Old Joe knows nothing about religion or sociology--
only wrestling and motor-cars, and the price of wholesale
stationery.
So I phoned him to meet me, and we had dinner, and at seven-thirty
sharp our taxi crew drew up at the Labor Temple. Half a minute
later, who should come walking down the street but Everett, T-S's
secretary! "I thought I'd take the liberty," he said,
apologetically. "I thought Mr. Carpenter might say something worth
while, and you'd be glad to have a transcript of his speech."
"Why, that's very kind of you," I answered, "I didn't know you were
interested in him."
"Well, I didn't know it myself, but I seem to be; and besides, he
told me to follow him."
I went upstairs, and found the stranger waiting in the room where I
had left him. I put myself on one side of him, and the
ex-centre-rush on the other, with Everett respectfully bringing up
the rear, and so we walked to Grant Hall. Many people stared at us,
and a few followed, but no one said anything--and thank God, there
was nothing resembling a mob! I took my prophet to the stage
entrance of the hall, and got him into the wings; and there was a
pathetically earnest lady waiting to give him a tract on the horrors
of vivisection, and an old gentleman with a white beard and palsied
hands, inviting him to a spiritualistic seance.
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