ANOTHER LESSON ON TOBACCO
THE old man had stuck his cob pipe in a pocket and filled his mouth
with a chew of tobacco.
He walked by Percy's buggy with the tobacco juice drizzling from the
corners of his mouth, and turned down the road toward the house.
Percy finished boring the hole and then returned to the buggy.
"Christ, that old man eats tobacco like a beast!" exclaimed the
driver as Percy approached.
"Are you speaking to me?" asked Percy.
"Why, certainly."
"That is not my name, please," admonished Percy, "but I can tell
you that I know Him well and that He is my best friend."
"What, old Al Jones?"
"No,--Christ," replied Percy, with a grieved expression plainly
discernible.
"Oh," said the driver.
They drove past the Jones residence and out into the field beyond.
The house one might have thought deserted except for the well-beaten
paths and the presence of chickens in the yard. It was a large
structure with two and a half stories. The cornice and window
trimmings revealed the beauty and wealth of former days. Rare shrubs
still grew in the spacious front yard, and gnarled remnants of
orchard trees were to be seen in the rear. A dozen other buildings,
large and small, occupied the background, some with the roofs partly
fallen, others evidently still in use.
"How old do you suppose these buildings are?" asked Percy of the
driver.
"About a hundred years," he replied, "and I reckon they've had no
paint nor fixin' since they was built, 'cept they have to give some
of 'em new shingles now and then or they'd all fall to pieces like
the old barns back yonder."
Percy examined the soil in several places on the Jones farm and on
other farms in the neighborhood. They lunched on crackers and canned
beans at a country store and made a more extended drive in the
afternoon.
"It is a fine soil," Percy said to the driver, as they started for
Leonardtown. "It contains enough sand for easy tillage and quick
drainage, and enough clay to hold anything that might be applied to
it."
"That's right," said the driver. "Where they put plenty of manure
and fertilizer they raise tobacco three foot high and fifteen
hundred pounds to the acre, but where they run the tobacco rows
beyond the manured land so's to be sure and not lose any manure, why
the stuff won't grow six inches high and it just turns yellow and
seems to dry up, no matter if it rains every day. Say, Mister, would
you mind telling me if you're a preacher?"
"Oh, no," replied Percy, "--I am not a preacher, any more than every
Christian must be loyal to the name."
"Well, anyway, I've learned a lesson I'll try to remember. I never
thought before about how it might hurt other people when I swear. I
don't mean nothing by it. It's just a habit; but your saying Christ
is your friend makes me feel that I have no business talking about
anybody's friend, any more than I'd like to hear anybody else use my
mother's name as a by-word. I reckon nobody has any right to use
Christ's name 'cept Christians or them as wants to be Christians. I
reckon we'd never heard the name if it hadn't a been for the
Christians.
"But I don't have so many bad habits. I don't drink, nor smoke, nor
chew; and I don't want to. My father smoked some and chewed a lot,
and I know the smell of tobacco used to make my mother about as sick
as she could be; but she had to stand it, or at least she did stand
it till father died; and now she lives with me, and I'm mighty glad
she don't have to smell no more tobacco
"She often speaks of it--mother does; and she says she's so thankful
she's got a boy that don't use tobacco. She says men that use
tobacco don't know how bad it is for other folks to smell 'em. Why,
sometimes I come home when I've just been driving a man some place
in the country, riding along like you and I are now, and he a
smoking or chewing, or at least his clothes soaked full of the vile
odor; and when I get home mother says, 'My! but you must have had an
old stink pot along with you to-day.' She can smell it on my
clothes, and I just hang my coat out in the shed till the scent gets
off from it.
"No, Sir, I don't want any tobacco for me, and I don't know as I'd
care to raise the stuff for other folks to saturate themselves with
either; and every kid is allowed to use it nowadays, or at least
most of them get it. It's easy enough to get it. Why, a kid can't
keep away from getting these cigarettes, if he tries. They're
everywhere. Every kid has hip pockets full; and I know blamed well
that some smoke so many cigarettes they get so they aren't more than
half bright. It's a fact, Sir,--plenty of 'em too; and some old men,
like Al Jones, are just so soaked in tobacco they seem about half
dead. Course it ain't like whiskey, but I think it's worse than beer
if beer didn't make one want whiskey later.
"But as I was saying, I feel that I have no business saying things
about,--about anybody you call your friend, and I think I'll just
swear off swearing, if I can."
"You can if you will just let Him be your friend."
"Well, I don't know much about that," was the slow reply. "That
takes faith, and I don't have much faith in some of the church
members I know."
"That used to trouble me also," said Percy, "until one time the
thought impressed itself upon me that even Christ himself did all
His great work with one of the twelve a traitor; and this thought
always comes to me now when self-respecting men object to uniting
with organized Christianity because of those who may be regarded as
traitors or hypocrites, but not of such flagrant character as to
insure expulsion from the Church?"
"Do you believe in miracles?" asked the driver.
"Oh, yes," said Percy, "in such miracles as the growth of the corn
plant."
"Why, that isn't any miracle. Everybody understands all about that."
"Not everybody," replied Percy. "There is only One who understands
it. There is only one great miracle, and that is the miracle of
life. It is said that men adulterate coffee, even to the extent of
making the bean or berry so nearly like the natural that it requires
an expert to detect the fraud; but do you think an imitation seed
would grow?"
"No, it wouldn't grow," said the driver.
"Not only that," said Percy, "but we may have a natural and perfect
grain of corn and it can never be made to grow by any or all of the
knowledge and skill of men, if for a single instant the life
principle has left the kernel, which may easily result by changing
its temperature a few degrees above or below the usual range. The
spark of life returns to God who gave it, and man is as helpless to
restore it as when he first walked the earth.
"What miracle do you find hard to accept?" asked Percy.
"How could Jesus know that Lazarus had died when he was on the other
side of the mountain?"
"I don't know," Percy replied; "perhaps by some sort of wireless
message which his soul could receive. I don't know how, but it was
no greater miracle than it would have been then to have done what I
did last week."
The driver turned to look squarely at Percy as though in doubt of
his sanity, but a kindly smile reassured him.
"Our train coming into Cincinnati ran in two sections," Percy
continued, "and the section behind us was wrecked, three travellers
being killed and about fifteen others wounded. I was sure my mother
would hear of the wreck before I could reach her with a letter, and
so I talked with her from Cincinnati over the long distance 'phone,
with which we have always had connection since I first went away to
college. Yes, I talked with her, and, though separated by a distance
three times the entire length of Palestine, I distinctly heard and
recognized my mother's voice. Oh, yes, I believe in miracles; but
that is a matter of small consequence. The important thing is that
we have faith in God and faith in Jesus Christ, his Son."
"Well, that's what troubles me," said the driver. "How's one to get
faith?"
"There are two methods of receiving faith," replied Percy. "Faith
cometh by prayer." "Yes, Sir, I believe that." "And, faith cometh by
hearing." "Hearing what?" "Hearing by the Word of God; hearing those
who have studied His Word and who testify of Him; and hearing with
an ear ready to receive the truth."