Bright doors swung back and forth. The
intermittent throb of a piano and twang of a violin, making merry with
the misery of the world; voices brokenly above it all came at intervals,
loudly as the way drew nearer.
The saloon doors swung again and four or five dark figures jostled
noisily out and came haltingly down the street. They walked crazily,
like ships without a rudder, veering from one side of the walk to the
other, shouting and singing uncouth, ribald songs, hoarse laughter
interspersed with scattered oaths.
"O! Jesus Christ!" came distinctly through the quiet night. The young
man felt a distinct pain for the Christ by his side, like the pressing
of a thorn into the brow. He seemed to know the prick himself. For these
were some of those for whom He died!
It occurred to Courtland that he was seeing everything on this walk
through the eyes of the Christ. He remembered Scrooge and his journey
with the Ghost of Christmas Past in Dickens's _Christmas Carol_. It was
like that. He was seeing the real soul of everybody! He was with the
architect of the universe, noting where the work had gone wrong from the
mighty plans. He suddenly knew that these creatures coming giddily
toward him were planned to mighty things!
The figures paused before one of the dark houses, pointed and laughed;
went nearer to the steps and stooped. He could not hear what they were
saying; the voices were hushed in ugly whispers, broken by harsh
laughter.
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