“‘The Lord be good to fools!’ says I.  ’You got one now, ain’t you?’

“‘’M ya-a-as,’ says he, without anything you could figger as wild enthusiasm in his voice; ‘I hev.’

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘multiply one by eighteen, and let’s have a drink.’

“’I had to send word to the Elders that Books of Mormon weren’t looked upon as popular readin’ in the outlyin’ districts, so should I come home, or try New York City?  They sends me word back, wishin’ my work to prosper, to try New York City, but not to draw on ’em for any more funds until I had a saved sinner or two to show for it.  Well, sir, this last clause jolted me.  I had spent money free among them farmers, to boom trade, and for the purchasin’ of fancy clothes, more to look at than be comfortable in, the idee bein’ to show how good a thing the Church of Mormon was to the first glance of the eye.  And now, after side-trackin’ my railroad fare home, I weren’t wadin’ in wealth, by no means.  More’n that, I understood that the city of New York was a much more expensive place than St. Looey.  So I writ a letter back, tellin’ ’em I was scatterin’ seed so’s you could hardly see across the street.  There weren’t no hope for a crop unless I had more plain sowin’ material—­please remit.

“And then they come back at me, sayin’ I’d already cost the community about four hundred and fifty dollars, and not even a Dutchman by way of results.  That I’d understand this weren’t said in no mercenary spirit, but just as a matter of business.  They would hold a prayer-meetin’, they said, which, no doubt, would bring the end aimed at, and for me to go forth strong in the faith and gather ’em up from the wayside.

“I let fly oncet more, sayin’ that I was strong in the faith but feeble in the pocket; that sinners were costly luxuries in a big town like New York.  How was I goin’ to play the Prophet and stand the man off for my board?

“Elder Stimmins wrote back pussonally, exhortin’ me to be of good heart, sayin’ further that the days of miracles weren’t past; at any moment the unrepentant might get it in the conscience—­and signed himself my friend and brother in the church, with a P. S. readin’: 

Dear Zeke:  My wife Susan Ann will continner to have high-stukes till I produce a grand pianny.  Mary’s after a dimint neclas, and my beluvid spous Eliza (that’s the carut-heded one lives down by the rivver) will put sumthin’ in my food if she don’t git a gol watch and chane.  Tomlinson’s fust three ar rasin’ Ned fur new housis, hors and kerige, and the like.  The new ones is more amable, but yellin’ fur close and truck.  Uncle Peter Haskins’ latest is on the warpath fur a seleskin sak, and so on and so forth.  You know how it is yourself, dear frend and bro., and we ar broke, so I incurrige you to keep your hart stout, your faith intack, and hunt up a poker-game sumwheres, becus we honest ain’t got the money.

  Saul Stimmins.