cities, to be among them!" was Elmer's amiable greeting, but what he observed as he walked away was "I am like hell!"
Altogether depressed now, he expected to find the establishment of Brother Benham a littered and squalid crossroads store, but he came to a two-story brick structure with plate-glass windows and, in the alley, the half-dozen trucks with which Mr. Benham supplied the farmers for twenty miles up and down the Banjo Valley. Respectful, Elmer walked through broad aisles, past counters trim as a small department-store, and found Mr. Benham dictating letters.
If in a small way Nathaniel Benham had commercial genius, it did not show in his aspect. He wore a beard like a bath sponge, and in his voice was a righteous twang.
"Yes?" he quacked.
"I'm Reverend Gantry, the new pastor."
Benham rose, not too nimbly, and shook hands dryly. "Oh, yes. The presiding elder said you were coming today. Glad you've come, Brother, and I hope the blessings of the Lord will attend your labors. You're to board at the Widow Clark's—anybody'll show you where it is."
Apparently he had nothing else to say.
A little bitterly, Elmer demanded, "I'd like to look over the church. Have you a key?"
"Now let's see. Brother Jones might have one—he's got the paint and carpenter shop right up here on Front Street. No, guess he hasn't, either. We got a young fella, just a boy you might say, who's doing the janitor work now, and guess he'd have a key, but this bein' vacation he's off fishin' more'n likely. Tell you: you might try Brother Fritscher, the shoemaker—he might have a key. You married?"
"No. I've, uh, I've been engaged in evangelistic work, so I've been denied the joys and solaces of domestic life."
"Where you born?"
"Kansas."
"Folks Christians?"
"They certainly were! My mother was—she is—a real consecrated soul."
"Smoke or drink?"
"Certainly not!"
"Do any monkeying with this higher criticism?"
"No, indeed!"
