born. The simple question waiting to be solved was this: Having done as
poorly for himself as under the circumstances he well could, what was
Dirk Colson to do next? He had no idea; neither, apparently, had
multitudes of Christian people engaged in praying that the Father's will
might be done on earth, even as it was in heaven. The young man walked
six blocks down the respectable avenue, lined with pleasant homes, where
the people went to church, and read their Bibles, and had family prayers,
and kept holy the Sabbath day. Not a door among them all opened
and held out a winning signal to arrest his heedless feet. Not so Satan!
Is he ever caught idling at his post?

Just around the corner from the respectable avenue (and around the
corner Dirk presently turned, still uncertain what to do, where to find
the warmth he craved) then the winning invitations for such as he began
to present themselves. Saloons, and saloons, and saloons! How many of
them were there? Far outnumbering the churches! Pleasant they looked,
too; opening doors, ever and anon, revealing brightness and warmth
within. They would like to see him inside. Of this Dirk was sure; not
that he had money, but he had something that in such places often served
him well,--a decided and dangerous talent for imitating any and every
peculiarity of voice or manner that had chanced to come under his
notice. He could make the fellows in these saloons roar with laughter.
If he did particularly well, they were willing to order for him a glass
of beer, or a fairly good cigar; in any case he had a chance to get
warm. This was actually Dirk's only present source of income! Yet he
shrank from it; he could not have told you why, but on this particular
Sabbath he was averse to earning his coveted warmth in this way. He
walked resolutely by two or three places where he had reason to think he
might be welcomed, wondering vaguely whether there wasn't something else
a fellow could do to keep himself from freezing. Oddly enough there