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How A Salvation Army Lass Called Down A Drummer

How A Salvation Army Lass Called Down A Drummer image
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"Buy War-Cry, please?" The usual crowd of evening loungers in the Russell house lobby turned to see two neatly dressed youug women tripping across the tiled flooring with their arms full of papers and an expression of half-repressed eagernesa upon their bright faces - faces that were more tlian nalf-concealed by the curiously awkward and uubecoming "scoop" bonnets peculiar to the rank and iile of the Salvation Anny. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed a casehardened old drummer iu the whiskey line from Louisville, Ky., adjusting a pair of nicely-balanced nose glasses. "I thought the war was over. Been another Indian massacre, mips?" The young girl to whom this question was addressed gazed at the questioner attentively for a moment, her violet eyes earnest with thought. "No," she said quietly, glanoing from the face of the Louisville seeker after knowledge, to those of the diversified crowd which had gathered to see what was jroing on, the war isn't over. 1 am sometimes afraid the war never will be over. It is a long and weary war, and the trenches are always filled with the dead and dying. They are not slain by Indians, but by those who choose to be classcd as eultured and civilieed beings. The weapons used are of the most lfective description. It is what may be termed refined warfare, but is all the more deadly on that account. I wonder whether you, sir, are marshalled with the enemy. I am very much afraid that you are. We are only weak girls, but we are doing what we can to subdue the enemy - your enemy as well as ours. Do you think it is a pleasure to us to come into a public hotel like this and be laughed at, scorned and perhaps insulted ? You may not intend vour conduct to be so interpreted - I believe you too manly to so intend - but your careless glances and remakrs wound and hurt ub. You have great respect for the soldier who carries the colors of the regiment into the mouths of the cannon of the enemy. Why not have the same respect for two weak girls who carry their colors into unaccustomed places solely for the sake of the divine cause they represent? We care a great deal more for you, and your precious souls thah we do for your mhney. We would like to cause pou to reflect - for you are all intelligent men, and capable of rereflection. Won't you promise me that you will reflect, sir?" The earnest young missionary had pressed very close to the Louiville whiskey drummer and her big eyes were searching his face eagerly. No one was smiling now. The little sermón had struck home. "Yes, I - I guess 111 reflect," replied the Louisville man, desperately. "Thank you!" she replied, still quietly. It will be so much better for you if you do reflect. You will be so much happier. And," after a moment's timid hesitation, "you will promise never to attempt to make sport again of a young girl when she tries to do something that is for the public good? I know you will promise me that. It is not manly." A profound hush feil upon the crowd as the young missionary uttered this gentle reproof. The tones were so pleading that none could take oifense. "Will yousell me a War-Cry, please?" asked the Louisville drummer, extending his hand, and placing a silver dollar in the palm of his little lecturer. "Never mind the chagne. It is for the good of the cause. And I will promise you, miss, that I will never attempt to make light of those of your class again. As you say, it isn't manly." "God bless you, sir!" was the only reply of the little maiden, but her eyes were eloquent with pleased surprise. One after another of the crowd investj ed twenty-five or fifty cents in the sheet with the sanguinary heading, and when the two young girls left the hotel, their arms were empty and their pockets filled. "If the cause of Christianity had a few more defenders like that little violet eyed girl, ] guess the millenium would not be so very slow in getting along, after all," said the Louisville whiskey drummer, as he turned away from the crowd to go to his room. "It's the gentle sort of pleading that worms its way into a fellow's heart and makes him reflect. 'Reflect' - yes, that's what she said - reflect."


Old News
Ann Arbor Courier