Love:
a rainbow
AM & PM star
from cradle to tomb
inspires art etc. music voice of love
slam atheists etc. who not appreciate love
"Guess you must be a newspaperman, Brother," a voice assailed him.
Elmer looked at his seatmate, a little man with a whisky nose and asterisks of laughter-wrinkles round his eyes, a rather sportingly dressed little man with the red tie which in 1906 was still thought rather the thing for socialists and drinkers.
He could have a good time with such a little man, Elmer considered. A drummer. Would it be more fun to be natural with him, or to ask him if he was saved, and watch him squirm? Hell, he'd have enough holy business in Monarch. So he turned on his best good-fellow smile, and answered:
"Well, not exactly. Pretty warm for so early, eh?"
"Yuh, it certainly is. Been in Babylon long?"
"No, not very long."
"Fine town. Lots of business."
"You betcha. And some nice little dames there, too."
The little man snickered. "There are, eh? Well, say, you better give me some addresses. I make that town once a month and, by golly, I ain't picked me out a skirt yet. But it's a good town. Lot's of money there."
"Yes-sir, that's a fact. Good hustling town. Quick turnover there, all right. Lots of money in Babylon."
"Though they do tell me," said the little man, "there's one of these preacher-factories there."
"Is that a fact!"
"Yump. Say, Brother, this'll make you laugh. Juh know what I thought when I seen you first—wearing that black suit and writing things down? I thought maybe you was a preacher yourself!"
"Well—"
God, he couldn't stand it! Having to be so righteous every Sunday at Schoenheim—Deacon Bains everlastingly asking these fool questions about predestination or some doggone thing. Cer'nly had a vacation coming! And a sport like this
