I'm not drunk and I'm not crazy, and I am perfectly harmless, but if I die, as there is every likelihood I shall in a few days, I want the satisfaction of thinking that I said my say in a place like this, and before this sort of a crowd." Henry Maxwell had not taken his seat, and he now remained standing, leaning on his pulpit, looking down at the stranger.

It was the man who had come to his house the Friday before, the same dusty, worn, shabby-looking young man.

He held his faded hat in his two hands.

It seemed to be a favorite gesture.

He had not been shaved and his hair was rough and tangled.