Not till Wednesday morning did it occur to the Reverend Elmer Gantry that he need not sneak and prowl, not necessarily, no matter what his custom had been, and that there was nothing to prevent his openly calling on her.
Nor did he spend any two dollars and a half for a carriage. Despite his florid magnificence, he was really a very poor young man. He walked to Schoenheim (not in vision now, but in reality), starting at five in the afternoon, carrying a ham sandwich for his supper; walked the railroad track, the cold ties echoing under his heavy tread.
He arrived at eight. He was certain that, coming so very late, her parents would not stay up to annoy him for more than an hour. They were likely to ask him to remain for the night, and there would be no snooping Cousin Adeline Baldwin about.
Mr. Bains opened to his knock.
"Well, well, well, Brother Gantry! What brings you down to this part of the world this time of night? Come in! Come in!"
"I sort of thought I needed a good long walk—been studying too hard—and I took a chance on your letting me stop in and warm myself."
"Well, sir, by golly, Brother, I'd of been mad's a wet hen if you hadn't stopped! This is your house and there's always an extra plate to slap on the table. Yes, sir! Had your supper? Sandwich? Enough? Foolishness! We'll have the womenfolks fix you up something in two shakes. The woman and Lulu, they're still out in the kitchen. LU-lu!"
"Oh, I mustn't stop—so terribly far back to town, and so late—shouldn't have walked so far."
"You don't step your foot out of this house tonight, Brother! You stay right here!"
When Lulu saw him, her tranced eyes said, "And did you come all this way for me?"
She was more softly desirable than he had fancied.
Warmed and swollen with fried eggs and admiration, he sat with them in the parlor narrating more or less possible incidents of his campaigns for righteousness in Kansas, till Mr. Bains began to yawn.
"By golly, ten minutes after nine! Don't know how it got to be so late. Ma, guess it's about time to turn in."
