After that, poor
Carpenter could get no peace at all. Would he please say if he was
going to do any more healing? Would he turn a little more to the
light--just one second, thank you. Would he mind making a group with
Miss Magna and Mr. T-S and the "wealthy young scion"? Would he
consent to step outside for some moving pictures, before the light
got too dim? It was a new kind of mob--a ravening one, making all
dignity and thought impossible. In the end I had to mount guard and
fight the publicity-hounds away. Was it likely this man would go out
and pose for cameras, when he had just refused fifteen hundred
dollars a week from Mr. T-S to do that very thing? And then more
excitement! Had he really refused such an offer? The king of the
movies admitted that he had!
We live in an age of communication; we can send a bit of news half
way round the world in a few seconds, we can make it known to a
whole city in a few hours. And so it was with this "prophet fresh
from God"; in spite of himself, he was seized by the scruff of the
neck and flung up to the pinnacle of fame! He had all the marvels of
a lifetime crowded into one day--enough to fill a whole newspaper
with headlines!
And the end was not yet.
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