Some spick and span people came out on the porch of the last house.
Possibly they could understand English. I went closer. They were out
and out Americans.
So I looked them in the eye and said: “I would like to have you
entertain me to-night. I am a sort of begging preacher. I do not take
money, only food and lodging.”
“A beggin’ preacher?”
“My sermon is in poetry. I can read it to you after supper, if that
will suit.”
“What sort of poetry?” asked the man.
“I can only say it is my own.”
“Why I just LOVE poetry,” said the woman. “Come in.”
“Come up,” said the man, and hustled out a chair.
“I’ll go right in and get supper,” said the wife. She was a breezy
creature with a loud musical voice. She doubtless developed it by
trying to talk against giant powder.