Hilda - A Story of Calcutta by Sara Jeannette Duncan
page 39 of 305 (12%)
page 39 of 305 (12%)
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"Hallelujah!" said Ensign Sand cheerfully, with a meretricious air of hearing it for the first time. "Any more?" And a Norwegian sailor lurched shamefacedly upon his feet. He had a couple of inches of straggling yellow beard all round his face, and twirled a battered straw hat. "I haf to say only dis word. I goin' sdop by Jesus. Long time I subbose I sdop by Jesus. I subbose----" "Glory be to God!" remarked Ensign Sand again, spiking the guns of the Duke's Own, who were inclined to be amused. "That will do, thank you. Now, is there nobody else? Speak up, friends. It'll do you no harm, none whatever; it'll do you that much good you'll be surprised. Now, who'll be the next to say a word for Jesus?" She was nodding encouragement at the negro cook as if she knew him for a wavering soul, and he, sunk in his gleaming white collar, was aware, in silent, smiling misery, that the expectations of the meeting were toward him. Laura had again hidden her eyes in her hand. The negro fingered his watch-chain foolishly, and the prettiest of the East Indian half-castes tried hard to disguise her perception that an African, in his best clothes, under conviction of sin, was the funniest thing in the world. The silence seemed to focus itself upon the cook, who fumbled at his coat collar and cleared his voice. It was a shock to all concerned when Stephen Arnold, picking up his hat, got upon his feet instead. "I also," he said, "would offer my humble testimony to the grace of God--with all my heart." It was as if he had repeated part of the creed in the performance of his |
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