The clerk, whom I knew well, assigned me a room. I saw several
men in the hall, but not Uncle Jap.
"Does Mr. Leveson dine about half-past six?" I asked.
The clerk raised his brows.
"That's queer," he said. "You're the second man to ask that question
within an hour. Old man Panel asked the same thing."
"And what did you tell him?"
"Mr. Leveson don't dine till seven. He goes to the church first."
If the man had said that Leveson went to Heaven I could not have been
more surprised. Then I remembered what I had read in the local papers.
I had not seen the church yet. I had not wished to see it, knowing
that every stone in it was paid for with the sweat--as Uncle Jap had
put it--of other men's souls.
"Where is this church?"
"You don't know? Third turning to the left after passing the Olive
Branch Saloon."
"Leveson owns that too, doesn't he?"
The clerk yawned. "I dare say. He owns most of the earth around here,
and most of the people on it."
I walked quickly back towards the town, wondering what took Leveson to
the church. No doubt he wanted to see if he were getting his money's
worth, to note the day's work, perhaps to give the lie to the
published statement that he built churches and never entered them.
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