Like all hard-shelled, practical people, Mr.Nash could only dominate in a world which recognized the same material supremacy that he recognized.

Any one who insisted upon flying was lost to Mr.Nash.
The minister pushed the little pile of coins toward him.
"Take it, Mr.Nash," said he.
At that Mr.Nash rose hastily.
"I will not," he said gruffly.
He paused, and looked at the minister with a strange expression in his small round eyes--was it anger, or was it fear, or could it have been admiration?
"If you want to waste your time on fiddlin' farmers' meetings--a man that knows as little of farmin' as you do--why go ahead for all o' me.
But don't count me in." He turned, reached for his hat, and then went out of the door into the darkness.
For a moment we all sat perfectly silent, then the minister rose, and said solemnly: "Martha, let's sing something." Martha crossed the room to the cottage organ and seated herself on the stool.
"What shall we sing ?" said she.
"Something with fight in it, Martha," he responded; "something with plenty of fight in it." So we sang "Onward, Christian Soldier, Marching as to War," and followed up with: Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve And press with rigour on; A heavenly race demands thy zeal And an immortal crown.
When we had finished, and as Martha rose from her seat, the minister impulsively put his hands on her shoulders, and said: "Martha, this is the greatest night of my life." He took a turn up and down the room, and then with an exultant boyish laugh said: "We'll go to town to-morrow and pick out that sewing-machine!" I remained with them that night and part of the following day, taking a hand with them in the garden, but of the events of that day I shall speak in another chapter..