The first task to which the penitent Crupp devoted himself on the morning after the meeting was hardly that which his new admirers had supposed he would attempt. They imagined he would knock in the heads of his barrels, and allow the accursed contents to flood his cellar; but Crupp, on the contrary, closed out the entire lot, for cash, at the highest prices he could exact from dealers with whom he had lately been in competition. “’Twas a splendid lot of liquors,” said Crupp, in the course of an explanatory speech at the post-office, while every one was waiting for the opening of the regular daily mail; “and though I do feel above sellin’ ’em over the counter, they’re better for men that will drink than any that have ever come into Barton since I’ve been here.”

With easier mind and heavier pocket, the ex-rumseller then called upon the Rev. Jonas Wedgewell. That good man’s domestic, although from an ever-green isle whose children do not generally regard whisky with abhorrence, had sympathetically caught the spirit of her employers, and as she had not heard of Mr. Crupp’s change of mind, she left him standing on the piazza while she called Mr. Wedgewell. The divine descended the stairway two steps at a time, dived into the parlor, and had a congratulatory speech half delivered before he discovered that the new convert was not there. He wildly shouted, “Mr. Crupp!” traced the penitent by his voice, escorted him to the parlor with a series of hand-shakings, shoulder-pattings, and bows, and forcibly dropped him into an elegant chair which Mrs. Wedgewell had bought only to show, and in which no member of the family had ever dared to sit.

“Ah, my valiant friend,” said the Rev. Jonas, hastily drawing a chair near Mr. Crupp, and shedding upon him the full effulgence of a countenance beaming with enthusiastic adoration; “the morning songs of the angels of God must have been sweeter this morning as they thought of your noble deed. You have cast off the shackles of a most accursed bondage. Doubtless you wish to fulfill all of the conditions of the liberty with which Christ hath made you free. The church——”

“Excuse me, parson,” interrupted Mr. Crupp; “but I don’t want to join the church—not just now, anyhow. I——”

“Wish to consecrate your ill-gotten gains to the service of the Lord,” broke in the good pastor; but Mr. Crupp frowned, then pouted, then compressed his lips tightly, and gave so sudden a twitch as to wrench one of the joints of the sacred chair, as he replied:

“No, sir, I don’t, for I haven’t any ill-gotten gains. I never sold anything but good liquor, and the price was always fair. I never sold any liquor to a drunken man, either. What I came to you for is this: I know who drinks, when they drink, what they take, and I know pretty well why they drink. Some of them signed the pledge last night, and they’re going to have an awful hard job in keeping it.”

“Prayer——” interrupted the minister, but the hard-headed Crupp quickly completed the sentence.

“Prayer never cured a dyspeptic stomach, that I’ve heard of, and I don’t believe it’ll take away a man’s hunger for whisky. These fellows that’s been drinking, and have got anything to ’em, can be kept from falling into the old ways again; but they’ve got to be handled carefully, and what I came to you for was to ask who was going to do the handling? You know who’s free-handed with money in your congregation, and free-handed men ought to be free-hearted. I’m going to Dominie Brown on the same errand, and to the other preachers, too.”

Mr. Crupp’s speech consumed only a moment of time, but its effect upon the preacher was wonderful—and depressing. From being a mirror of irrepressible Christian exultation, Mr. Wedgewell’s face became as solemn as it ever was when he bemoaned from the pulpit the apathy of the elect. His eyes enlarged behind his glasses, and he stared for a moment in an abstracted manner at a dreadful chromo which hung upon his wall—a chromo at which no one in active possession of his mental faculties could possibly have looked so long. But the old pastor had a heart so great that even his theology had been unable to wall it in, and after a moment of inevitable despondency he realized that Crupp was intent upon doing good.

“Mr. Crupp,” said he, turning his head suddenly, and regaining a portion of his earlier expression of countenance, “I do not fully comprehend your intention, but I can see that it is good. May I ask what the people of God can do for these beings who have been under the dominion of alcohol?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” replied the old bartender. “Among them that signed, there isn’t one in ten that ever drank, and of them that drank, half of ’em’ll take something before night.”

“And break their solemn vow! Awful! awful!” ejaculated the minister.

“Yes,” said Crupp, “’tis awful; but, on the other hand, there’s some that’s in earnest. There’s Tom Adams, now—he that drives the brick-yard team. Tom’s a good, square, honest fellow, and he loves his family, but I don’t see how he’s going to stop drinking. He can’t work without it; leastways, he can’t work along the way he’s working now. Deacon Jones ought to give him easier work to do until he can bring himself around; but Deacon Jones won’t waste his money in that way, if he is a member of your church. Then there’s old Bunley: there isn’t anything to him. He’s been drinking and drinking and drinking this forty year, he says, and yet he was well brought up, and he can’t keep himself from going to church every Sunday. He’s got some children that ain’t grown yet, and if some of the storekeepers would only give him credit without ever expecting to see their money again, the old fellow wouldn’t get down-hearted so often, and maybe he could quit drinking. As far as taking care of his family goes, he isn’t good for much the way he is; he borrows from soft-hearted fellows who can’t afford to lose as well as the storekeepers can, and maybe he steals sometimes—I don’t say he does, mind. At any rate, the biggest part of his support comes out of the public, and as the public can’t help itself, it ought to be sensible enough to try to make the old chap feel and act like a man.”

