It made the very air blue--women shrank back, while
the heads of men were uplifted to see where the stream of profanity
came from. It went on for some time, until I began talking to myself.
I always did like to talk to a sensible man.
"Henry, that man belongs to the devil."
"There is no doubt about that," I replied.
"He is not ashamed of it."
"Not a bit ashamed."
"Whom do you belong to?"
"I belong to the Lord Jesus Christ."
"Are you glad or sorry?"
"I am glad--very glad."
"Who in the car knows that man belongs to the devil?"
"Everybody knows that, for he has not kept it a secret."
"Who in the car knows you belong to the Lord Jesus?"
"Why, no one knows it, for you see I am a stranger around here."
"Are you willing they should know whom you belong to?"
"Yes; I am willing."
"Very well, will you let them know it?"
I thought a moment and then said, "By the help of my Master I will."
Then straightening up and taking a good breath, I began singing in a
voice that could be heard by all in the car:
There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
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