be right back. They’ll have to carry me though,” he adds 
quickly. “I ain’t gwine to fight em. That’s what makes all 
the trouble, men, folks always a fightin. You boys,” he cries 
earnestly, “don’t you ever go to fightin; don’t you ever go off 
to no war and kill folks. If they try to make you, don’t you 
care. Let em do what they can, but don’t you care. The Lord 
said, ‘Don’t do it!’ He does not wish you to do it! An God’ll

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