There was nothing offensive in the man’s manner or tone.  He was not excited and he spoke in a low but distinct voice.  Mr. Maxwell was conscious, even as he stood there smitten into dumb astonishment at the event, that somehow the man’s action reminded him of a person he had once seen walking and talking in his sleep.

No one in the house made any motion to stop the stranger or in any way interrupt him.  Perhaps the first shock of his sudden appearance deepened into a genuine perplexity concerning what was best to do.  However that may be, he went on as if he had no thought of interruption and no thought of the unusual element which he had introduced into the decorum of the First Church service.  And all the while he was speaking, the minister leaded over the pulpit, his face growing more white and sad every moment.  But he made no movement to stop him, and the people sat smitten into breathless silence.  One other face, that of Rachel Winslow from the choir, stared white and intent down at the shabby figure with the faded hat.  Her face was striking at any time.  Under the pressure of the present unheard-of incident it was as personally distinct as if it had been framed in fire.

“I’m not an ordinary tramp, though I don’t know of any teaching of Jesus that makes one kind of a tramp less worth saving than another.  Do you?” He put the question as naturally as if the whole congregation had been a small Bible class.  He paused just a moment and coughed painfully.  Then he went on.

“I lost my job ten months ago.  I am a printer by trade.  The new linotype machines are beautiful specimens of invention, but I know six men who have killed themselves inside of the year just on account of those machines.  Of course I don’t blame the newspapers for getting the machines.  Meanwhile, what can a man do?  I know I never learned but the one trade, and that’s all I can do.  I’ve tramped all over the country trying to find something.  There are a good many others like me.  I’m not complaining, am I?  Just stating facts.  But I was wondering as I sat there under the gallery, if what you call following Jesus is the same thing as what He taught.  What did He mean when He said:  ‘Follow Me!’?  The minister said,”—­here he turned about and looked up at the pulpit—­“that it is necessary for the disciple of Jesus to follow His steps, and he said the steps are ‘obedience, faith, love and imitation.’  But I did not hear him tell you just what he meant that to mean, especially the last step.  What do you Christians mean by following the steps of Jesus?

“I’ve tramped through this city for three days trying to find a job; and in all that time I’ve not had a word of sympathy or comfort except from your minister here, who said he was sorry for me and hoped I would find a job somewhere.  I suppose it is because you get so imposed on by the professional tramp that you have lost your interest in any other sort.  I’m not blaming anybody, am I?