There was neither door nor roof, wall or window, visible, but a pit of
flame, and within, as everybody knew, the entire stock, sum total of the
organist's worldly goods.
"Well! well!" said he, as, panting, he came to a stand-still in the middle
of the street, his companion close beside him.
"Curse God, and die!" was all that the wife of Job could think to say to
him, in his extremity.
"Well! well!" was the comment Redman Rush could make on this disaster,
repeating Summerman's words with an emphasis not all his own. It was
evident that, for a moment at least, he had forgotten himself; his face
was no longer dark with misery, but full of consternation, alive with
sympathy. And still he said:
"Where's your Good Will doctrine, though?"
"Safe!" cried the organist, and he crossed his arms on his breast with a
look of perfect triumph.
"You eat your words with a vengeance. You preach the best sermon I ever
heard, _I_ swear," said Mr. Rush, looking at him with amazement.
"Humph!" ejaculated Summerman.
"I believe, after all, 'twas my cursed picture that did it," continued
Rush. He was not able to stand there in silence listening to the roaring
of the fire, by the side of the man whose property was being destroyed in
this relentless manner.
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