being so accustomed to ordering all his needs supplied and finding them
forthcoming without delay.

Finally the minister straightened up:

"I'm afraid you won't go many miles to-night. You've burned out your
bearings!"

"Hell!" remarked the young gentleman pausing before the last swallow of
coffee.

"Oh, you won't find it so bad as that, I imagine," answered the steady
voice of the minister. "I can give you a bed and take care of you over
to-morrow, and perhaps Sandy McPherson can fix you up Monday, although
I doubt it. He'd have to make new bearings, or you'd have to send for
some to the factory."

But Lawrence Shafton did not wait to hear the suggestions. He stormed
up and down the sidewalk in front of the parsonage and let forth such a
stream of choice language as had not been heard in that locality in
many a long year. The minister's voice, cool, stern, commanding, broke
in upon his ravings.

"I think that will be about all, sir!"

Laurence Shafton stopped and stared at the minister's lifted hand, not
because he was overawed, simply because never before in the whole of
his twenty-four years had any one dared lift voice to him in a tone of
command or reproof. He could not believe his ears, and his anger rose
hotly. He opened his mouth to tell this insignificant person who he was