The preacher had made Bunyan the subject of
his discourse, and the author of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ was at that
time the hero of all heroes in the mind of Atkins. He was thinking of
his wonderful pilgrimage as he hurried home. He walked on. Suddenly,
turning a corner, he knocked up against a man, who, half-reeling, came
full-tilt against him.
"Aye, Peter," he said, knowing the man, and perceiving that he was far
too tipsy to get to his home with safety, "I'll just walk home with you,
mate. I've got an apple in my pocket for the little wench."
The man made no objection, and they walked on. At the next corner they
saw a crowd, all listening eagerly to the words of a large, red-faced
man who, mounted on a chair, addressed them. On the burning, glowing
heart of John Atkins fell the following terrible words:
"For there be no God, and there be nothing before us but to die as the
beasts die. Let us get our fill of pleasure and the like of that,
neighbors, for there ain't nothing beyond the grave."
"It's a lie!" roared Atkins.
The words had stung him like so many fiery serpents. He rushed into the
midst of the crowd; he forgot Peter Harris; he sprang on to the chair
which the other man in his astonishment had vacated, and poured out a
whole string of eager, passionate words. At that moment he discovered
that he had a wonderful gift.
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