“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Wedgewell, who had through all Mr. Crupp’s delivery sat erect with his hands upon his knees, and his eyes and mouth wide open. “I assure you, my dear sir, that I never had an idea that the success of the temperance cause depended upon so many conditions, and I also beg to assure you”—here the Reverend Jonas hastily proffered his right hand—“that I appreciate and admire the spirit which has prompted you to examine this subject in so many of its bearings, and to endeavor to throw light upon it. But surely all the—the men who, as you express it, have been drinking—surely these cannot be constrained to continue by conditions similar to those which you have instanced? There must be some who, if only they exercise their will-power, will succeed in putting their vile enemy under their feet?”

“Yes,” replied Crupp, “there are such. Lots of young fellows drink only because they think it’s smart, and because they haven’t got man enough in them to stop when they want to. They’re like a lot of wolves—plucky enough when they’re together, but a live rooster could scare one of them if he caught him alone. I’m going to look out for that crowd myself; they need somebody to preach to ’em wherever he can catch ’em, and I know where they hang out. But I’m not through with the other kind yet. There’s Fred Macdonald, he’s going to be the hardest man to manage in the whole lot. Good family, you know—got a judge for a father, and ambitious as the——ambitious as Napoleon Bonaparte. He’s in with all the steamboat fellows, and whisky is an angel alongside of some things they carry. They’ll ruin him, sure. Steamboating looks like something big to him, you know; it shows off better than country stores and saw-mills. It’s no use talkin’ to him; I’ve tried it once or twice, for I know the steamboat people of old; but he as good as told me to mind my own business. Now if some of the business men could get up something enterprising, and put Fred at the head of it, on condition that he wouldn’t drink any more, they might make money and save him from going to the—the bad. I’ll put some money into the thing, for I believe in Fred. Of course he’ll have to be watched a little, for he may be too venturesome; but he can get more trade and get more work out of his men than any other man in this county.”

“Mr. Crupp,” said the minister, again taking the hand of the newly-made reformer, and laying his own left hand affectionately upon Mr. Crupp’s right elbow, “I cannot find words adequate to the expression of my admiration of your earnestness in this great moral movement. But I must confess that your treatment of the subject is one to which I am utterly unaccustomed. I have been wont to regard intemperance solely as an indication of an infirm will and a depraved appetite, but your theory seems plausible; indeed, I do not see that either of our respective standpoints need be wrong. But, with regard to the employment of the reformatory means you suggest, I am not a capable adviser. It might be well for you to consult some of our leading business men.”

“That’s what I am going to do,” replied Crupp. “And I am going to see the doctors, too, and all the other ministers. What I want of you is, to back me up; preach at these fellows that are well enough off to make themselves useful.”

“I’ll do it!” replied the minister with emphasis. “A suitable text has already providentially entered my mind: ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ Three heads and application: First, demonstrate that every man is his brother’s keeper; second, show how in the divine economy it is wise that this should be so; third, the example of Christ; application, our duty to the needy in our midst. Another text suggests itself: ‘We, then, that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak.’ And yet another: ‘Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish;’ argument to be that if the Inspired Word justifies such action as that implied by the text, and if alcohol is the demon we believe it to be, it is our duty to prevent, by any means in our power, people from reaching a condition in which such a terrible remedy must be used. I beg your pardon, my dear Mr. Crupp,” exclaimed the minister, springing excitedly from his chair; “but if you have any other calls to make, I will repair at once to my study and prepare a discourse based upon one of these texts. Excuse my seeming rudeness in thus abruptly closing our interview, but my soul is on fire—on fire with ardor which I cannot but believe is from heaven.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied Mr. Crupp, rising quite briskly. “Business is business; it’s so in the liquor trade, I know, and I suppose it is in preaching. I’ll go down and see Squire Tomple, I guess.”

The Rev. Jonas Wedgewell dropped abruptly into a chair, and the fire with which his soul had been consuming seemed suddenly to expire. His face became blank and expressionless, his lower jaw dropped a little, and he gasped,

“Squire Tomple? I had a discouraging conversation with him only yesterday morning on a subject involving very nearly the ideas which you have advanced. His very estimable clerk, George Doughty, who signed the pledge at our meeting, asserted that his work must decrease in volume in order that he might continue faithful; so I made haste to intercede for him with his employer, but I did not meet with that encouragement which I had hoped for. Brother Tomple intimated that temperance was temperance and business was business, and even made some remarks which have since seemed to me to contain implications that I was unduly concerned about his affairs.”

“Tomple’s a—a hog, if he is a church member,” replied the irreverent Crupp; “but he’s got to make himself useful if plain talk will do it. It takes all kinds of men to make a world, parson, or to make men act like men to their neighbors. Perhaps if you preachers come down on rich men who hoard their money, and poor men that are about as stingy with how-d’ye-do’s, and if business men show the public that it’s as cheap to reform a pauper as it is to support him, and that it isn’t the thing to stand by, while a man’s killing himself, without sayin’ a word or spendin’ a cent to prevent him—perhaps we can be of some use in the world. Good day, parson.”