"
Gordon's anger melted into a laugh as he watched the Deacon's face
grow purple with fury as he fairly hissed the last sentence of
his speech. He was not an impressive man in an attempted flight of
eloquence, and the preacher's laughter quite unhorsed him.
"Gentlemen," Gordon said with quiet dignity, "I came here to-night
to make an appeal. But, I'm no longer in the mood. I see in your
faces the folly of it. I make an announcement to you. The Temple
will be built, with or without you. I prefer your cooperation. I
can do it with your united opposition. God lives, and the age of
miracles is not passed."
"In behalf of the Board, I accept your challenge and await the
miracle," retorted Van Meter. "You can pray till you're blue in
the face and you will never get money enough to buy a lot on Fifth
Avenue big enough to bury yourself, to say nothing of rearing a
Solomon's Temple on it."
"We shall see," the young giant replied.
"This Board is tired of the circus business," Van Meter went on
angrily. "You have transformed the church already into a menagerie.
We don't want any more of your Soup-House Sarahs, Hallelujah Johns
nor decorative bums testifying here to the power of miracles,
while we wonder whether our overcoats will be on the rack when we
recover from the spell of their eloquence.
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