The mutual though qualified
respect which they felt for each other dated from their first meeting, when
Mr. McKenzie had walked into the saloon and asked permission to tack up
some bills advertising his revival services.
"I guess you can," the proprietor had answered, standing alertly on his
guard.
The bills had been posted, and the unwonted visitor turned to the man
behind the bar. They were alone together.
"We should be very glad, Mr. Shartow," he said, "if you would attend some
of the meetings."
"It'll be a cold day when I do," answered the saloon-keeper.
Mr. McKenzie did not reply.
"The worst enemies I've got are in that church," added Tim, by way of
explanation.
A smile lighted up the pastor's earnest face. "No, Mr. Shartow," he said,
"you're wrong. They don't like your business,--_I_ don't like your
business,--but you haven't an enemy in our church. And I want to tell you
now"--his foot was upon the bar rail, and he was looking straight into the
eyes of the man to whom he spoke--"that every night, as I pray that God
will remove this saloon, I shall pray that he will bring you to know my
Saviour.
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