Anyway, he satisfied the day's lust for humanitarianism, and he turned back the seat in front of his, stretched out his legs, looked sleepy so that no one would crowd in beside him, and rejoiced in having taken up a life of holiness and authority.
He glanced out at the patchy country with satisfaction. Rustic, yes, but simple, and the simple honest hearts of his congregation would yearn toward him as the bookkeepers could not be depended upon to do in Prosperity Classes. He pictured his hearty reception at Banjo Crossing. He knew that his district superintendent (a district superintendent is a lieutenant-bishop in the Methodist Church—formerly called a presiding elder) had written the hour of his coming to Mr. Nathaniel Benham of Banjo Crossing, and he knew that Mr. Benham, the leading trustee of the local church, was the chief general merchant in the Banjo Valley. Yes, he would shake hands with all of his flock, even the humblest, at the station; he would look into their clear and trusting eyes, and rejoice to be their shepherd, leading them on and upward, for at least a year.
Banjo Crossing seemed very small as the train staggered into it. There were back porches with wash-tubs and broken-down chairs; there were wooden sidewalks.
As Elmer pontifically descended at the red frame station, as he looked for the reception and the holy glee, there wasn't any reception, and the only glee visible was on the puffy face of the station-agent as he observed a City Fellow trying to show off. "Hee, hee, there ain't no 'bus!" giggled the agent. "Guess yuh'll have to carry your own valises over to the hotel!"
"Where," demanded Elmer, "is Mr. Benham, Mr. Nathaniel Benham?"
"Old Nat? Ain't seen him today. Guess yuh'll find him at the store, 'bout as usual, seeing if he can't do some farmer out of two cents on a batch of eggs. Traveling man?"
"I am the new Methodist preacher!"
"Oh, well, say! That a fact! Pleased to meet yuh! Wouldn't of thought you were a preacher. You look too well fed! You're going to room at Mrs. Pete Clark's—the Widow Clark's. Leave your valises here, and I'll have my boy fetch 'em over. Well, good luck, Brother. Hope you won't have much trouble with your church. The last fellow did, but then he was kind of pernickety—wa'n't just plain folks."
"Oh, I'm just plain folks, and mighty happy, after the great
