Oh, said one of the sisters, when you get in the pulpit and start
preaching, you will be dry enough.
* * * * *
Whenever a Sunday school teacher comes to Louisville invariably a good
story is in order. Last night one of them was at a local hotel, and he
brought along his story. Morrison R. Kendrick is his name, and Chicago is
his town. The story is told by Mr. Kendrick as follows:
Sunday School Superintendent—Who led the children of Israel into Canaan?
Will one of the smaller boys answer?
No reply.
Superintendent (sternly)—Can no one tell? You little fellow on that seat
next to the aisle, who led the children of Israel into Canaan?
Little Boy (badly frightened)—It wasn’t me. I—I just moved here last week
from Missouri.
* * * * *
An amusing incident occurred at the close of Sam Jones’ sermon at
Pulaski. Stepping down from the pulpit, folding his hands across his
breast, and looking solemnly over the audience, the great revivalist said—
I want all the women in this crowd who have not spoken a harsh word or
harbored an unkind thought toward their husbands for a month past to
stand up.
One old woman, apparently on the shady side of sixty, stood up.
Come forward and give me your hand, said the preacher.